After Eight Years, My Mate Chose Her

My knees ached against the cold, hard tiles of the pack house kitchen. Just yesterday, in my mind at least, I was the revered Luna of the Blood Moon Pack. Today, I was a ghost shoved into an ill-fitting, scratchy Omega’s uniform, scrubbing grout until my knuckles bled. My inner wolf whined, scratching weakly at the back of my mind. The eight years of experimental ice still clung to my bones, making every movement stiff and agonizing.

"Oh, Elora," a sickeningly sweet voice cooed from above.

I looked up, pushing a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. Amber stood over me. She was wearing my favorite silk robe—the one Vincent had bought for me in Milan—and a pristine, lacy apron that was clearly just a prop for her little charade. In her hands, she held a massive, cast-iron pot of boiling beef stew.

Before I could even blink, she tilted her wrists.

The scalding stew cascaded onto the freshly scrubbed floor, splashing heavily against my shins. I bit back a scream as the boiling liquid burned my skin, a stark, agonizing contrast to the lingering frost in my veins.

"Oh my goodness, I am so clumsy!" Amber gasped, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. But her eyes, staring down at me, were cold, calculating, and viciously victorious. Several pack members in the adjoining dining room turned their heads, their whispers buzzing like angry hornets.

Amber sighed loudly, her voice dripping with fake, theatrical pity. "Elora, I know you've been asleep for a very long time, and your brain is a little... slow. But you really need to watch where you're going. You're just so incompetent. Clean this up before Alpha Vincent sees what a mess you've made of his kitchen."

I swallowed the lump of utter humiliation burning in my throat. I didn't argue. I couldn't. I just grabbed my soaking rag and began to wipe up the greasy, scalding mess, my tears mixing with the spilled broth.

Later that afternoon, my burned skin bandaged with scraps of old cloth, I saw my chance. Colter was walking down the main hallway alone, dragging his fingertips along the oak wainscoting. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the small, soft blue-and-silver blanket I had hand-knit for him while I was pregnant. It was the only thing I had left of the boy I loved more than life itself.

"Colter?" I whispered, stepping tentatively out of the shadows.

He froze, his dark eyes widening. "What do you want?" he snapped. He tried to sound brave and authoritative, mimicking his father, but he just sounded like a scared pup.

"I just wanted to give you this," I said softly, holding out the folded yarn. My hands trembled. "I made it for you. Before I had to go away into the ice. I never wanted to leave you, sweetheart. I fought to wake up just for you."

He stared at the blanket. A flicker of hesitation crossed his young face, his inner wolf perhaps recognizing the faint, fading scent of his true mother. For a split second, I saw my little boy.

"Colter! Get away from her!"

Amber’s voice sliced through the quiet hallway like a silver blade. She rushed forward, grabbing Colter by the shoulders and pulling him behind her as if I were a rabid beast. "Don't touch my son," she hissed, her eyes flashing with venom.

"It's just a blanket," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Please."

Amber looked down at Colter, her lower lip trembling in a flawless performance of maternal distress. "Colter, she's trying to trick you. She abandoned you because she didn't love you enough to stay awake. I'm the one who stayed up with you when you had fevers. I am your mother."

Colter's hesitation vanished, instantly replaced by a fierce, misguided anger. He stepped around Amber and snatched the blue blanket from my hands.

"I don't want your stupid trash!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls.

With a sharp, violent tug, he ripped the delicate, aged yarn. The physical sound of the threads snapping echoed in my ears. The stitches I had painstakingly woven with love and hope unraveled instantly. He threw the torn, ruined pieces right at my feet and turned his back on me.

A choked sob escaped my lips. I dropped to my knees, gathering the frayed yarn to my chest as if I could somehow put it back together. Down the hall, a shadow shifted. It was Eleanor, the Former Luna, Vincent’s mother. She stood frozen by the grand staircase, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide with silent, devastating horror at what her grandson had just done. But she didn't step forward. She just looked at me with profound, helpless grief before slipping away.

I retreated to the damp, drafty Omega quarters, clutching the ruined blanket. My heart was completely shattered, my mate bond a bleeding, agonizing wound in my chest. But I severely underestimated Amber. My mere existence was a threat to the stolen crown on her head, and humiliation wasn't enough for her. She wanted me gone. Permanently.

Hours later, as dusk settled over the pack house, frantic shouts erupted from the courtyard. The heavy, metallic scent of panic and fresh blood flooded the air. I rushed out of the servant's door, following the chaos toward the edge of the woods.

Pack warriors were gathered frantically near the tree line, their flashlights cutting through the gathering dark. Alpha Vincent pushed through the crowd, his crushing aura suffocating everyone in his path, his face pale and twisted with absolute terror.

"Where is she?" he roared, his Alpha tone making my knees buckle.

I pushed my way to the front and froze. There, caught on the jagged thorns of the bordering bushes, was a piece of Amber's silk dress. Below it, a massive, horrifying pool of dark crimson blood stained the fresh snow.

A trail of blood and dragged footprints led straight into the dark, forbidden trees—feral Rogue territory.

"She's been taken," Beta Marcus announced grimly, sniffing the air. "Rogue scent. Heavy. They dragged her into the dead zone."

I stared at the perfectly placed torn fabric and the excessive, theatrical amount of blood. It was too perfect. Too neatly staged. A cold, absolute dread settled in the pit of my stomach. Amber hadn't just humiliated me today. She had orchestrated a fake kidnapping to drag the pack into the deadliest part of the forest, framing it as a mortal peril. And as Vincent’s wild, desperate eyes slowly turned to lock onto mine, I knew, with sickening certainty, exactly who was going to be used as bait to get her back.