After His Mistress Poisoned My Omega Pup

The Nighthollow Court's guest quarters had windows on three sides.

I noticed that first. Before the bed, before the desk, before the neatly folded linens someone had left on the dresser. Three walls of glass. Morning light would come from the east, afternoon from the south, sunset from the west. No corner of this room would ever be fully dark.

I set my bag down slowly. My hand went to my neck—the bare hollow where Seth's mark should have been—and I pressed my thumb against it. The gesture was automatic now. A nervous habit I couldn't seem to break.

Whoever prepared these rooms had chosen them deliberately. No one had asked me what I needed. No one had questioned why I couldn't sleep in enclosed spaces. I'd mentioned it to no one.

I turned away from the windows and started unpacking.

---

The Beta found me in the Court's archives three hours later. I'd requested territorial maps of the northeastern packs—Ironvale's borders, specifically—and he'd delivered them without a single question. Now I had them spread across the reading table, cross-referencing patrol patterns I'd memorized during the reconstruction years with the official border markers.

Ironvale had three weak points. Seth didn't know I'd documented them. He'd signed his name to my strategies for so long he'd stopped checking my work.

"Luna-designate," the Beta said from the doorway.

I looked up. He was older than Chandler, gray at his temples, with the kind of stillness that came from decades of service. He didn't call me Emily. He didn't call me 'the contractor.' Luna-designate. A title I hadn't earned and didn't want, but one that apparently came with the political mating proposal I'd made to his Prince.

"Just Emily," I said.

"The Prince requests your presence in the strategy room. When you're available."

Not a command. A request. I noted the distinction and hated how much it mattered.

I gathered the maps. "I'm available now."

---

Chandler was alone when I entered. The strategy room was smaller than I'd expected—more war council than throne room—with a single long table and maps pinned to every wall. He stood at the far end, studying something I couldn't see yet.

He looked up when I came in. His eyes went to the maps in my hands, then to my face. He didn't smile. He just waited.

I spread the Ironvale maps on the table between us. "Three vulnerabilities," I said. "Here, here, and here." I marked each point with my finger. "The eastern border relies on a single patrol rotation. The northern route has a four-hour gap between shifts. The western checkpoint is understaffed because Seth diverted those wolves to his personal guard after the banquet."

Chandler leaned over the table. He studied the maps for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was measured. "You're certain about the western checkpoint?"

"I designed the rotation."

He looked at me then. Really looked. Not the way Seth used to look—cataloguing weaknesses, searching for hidden motives. Chandler looked at me the way someone reads a text they want to understand completely before responding.

"Seth sent his Beta to our border this morning," he said finally. "With a retrieval demand."

My hand went to my neck. I pressed my thumb against the hollow and felt nothing. The bond was gone. Cold and silent. "What kind of demand?"

"An outdated pack-law clause. Something about jurisdiction over unclaimed former mates." His jaw tightened slightly. "My Gamma intercepted him before he crossed into our territory."

I waited. My heart was beating too fast. I kept my voice level. "And?"

"Dorian sent him back with a message." Chandler's eyes hadn't left mine. "'She is under the Lycan Court's jurisdiction now—challenge that, and kneel.'"

The room went very quiet.

I pressed harder against my neck. The skin was smooth. Unmarked. No bond-scar. No claim. Nothing that said I belonged to anyone.

"He won't challenge it," I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Seth doesn't kneel. He'll find another way."

"Then we'll be ready." Chandler straightened. He didn't move closer, but something in his posture shifted. Less formal. More direct. "You're under Nighthollow's protection now, Emily. That's not a conditional arrangement. It's a fact."

I looked down at the maps. At Ironvale's borders. At the pack I'd rebuilt with my own hands, stone by stone, alliance by alliance, while Seth signed his name to my work and Skylar poisoned my pup and neither of them ever placed a mark on my neck.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

Chandler nodded once. Then he gathered the maps, rolled them carefully, and handed them back to me. "Keep working. Whatever you need—files, resources, access—my Beta will provide it. No questions."

I took the maps. Our fingers didn't touch, but I felt the heat of him across the space between us. My wolf—silent for so long—stirred faintly. Not a howl. Not even a whimper. Just... awareness.

I left before he could see my hand shake.

---

I worked until past midnight. The Court's archives were extensive—territorial records, alliance agreements, bloodline registries going back centuries. I cross-referenced everything I knew about Ironvale's current structure with the historical data. Patterns emerged. Weaknesses I hadn't seen before. Strategies Seth had borrowed from old texts without understanding their vulnerabilities.

When I finally returned to my quarters, the moon was high and the room was full of silver light. Three walls of windows. No darkness anywhere.

I lay down on the bed fully clothed. My hand reached automatically to the space beside me where Buster used to sleep. My fingers found empty bedding. Cold sheets. Nothing.

I pressed my thumb against my neck and stared at the ceiling.

The bond was gone. My wolf was silent. My pup was dead. And somewhere in Ironvale, Seth was probably standing in his study with his hand on his own neck, feeling the burn of a scar that would never heal.

I closed my eyes.

Sleep came eventually. But not for a long time.