After My Alpha Made His Pregnant Mistress Luna

I waited until Jasmine left for the training grounds. She went every Thursday at two to supervise the delta rotations—not because she knew anything about combat, but because Ian had told her a Luna should be visible. She wore her authority like a coat she was still learning to button.

I gave her ten minutes. Then I walked upstairs.

Ian's study door was unlocked. It always was during the day. He had never needed to lock it before.

I pushed it open and stepped inside.

He was at his desk with a territorial map spread across the surface, marking border positions with a red pen. He looked up. His expression didn't change.

"Rachel." Flat. Like he was naming a piece of furniture.

I closed the door behind me. I walked to the desk. I set two stacks of paper down in front of him—one on the left, one on the right. Organized. Dated. Signed.

"The left stack," I said, "is documentation of the neutral-pack land seizure on Ironridge's eastern border. The capital transfer that funded the purchase came from the Luna infrastructure account I managed. You told me it was for packhouse repairs. It wasn't. You used my financial authority without my consent to seize territory under a false treaty claim. That's bond violation and territorial fraud."

His pen stopped moving.

"The right stack," I continued, "is a communication log pulled from your own server. Fourteen transmissions over three months from a device registered under a dead wolf's credentials. Patrol routes. Guard rotations. Defensive positions. All sent to an encrypted Shadowfang channel. The device is Jasmine's."

I watched his face. The red pen rolled off the map and hit the floor.

"She's been selling Ironridge security to the pack that wants your territory," I said. "She's setting you up for a territorial loss that will justify a Council investigation. And you didn't know."

He stared at the papers. His jaw set. His eyes lost focus for half a second—the tell I had learned to recognize, the moment before he reached for his Alpha tone.

I kept talking.

"I want two things," I said. "Return the neutral-pack territory. Publicly. With documentation that names the fraud. And formal acknowledgment before this pack of what you did to me on those stairs."

His hands flattened on the desk.

"If you refuse," I said, "the Lycan Council receives the espionage file by end of day. Jasmine gets exiled as a rogue. You lose your eastern border and your reputation in a single hearing. Your choice."

He stood up so fast his chair hit the wall.

"You're bluffing."

"I'm not."

"You're wolfless. You have no standing to—"

"I have evidence," I said. "That's the only standing I need."

He lunged.

He came across the desk with his full Alpha strength, hands reaching for my throat, and I felt my wolf surge up through my ribs like a flood breaking a dam. The shift was faster this time. Controlled. My bones cracked and reformed and I dropped to four legs before his hands could close.

My silver wolf was twice his size.

I slammed into him mid-lunge and drove him backward into the wall. My forepaw pinned his chest. His wolf tried to rise—I felt it straining under his skin, desperate to answer the challenge—but it couldn't. It was trapped beneath mine. Biologically incapable of overpowering what was above him.

His wolf whimpered.

The sound was small and involuntary and absolutely devastating.

The study door flew open. Jasmine stood in the doorway, breathing hard, her eyes wide. She must have seen me come upstairs. She must have run back.

She looked at Ian pinned beneath my wolf. She looked at the papers scattered across the desk.

She lunged for the portable drive sitting beside the territorial map.

I shifted back to human form and caught her wrist mid-reach. She clawed at me with her free hand, nails raking across my forearm, and I shoved her backward. She tripped over the overturned chair and fell hard against the bookcase. Her shoulder hit the edge. She slid to the floor with both hands pressed against her belly.

"Ian," she gasped. "Ian, the baby—"

Ian saw her down.

He turned on me.

His fist caught my jaw before I could move. The second blow hit my ribs. The third drove me to my knees. He was using his full Alpha strength now—the kind of strength that could break bone, that could kill if he wanted it to—and he wanted it to.

"Wolfless," he snarled. He hit me again. "Worthless. Omega. You're nothing."

My blood hit the floor in drops, then streaks. I tasted copper. I felt my ribs crack.

But I kept my fist closed.

The portable drive was still in my hand. He hadn't noticed. He was too busy proving something to himself—proving that the wolf I had just pinned to the wall was a fluke, an accident, something that didn't count.

He dragged me into the hallway by my hair. My blood smeared across the stone. Wolves appeared in doorways, drawn by the sound, and they stood there watching as Ian beat the woman who used to be their Luna on the floor of the packhouse she had run for five years.

None of them moved.

He finally stopped when his knuckles started bleeding. He stood over me, breathing hard, and looked down at my face like he was checking to see if I was still conscious.

I was.

I looked up at him through the blood and the split skin and I smiled.

"The Council," I whispered, "gets the file tonight."

His expression went blank.

Then the front doors exploded inward.