After My Alpha Rejected Our Daughter for His Mistress

The clinic smelled like rubbing alcohol, silver polish, and sickness.

I sat on the steel examination table with my left sleeve rolled past my elbow. Across from me, Sebastian slumped in an armchair. Even under the harsh fluorescent lights, his skin looked the color of wet cement.

Healer Darian prepped the thick bore needle and the clear plastic tubing. His hands were steady, but his eyes were darting nervously between Sebastian and me.

"This isn't an ordinary draw, Miss Alvarez," Darian murmured, his voice low. "The Alpha's wolf is rejecting human plasma. To purge the necrotic toxin, I have to channel the blood through your residual bond line. It will force the pathway open."

"Just do it," I said.

Darian pressed two fingers against the hollow of my throat, pushing his wolf’s energy inward.

A white-hot spark flared along my collarbone. It hit the silver-scarred tissue on my shoulder and turned jagged, like broken glass grinding into bone. My breath hitched. Black spots bloomed across my vision, but I clamped my teeth shut. I didn't give Sebastian the satisfaction of a groan.

Beside me, the plastic line flushed dark crimson.

The moment my blood crossed into the IV port taped to Sebastian’s arm, he gasped.

His head snapped back against the leather headrest. His eyes blew wide, pupils dilating until the green was almost entirely swallowed by black. A deep shudder ran through his massive frame, followed by a flush of genuine, radiant heat that washed the grey from his cheekbones.

From deep inside his chest, a sound vibrated—a low, confused wolf whine.

*Mate?* the sound seemed to ask, raw and bewildered.

Sebastian jerked upright, staring directly at me. His chest heaved as if he had just breached the surface of freezing water. For three seconds, his guard fell away completely. He looked at me with an intensity so wild and searching that my stomach tightened. He was grasping at a ghost he couldn't name.

Then, just as quickly, his brow furrowed into suspicion. The hardness returned, locking his jaw into stone. He shoved the feeling down, burying it under seven years of willful blindness.

He ripped his eyes away from me and looked at Darian. "My lungs cleared," Sebastian rasped. The gravel in his voice was already smoothing out. "When is the next session?"

No thank you. No acknowledgment that my blood was currently saving his life. Just logistics.

"Seventy-two hours, Alpha," Darian replied, taping down the line. "We cannot rush the extraction without risking severe anemia."

I sat up slowly, pressing a square of white gauze into the crook of my arm.

Then, without warning, something hit me from behind my ribs.

It wasn't pain. It was a violent, vibrating heat—a low, furious snarl that echoed in the empty cavern of my chest. My heart missed a beat.

*Selene.*

The heat flared like a struck match, searing and alive, before vanishing back into the icy dark. My breath caught in my throat. My wolf had been dead for seven years. Wolfsbane had turned her to ash.

My fingers trembled slightly, but I forced them still. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the tin of wolfsbane balm, and rubbed a greasy layer over the scarred brand beneath my shirt. The phantom heat died instantly under the bitter salve. I rolled down my sleeve and buttoned the cuff.

***

That evening, the heavy front doors opened without a knock.

Luella glided into the living room carrying an ornate wicker basket filled with imported pastries and fresh fruit. She wore a cream cashmere sweater that clung to her curves, her honey-blonde hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulders. She looked pristine. Untouched by time or guilt.

Paislee was sitting on the floor by the coffee table, carefully drawing a house with green crayons. She looked up, her small brow furrowing. She immediately pulled Mud onto her lap.

"Sebastian, darling," Luella purred, setting the basket on the sideboard. "I brought you those honey tarts from the downtown bakery. You looked so pale this morning, I couldn't rest."

Then her eyes shifted, landing directly on me.

Her smile didn't slip, but her eyes narrowed into sharp, calculating slits. She looked down at Paislee, then back up at my worn boots and faded denim.

"Oh," Luella said, letting a delicate note of dismay enter her voice. "Are these the... guests, Sebastian? I didn't realize strangers would be sleeping in the main house. Especially wolfless ones. Is that safe for the pack?"

Sebastian walked over from the dining room, holding a mug of tea. "Miss Alvarez is providing medical treatment under contract, Luella. It's temporary."

"Of course," Luella breathed, stepping closer to me. The scent of her expensive lavender perfume washed over me, sweet and sickening. "Where did you say you were from, Miss Alvarez? A woman without a wolf... and a child with no pack scent. It must be so difficult surviving out there."

She was fishing. Searching for cracks. Testing to see if I would flinch, bow, or look at my shoes like an Omega was supposed to.

I stood completely still. I looked straight into her blue eyes and held them.

I didn't blink. I didn't answer her questions. I gave her nothing but silence, flat and cold as a winter pond.

Seconds ticked by. The fake, radiant smile on Luella’s face began to strain at the corners. The air between us grew thin and brittle. She shifted her weight, clearly unsettled by a wolfless stray who refused to lower her gaze.

"Well," Luella said, clearing her throat lightly and turning back to Sebastian. "I just worry about you, Seb. Walk me to the gate? The fog is coming in."

"Of course," Sebastian said softly.

He set his mug down and walked out the door with her, his hand resting familiarly at the small of her back. He had no idea what he was standing next to. He never had.

I watched the door shut behind them.

"Mama?" Paislee whispered from the floor, clutching her rabbit. "Her voice sounds like a scratch."

"I know, baby," I said softly, crouching down to kiss the crown of her head. "Finish your drawing. We're going to bed soon."

Ten minutes later, I stood in the small guest bathroom. I locked the deadbolt, stripped off my sweater, and turned the shower on high. The room filled with thick, hot steam.

I leaned back and slammed my left shoulder hard against the freezing ceramic tiles.

The shock of the cold against the silver brand made my vision swim. I gripped the edge of the porcelain sink, my knuckles turning white, and forced air in and out of my lungs until the trembling stopped.

Seven years. Seven years of running, hiding, and watching my back in cheap motels while she slept in silk sheets.

I stared at my reflection in the fogged mirror, wiping away the moisture with a brutal swipe of my palm.

Tonight was just a look. Just a rehearsal.

And I only intended to need one.