After My Mate Cheated with the Lycan King’s Luna

The address Eliam sent me was in the human city, thirty minutes from Lycan Court territory. A high-rise building with glass walls that reflected the overcast sky. I parked in the underground garage and took the elevator to the top floor, my thumb pressed against the inside of my wrist the entire ride up.

Sable was restless. She'd been pacing since I left the motel that morning, her energy bleeding into my chest until I could barely sit still. I told myself it was because of the plan. Because I was about to walk into a room with the Lycan Prince and strategize the destruction of two wolves who had stolen years from my life.

But my wolf knew better.

The elevator doors opened directly into a penthouse suite. Sleek. Modern. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. And standing in the center of the room, his back to me, was Eliam Shaw.

He turned when he heard the elevator.

The scent hit me before I could prepare for it.

Pine and thunderstorm. Sharp and clean and utterly overwhelming. It flooded the corridor, wrapped around me, sank into my lungs. Sable surged so violently I had to grip the doorframe to stay upright. My knees nearly buckled. My wolf was howling his name, clawing at the walls I'd spent seven years building, desperate to close the distance between us.

Eliam went very still.

His jaw tightened on the left side. His eyes—dark, unreadable—locked onto mine. I could see Cain straining behind the iron control Eliam wore like armor. His wolf was as close to the surface as mine, and the air between us felt electric, charged with something neither of us was acknowledging.

Neither of us moved.

"Anika," he said finally. His voice was low. Controlled. But there was a roughness beneath it that I'd never heard before.

"Eliam." My own voice came out steadier than I expected. I forced myself to let go of the doorframe and step inside.

He gestured toward a glass table near the windows. "Sit."

I sat on one side. He sat on the other. The distance felt deliberate. Safe. Like we both knew what would happen if we got too close.

Eliam slid a folder across the table. "This is what we're going to do."

I opened it. Inside were detailed notes, timelines, and a list of steps so methodical it looked like a military operation. Return home. Act normal. Gather evidence. Document everything. Dismantle them publicly and irreversibly.

"You go back to the pack house," Eliam said. "You perform the role of the loyal chosen mate. You give Zyon no reason to suspect you're planning anything."

"And if he tries to—" I stopped. My throat tightened. I couldn't finish the sentence.

Eliam's eyes sharpened. "Tries to what?"

I looked down at the folder. "If he expects things to go back to normal. If he wants—" I pressed my thumb harder against my wrist. "I can't go back to his bed, Eliam. I can't."

The silence that followed was enormous.

When I looked up, Eliam's expression hadn't changed, but something in his eyes had shifted. Darker. More dangerous.

"You won't have to," he said quietly.

He pulled out his phone and made a call. It rang twice before a woman's voice answered.

"Eliam Shaw. To what do I owe the honor?"

"Vera," Eliam said. "I need a favor."

Twenty minutes later, Vera Nolan arrived at the penthouse. She was a small woman with sharp eyes and graying hair pulled into a neat bun. The Blackridge Pack's healer. And one of the few wolves in the pack I genuinely trusted.

She looked at me first, then at Eliam, then back at me. Her expression didn't change, but I saw the moment she understood.

"What do you need?" she asked.

Eliam laid it out with the same precision he'd used with me. Vera listened without interrupting. When he finished, she nodded once.

"Hormonal imbalance," she said. "Requires treatment. Physical intimacy inadvisable for several weeks. I'll document it in your medical file today."

I exhaled slowly. "Thank you."

Vera's eyes softened slightly. "I've been watching Zyon for years, Anika. I've seen the way he touches the back of his neck when he lies. I've seen the way he performs concern." She paused. "I'm glad you're finally seeing it too."

She left as quickly as she'd arrived.

Eliam and I sat in silence for a long moment. The scent of pine and thunderstorm still filled the room, and Sable was still howling, but I forced myself to focus.

"I'll go back tonight," I said.

Eliam's jaw tightened again. "You don't have to do this alone."

"I know." I met his eyes. "But I need to do this my way."

He nodded slowly. "Then do it your way. But if anything goes wrong—anything—you call me."

"I will."

I stood. He stood. The distance between us felt smaller than it had when I'd first walked in, and for a moment I thought he might close it. But he didn't. He just watched me with those dark, unreadable eyes, Cain straining behind the surface.

"Anika," he said as I reached the elevator.

I turned.

"We'll handle this," he said. "Together."

I nodded. Then I stepped into the elevator and let the doors close between us.

---

I returned to the Blackridge Pack house just after sunset. Zyon was in the living room, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when I walked in, and his practiced warmth flooded his face immediately.

"Baby," he said, standing. "Where have you been? I was worried."

I forced a soft smile. "I went to see Vera. I've been feeling off lately, and I wanted to get checked out."

His concern deepened. Perfectly calibrated. "What did she say?"

"Hormonal imbalance." I kept my voice steady, vulnerable in the way he expected. "She's putting me on treatment, but she said I need to avoid any physical stress for a few weeks. Including—" I hesitated, letting the implication hang.

Zyon's hand went to the back of his neck. Just for a second. Then he stepped forward and pulled me into a hug.

"Of course," he said gently. "Whatever you need. Just take care of yourself, okay?"

"Okay," I whispered against his chest.

Sable snarled inside me. I ignored her.

That night, I moved into the guest room. Zyon didn't argue. He kissed my forehead and told me to rest, his voice warm and concerned and utterly false.

I lay in the dark, alone, pressing my thumb against my wrist.

I didn't sleep.