After My Sister Stole My Mate, His Twin Rescued Me

I woke to the scent of pine and something burning.

Not fire—herbs. Sharp and medicinal, threading through the air like smoke. My body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry, every muscle aching in that deep-bone way that came from fighting something internal. The rejection pain was still there, a constant throb in my chest, but duller now. Manageable.

I opened my eyes.

Wooden beams overhead. A stone fireplace crackling in the corner. Furs piled on the bed beneath me, soft and thick and smelling exactly like the scent that had wrapped around me in the dark for three years. Pine. Storm-charged earth. Safety.

I turned my head.

He sat in a chair beside the bed, watching me. Tristan's face. But not Tristan. Everything about him was wrong for Tristan—the way he held himself, loose and utterly still at the same time. The way his eyes tracked my smallest movement with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The complete absence of cologne, just clean skin and that scent that made Luna stir inside me with something that felt like recognition.

"You're awake." His voice was low, careful. "Don't try to sit up yet."

I sat up anyway. The room tilted and I had to press my hand against the mattress to steady myself. My other hand moved instinctively to my stomach, and his eyes followed the motion.

"Where am I?"

"Safe." He didn't move from the chair, but something in his posture shifted—like he was holding himself back from coming closer. "My cabin. Deep in neutral territory. No one knows about this place."

I stared at him. At Tristan's face that wasn't Tristan's face. The wrongness of it made my head hurt.

"You said—" My voice came out hoarse. I swallowed and tried again. "You said you weren't him."

"I'm not." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and the movement brought him into the firelight. I could see it now—the small differences. A scar through his left eyebrow that Tristan didn't have. Shoulders slightly broader. Hands bigger, the knuckles scarred in a way that spoke of violence Tristan had never touched. "My name is Dante Reynolds. Tristan is my twin brother."

The words didn't make sense. I shook my head, and the motion sent a wave of dizziness through me. "That's not—the contract said—"

"The contract was for me." His jaw tightened. "I was injured. Rogue war, four years ago. The pack elders made a decision—Tristan would hold the territory while I healed in seclusion. The mating contract with your family arrived during that time. It had my name on it. Not his."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't process. "But you—he—"

"He let it happen." Something dark crossed his face. "He posed as Alpha. Accepted you as his mate. And I—" He stopped. Looked away. "My wolf knew. From the first night you entered the pack house, my wolf knew you were mine. I couldn't stay away."

The nights. The presence in the dark. The scent that made me feel safe even when everything else was breaking.

It was him.

"You—" My throat closed. "You let me think—for three years, you let me think—"

"I was healing." His voice turned rough. "I couldn't shift. Could barely walk. My wolf would force me to you at night, driven by the mate bond, but I couldn't—I didn't have the strength to take back the pack. To protect you the way you needed."

"So you just—what? Visited me in the dark and left me to suffer during the day?"

His eyes snapped back to mine, and the red glow was there again, faint but unmistakable. "I was trying to protect you."

"By letting your brother poison me?" The words came out sharper than I'd intended, but I couldn't stop them. "By letting him reject me in front of the entire pack? By letting him—"

I couldn't finish. The rejection pain flared in my chest and I doubled over, gasping.

He was beside me in an instant. I hadn't even seen him move. His hand pressed against my back, large and warm, and the touch sent a shock of something through me that wasn't pain.

"Breathe," he said quietly. "The bond is damaged, but it's not broken. Not completely. Not between us."

I looked up at him. This close, I could see the differences more clearly. The way his eyes weren't cold like Tristan's—they burned. The way his mouth was set in a line that spoke of control barely maintained.

"You said—" I had to force the words out. "You said the baby was yours."

His hand moved from my back to hover over my stomach. Not touching. Just—there. "Two heartbeats," he said. "I can hear them both."

"That's not possible." My voice shook. "Tristan said I was barren. He said my wolf was too weak to—"

"Tristan lied." The words came out flat. Final. "And he poisoned you to make sure you couldn't carry a child that would prove he wasn't the true Alpha."

He stood abruptly and crossed to a table in the corner. When he returned, he held a small vial filled with dark residue. "Wolfsbane. Mixed into your food for three years. Enough to suppress your wolf. Enough to prevent conception." His jaw tightened. "Almost enough."

I stared at the vial. At the proof of three years of deliberate cruelty.

"My wolf is stronger than his," Dante said quietly. "Strong enough to overcome the poison. Strong enough to—" He stopped. Looked at me with something that might have been fear. "You're carrying my child, Bella. And now that you're away from the wolfsbane, your body is going to start purging the poison."

"What does that mean?"

"It means the next two days are going to be hell."

As if on cue, the cramping in my abdomen sharpened into something that felt like claws. I gasped and Luna surged inside me—stronger than she'd been in years, her presence almost painful in its intensity.

Dante's hand caught mine. "I'm not leaving," he said. "Whatever happens. I'm not leaving you again."

The fever hit like a wall of fire, and I stopped being able to tell where my body ended and the pain began.