Beyond Betrayal, My Soul's True Mate

Sarah POV: The silence was the loudest thing I had ever heard. For twenty-three years, my mind had been a shared space. My wolf was my instinct, my strength, my constant companion. Now, there was just a hollow cavern where she used to be. I lay in the master bedroom of the Alpha's mansion. Marcus was asleep beside me, his breathing deep and even. The arrogance of the man was astounding; he slept soundly next to the woman whose soul he had just mutilated. It was 2:00 AM. I slid out of bed. My body felt heavy and clumsy without the supernatural grace of the wolf. Every joint ached. The burn scars on my arm from the "accident" pulled tight against my skin. I crept toward his study. The floorboards creaked, and I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Marcus didn't stir. I reached the heavy oak door of his office. I didn't need a key; I knew where he hid the spare. But inside, I went straight for the wall safe behind the painting of the pack's founding Alpha. The keypad glowed blue in the dark. I didn't bother with anniversaries or sentimental dates. Marcus was pragmatic to a fault, but his ego was his blind spot. He wouldn't use our anniversary. He would use the date he secured his "legacy." I typed in Oliver's birthday. The date the bastard child was born. Beep. Click. The heavy door swung open. I almost laughed. Predictable. My hands shook as I pulled out a stack of documents. I didn't have much time. I sat on the floor, using the moonlight filtering through the window to read. The first paper was a prenatal check-up report from three years ago. Patient Name: Rachel Miller. The second was a DNA paternity test. Father: Marcus Blackwood. Probability: 99.99%. I covered my mouth to stifle a sob. Three years. He had proposed to me two years ago. He had been sleeping with Rachel, a woman with no wolf blood, a simple human who hung around the pack borders, while he was courting me. I swiped through the unlocked iPad stored in the safe. The cloud photos synced automatically. There were hundreds of them. A little boy with Marcus's dark eyes and Rachel's sharp chin. Pictures of them at the zoo, at a private beach, in an apartment I didn't know existed. Then I found the chat logs. Rachel: When are you going to get rid of the bitch? Oliver needs his father publicly. Marcus: Soon, my love. The fire is set for Tuesday. If she survives, the silver will handle the rest. She'll be a useless Omega. The Elders won't let a cripple be Luna. Rachel: She better not be pretty anymore. I want her ruined. Marcus: Anything for you. I felt sick. I wanted to vomit right there on the expensive Persian rug. I didn't just put the documents back. I took photos of everything with my burner phone. Every document, every damning text message. I also found the access keys to an untraceable offshore account and transferred a substantial sum—enough to disappear forever. He would assume it was part of a corporate hack; he would never trace it to me. Then, I accessed his email on the iPad. I drafted a scheduled email to the Council of Elders and Beta Thomas—Marcus's second-in-command, a man who valued honor above loyalty. I attached every file. I set the send time for 10:00 AM on the day of the Marking Ceremony. A ticking time bomb. I put everything back exactly as I found it. I retreated to the bathroom and locked the door. I dialed a number I hadn't used in years. "Winterbane Pack infirmary," a sleepy voice answered. "Olive," I whispered. "It's Sarah." There was a pause, then a sharp intake of breath. "Sarah? My God, we heard about the fire. We heard you were... unwell." "I'm not unwell. I'm broken," I said, my voice trembling. "Marcus silvered me. My wolf is gone." "He did what?" Olive's voice rose, losing its professional calm. "That's illegal. That's a war crime against the Moon Goddess!" "Listen to me. I need out. But I need to do it right. I need a transport." "I'll send a stealth unit. We can be at the southern border in two days." "Two days," I agreed. "The Marking Ceremony is in three. It has to be before then." "We'll get you, Sarah. Hang on." I hung up and destroyed the SIM card, flushing the pieces down the toilet. Then, I logged into the pack's digital registry on my legitimate phone. I accessed the status modification page. Name: Sarah Jenkins. Current Rank: Future Luna / High-Ranking Werewolf. Action: Voluntary Demotion. New Rank: Omega (Wolfless). My finger hovered over the 'Submit' button. In our world, rank is everything. An Omega is the lowest of the low—the servants, the weak, the ones who eat last. By doing this, I was stripping myself of all legal protection. But an Omega can also leave the pack territory without a full escort if they have a work permit. It was my only way to reach the border without raising the alarm. I pressed 'Submit'. The screen flashed green: Pending Approval. I went back to bed and slid under the covers. The next morning, Marcus woke up and stretched, his arm draping over my waist. "Morning, beautiful," he said, kissing my cheek. He reached for the nightstand and picked up a folder he must have placed there while I was in the bathroom earlier. "The doctor sent over the final report," he said, his face a mask of sorrow. "Your wolf... she died from complications due to the smoke inhalation. The silver was an attempt to stabilize your heart, but it was too late." He lied so easily. It was terrifying. "Oh," I whispered, looking down. "I... I can't feel her, Marcus." "I know. I'm so sorry." He pulled me into a hug. "But we have to move forward. The pack needs a strong leadership structure. Since a wolfless mate cannot produce a werewolf heir..." He trailed off, waiting for me to fill in the blank. I took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "We should adopt," I said, my voice steady. "There are so many orphans. Maybe we can find a child who needs a home." Marcus's eyes lit up. It was the reaction of a predator who had just seen the trap snap shut on its prey. "That is a wonderful idea, Sarah. You really are the most understanding woman I know." He thought I was broken. He thought I was submitting. He didn't know I was sharpening the knife.