Broken by the Alpha, Reborn as Queen
I was the Luna of Silver Lake, yet I spent my mornings cooking eggs for my Alpha mate while his mistress, Keyla, sat in my rightful seat.
I endured the humiliation for the sake of the bond, until the day my mother found Keyla poisoning the pack's water supply.
To hide her crime, Keyla murdered my mother in cold blood.
I screamed for justice, begging Garrison to open his eyes.
But he didn't look at the evidence. He looked at the merger Keyla’s father offered.
"She's hysterical," he told the guards, stepping over my mother's body to protect his mistress.
To seal their alliance, he dragged me to the Great Hall and publicly rejected me, severing our soul-bond to sell me off to a sadistic Alpha for mining rights.
He expected me to beg. He expected the weak, bloodline-cursed Omega to crumble.
Instead, I accepted the rejection with a smile.
That night, I drank a potion to erase my scent and threw myself into the storm, faking my death.
Garrison thinks I’m a corpse at the bottom of a cliff, and rumors say he’s finally drowning in regret.
He has no idea that the pain didn't kill me. It triggered the ancient, legendary blood of the White Wolf.
Now, standing on the ridge with a Rogue mercenary army, I’m no longer the wife who cooks breakfast.
I’m the monster at his gates, and I won't stop until his entire world is ash.
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Chapter 2
Janette POV
The atmosphere in the pack house had curdled, shifting from a cold, tolerable indifference to active, suffocating hostility. It had started with whispers—sidelong glances that ceased the moment I turned my head—but now, the disdain was blatant.
I was buried in paperwork in Garrison’s home office, relegated to yet another administrative task because the Alpha couldn't be bothered with the tedium of running his own territory.
"Where is the report on the northern border patrol?" Garrison’s voice boomed against the mahogany walls as he strode in. He wasn't alone. Keyla trailed in his wake like a sleek, predatory shadow.
"It's right on top," I said, my hand trembling slightly as I pointed to the blue folder on the desk. "I organized the entire stack by date this morning."
Garrison snatched up the folder and flipped it open. His face darkened, a storm cloud settling over his features. "This is empty, Janette."
"What?" I rushed forward, panic flaring in my chest. "No, that's impossible. I filed those papers myself."
Keyla leaned against the doorframe, idly examining the sheen of her manicured nails. "Maybe she misplaced them, Garrison. It’s a lot of responsibility for someone... of her limited capacity."
I frantically searched the desk, shuffling through stacks of correspondence. The papers were gone. I knew I had filed them. I had double-checked. I wasn't crazy.
"I didn't lose them!" I insisted, my voice rising an octave in desperation. "Someone removed them."
"Are you accusing my staff?" Garrison snapped, slamming the folder shut. "Or are you simply incompetent and looking for a scapegoat?"
The Alpha tone in his voice hit me like a physical slap. My knees buckled, instinct warring with my pride. It was the *Command*—the biological authority he held over everyone in the pack. When an Alpha was truly angry, our very DNA forced us to submit.
"I... I'm sorry," I stammered, the apology tasting like bile. "I'll find them. They have to be here."
"Don't bother," Garrison growled. "Keyla, do you have copies of the border stats from your father's pack?"
"Of course," Keyla purred, pulling a sleek tablet from her designer bag. "I believe in always being prepared, Alpha."
Garrison looked at me with pure, unadulterated disgust. "Get out. You're useless to me here."
I ran. I ran until my lungs burned and the humiliation tears dried on my cheeks, ending up in the one place that still felt like sanctuary—my mother’s healing hut at the edge of the forest.
I found Mom hunched over her worktable, examining a withered plant under the harsh light of a magnifying lamp. Usually, this place smelled of dried sage and lavender, but today, the air was sharp and acrid, stinging my nostrils.
"Mom?"
She jumped, her hand instinctively flying behind her back to hide the specimen. "Janette. You're early."
"What is that smell?" I asked, wiping my eyes.
Mom hesitated, then sighed, her shoulders slumping. She pulled the plant back into view. It was a purple flower, beautiful but deadly, its veins black and rotting.
"Wolfsbane," I gasped, the word heavy on my tongue. "That is strictly forbidden within pack lands."
"I found it buried near the water supply for the warriors' barracks," Mom said grimly. "This wasn't wild growth. Someone planted it intentionally."
"Who would do that?"
"Someone who wants to weaken the pack from the inside," Mom said. She looked at me, her eyes narrowing with a healer's intuition. "I went to the main house earlier to deliver Garrison’s tonic. I ran into Keyla."
"And?"
"She was sweating. Not from heat, but from adrenaline," Mom explained. "And beneath that cloying perfume she wears... I smelled soil. Fresh, damp soil. And the faint, metallic tang of Wolfsbane sap."
My blood ran cold. "You think Keyla is poisoning the warriors?"
"I think Keyla is doing whatever it takes to prove that this pack is vulnerable without her resources," Mom said darkly. "And to prove that you, the current Luna, are failing to protect them."
"We have to tell Garrison."
Mom shook her head sadly. "He won't hear us. Not without irrefutable proof. He is blinded by the merger. By her."
"So we just let her win? We let her kill people?"
"No," Mom said, her voice fierce. "I'm going to find the source. I found tracks leading toward the old hunting cabin in the north woods. I'm going there tonight to collect samples."
"I'll come with you."
"No!" Mom grabbed my hands, her grip surprisingly strong. "You must stay visible. If we both disappear, it looks suspicious. Go to the dinner tonight. Hold your head high. Let me handle this. I am the Healer. Even an Alpha must respect my word when I present evidence."
I didn't want to leave her. A sense of dread coiled in my stomach, distinct from the usual anxiety of facing Garrison.
"Be careful, Mom."
"Always, my little wolf."
That evening, the dinner was a torture session. Keyla sat at Garrison's right hand, in the seat that should have been mine. She had "accidentally" spilled red wine on my pale silk dress earlier, forcing me to change into an old, ill-fitting gown that pinched at the waist.
"Such a shame about the dress," Keyla announced loudly to the table of Elders. "But I suppose not everyone has the grace to carry off silk."
The Elders chuckled low in their throats. They were old men who respected power above all else, and they sensed the shift in the wind. They were placing their bets on Keyla.
I sat in silence, picking at my food. My skin felt hot. Too hot. For weeks, I had been feeling strange surges of fever, followed by sharp, grinding pains in my bones. I had dismissed it as stress, but tonight, it felt like fire in my veins.
Keyla leaned in, dropping her voice so only I could hear. "Enjoy the meal, Janette. It might be your last one at this table."
I looked up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were cold, dead things, void of any wolf humanity.
"You won't get away with it," I whispered. "My mother knows."
Keyla’s smile didn't waver, but her pupils dilated, swallowing the iris. "Does she? That's unfortunate."
A chill went down my spine, instantly freezing the feverish heat in my blood. I suddenly realized why Keyla was so calm.
"Excuse me," I said, standing up abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Sit down, Janette," Garrison commanded, not looking up from his steak.
"I need air," I gasped, panic clawing at my throat.
"I said sit down!" His voice boomed, laced with a crushing weight of Alpha power.
My body froze. My muscles locked up against my will, betraying me. I was forced back into the chair, tears of frustration stinging my eyes. I was a prisoner in my own body, held captive by the man who was supposed to cherish me.
I sat there for two hours, unable to move a muscle, while my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. *Mom,* I called out in the Mind-Link, sending the thought like a desperate prayer. *Mom, answer me.*
Silence.
Just a vast, terrifying silence where my mother’s warm presence used to be.