My Alpha Chose His Sister Over His Mate

The rain in Seattle never washed anything clean; it only made the filth of the Darkmoon Pack stick to my skin like a second layer of shame.

"Kneel."

The command crashed into my shoulders, heavier than physical lead. It was the Alpha Tone. My knees hit the cold linoleum of the hospital floor with a sickening crack, my body betraying my will as it always did when Alpha Grayson Richardson spoke.

"Seven years, Wrenlee," Grayson’s voice was low, a rumble of thunder that vibrated in my chest, triggering the mate bond I loathed. He stood over me, his shadow swallowing my trembling form. "Seven years since you burned her. Look at her."

I couldn't look away. My head was forced up by the sheer pressure of his aura. On the pristine white hospital bed lay Sage, my sister. She looked like a sleeping princess, her chest rising and falling in the magical stasis that had held her since the fire. Her skin was glowing, pampered daily by nurses, while I... I looked like something the cat dragged in and the dog refused to eat. My hands were raw from scrubbing the pack house floors, my Omega uniform hanging loosely on my malnourished frame.

"Pray for forgiveness," Grayson spat, his polished dress shoes inches from my face. "And don't stop until I say so."

The pack guards stationed at the door snickered. To them, I wasn't the Alpha's fated mate. I was the jealous monster who tried to kill the future Luna. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears leaking out to mix with the grime on my cheeks. I didn't pray to the Moon Goddess for forgiveness. I prayed for death. Or at least, for silence.

Hours later, Grayson finally dismissed me for a fifteen-minute meal break. It was a calculated mercy—just enough time to keep his slave alive, but not enough to rest.

I didn't go to the mess hall. I ran through the pouring rain toward the servant’s quarters, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to see Buster. My golden retriever was the only living soul in this territory who didn't look at me with hatred. He was the only warmth I had left.

But as I rounded the corner to the shed where I slept, the air smelled wrong. It smelled of copper and wet fur.

"Buster?" I called out, my voice cracking.

A supply truck was idling near the loading dock, the driver arguing with a guard about a schedule mix-up. They ignored the heap of golden fur lying in the mud a few yards away.

"No... no, no, no!" I skidded to my knees, mud soaking through my thin pants.

Buster was whimpering, a sound so high and broken it shattered what little composure I had left. His back legs were twisted at an unnatural angle, crushed. Blood was pooling dark and thick in the rainwater. He tried to wag his tail when he saw me, but only managed a weak thump against the ground.

"I've got you, baby, I've got you," I sobbed, trying to scoop him up. He was heavy, dead weight, and he yelped in agony as I moved him. Panic overrode my fear of the Alpha. Panic overrode everything.

I dragged him to my rusted sedan—a piece of junk I’d salvaged from the scrapyard years ago. I shoved Buster into the backseat, his blood staining the torn upholstery. I didn't care. I jumped into the driver's seat, my hands shaking so hard I dropped the keys twice before the engine sputtered to life.

I floored it. The car fishtailed in the mud, roaring toward the pack gates. The vet clinic was only three miles out. I could save him. I had to save him.

I was fifty yards from the exit when a sleek black SUV swerved in front of me, blocking the road.

I slammed on the brakes, my head whipping forward. Through the rain-slicked windshield, I saw him. Grayson stepped out of the SUV, not a drop of rain seeming to touch his immaculate suit. He didn't look like a mate; he looked like a grim reaper.

I scrambled out of the car, falling into a puddle. "Move!" I screamed, hysteria clawing at my throat. "Please, Grayson! He's dying!"

Grayson walked toward me slowly, his eyes flashing amber—his wolf was near the surface, angry at my audacity. "You left your post, Omega. Your penance isn't over."

"It's Buster!" I pointed frantically to the car where the dog’s whimpers were growing fainter. "The supply truck hit him. I need to get to the vet! Please, I’ll do anything, just let me pass!"

Grayson glanced at the rusted car, his expression devoid of empathy. He looked at me, shivering and covered in my dog's blood, and sneered. "A slave's mutt isn't worth a vet bill."

"He's not a mutt! He's all I have!" I lunged for the car door, desperate to drive around him.

Grayson didn't even move. He just flicked his hand. "Gamma Marcus. Stop her."

Marcus, the pack’s Gamma, stepped out from behind the SUV. In one fluid motion, he drew a jagged combat knife and slashed my front tires. *Hiss.* The car slumped forward, just like my heart.

"No!" I screamed, a raw, animalistic sound tearing from my throat. I tried to run to the car, to pick Buster up and carry him, but Grayson grabbed my arm. His grip was iron, bruising my skin instantly.

"You will learn your place, Wrenlee," he growled, his Alpha aura crushing the air out of my lungs. He spun me around, forcing me to face the backseat window. "Watch."

"Let me go! Let me save him!" I thrashed, scratching at his hand, but I was weak, wolfless, and starving. He held me there as the rain pounded against the roof of the car.

Inside, Buster lifted his head one last time. His brown eyes met mine through the glass. There was no accusation in them, only confusion. He let out a soft exhale, a puff of fog against the window, and then his head dropped.

The light in his eyes vanished.

I went limp in Grayson’s grip. The scream that had been building in my chest died, replaced by a cold, hollow silence. The rain washed the blood from my hands, but it would never wash this memory from my soul.

Grayson released me, shoving me toward the mud. "Clean yourself up. You have a vigil to keep."