My Alpha Chose His Sister Over His Mate

I didn’t have a shovel. The Darkmoon Pack didn’t waste tools on slaves, even for a burial.

So, I used my hands.

The forest floor was a tangle of roots and unforgiving clay, made slick by the relentless Seattle rain. My fingernails broke, tearing down to the quick, and the mud that packed into the wounds stung like acid. I didn’t care. The physical pain was a distraction, a grounding tether that kept me from screaming until my throat bled.

Buster lay beside me, wrapped in my only blanket—a moth-eaten wool thing I’d had since I was sixteen. He looked small now. The life that had filled him, the unconditional love that had been the only thing keeping me sane in this hellhole, was gone. Extinguished because I wasn’t fast enough. Because I wasn’t important enough.

"I'm sorry, boy," I whispered, my voice a cracked ruin. "You deserved better than me."

I pushed the last mound of wet earth over his body, patting it down with trembling, bloody hands. I didn't mark the grave. Grayson would only desecrate it if he found it. This patch of woods, hidden behind the thorny brush near the border, would be our secret.

As I sat there in the mud, soaked to the bone, something inside me snapped. It wasn't a loud crack like a bone breaking; it was a quiet, final severance. For seven years, I had felt the pull of the mate bond toward Grayson—a pathetic, one-sided tug of longing that survived even his cruelty. My wolf might have been dormant, but my soul knew he was mine.

But as I looked at the dirt covering my dog, that pull froze. The heat that usually flared in my chest when I thought of the Alpha turned to ice. Absolute, shattering ice.

I stood up. My legs were numb, but my mind was crystal clear for the first time in a decade.

I walked back to the servant’s quarters, ignoring the stinging rain. Inside my small, damp shed, I knelt by the corner of the room and pried up a loose floorboard. Beneath it, wrapped in layers of plastic and an old t-shirt, was a burner phone and a solar charger. I had stolen it from a Rogue years ago, keeping it alive for a day I hoped would never come.

My hands shook as I powered it on. The screen flickered to life with 12% battery. I didn't hesitate. I dialed the number I had memorized a lifetime ago.

It rang once.

"Wren?" The voice on the other end was deep, calm, and laced with an authority that didn't need to shout to be heard. Calvin.

"He killed Buster," I said. My voice didn't sound like my own. It was devoid of emotion, hollowed out by grief.

There was a pause, a heavy silence that spanned an ocean. "I'm coming."

"No," I said, gripping the phone tight enough to crack the casing. "Not just to save me. I have a trade to make."

***

Twenty minutes later, I walked into the main Pack House.

The Gamma at the door wrinkled his nose at my scent—wet dog, mud, and death—but he didn't stop me. I wasn't moving like the cowering Omega they were used to. I walked with the dead-eyed focus of a ghost.

I pushed open the heavy oak doors to Alpha Grayson’s office without knocking.

Grayson was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. He looked up, his lip curling in disgust as he took in my appearance. I was dripping muddy water onto his pristine Persian rug, my hands caked in dried blood and dirt.

"You have some nerve, Omega," Grayson growled, his Alpha aura flaring to fill the room. Usually, this pressure would force me to my knees. Today, I just stood there. The ice in my chest was a shield his aura couldn't penetrate.

"I'm done," I said. The words were quiet, flat.

Grayson set his glass down hard. "You're done when I say you're done. Get back to the hospital. Sage needs—"

"Sage needs a miracle," I cut him off. The interruption stunned him into silence. No one interrupted the Alpha. "And you know the pack doctor can't wake her. She's been asleep for seven years, Grayson. She's fading."

He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His eyes flashed amber. "Watch your tongue, or I'll remove it."

"I can wake her."

The lie—or rather, the promise—hung in the air. Grayson narrowed his eyes, searching my face for the deceit he always claimed to see. "You? You're a wolfless curse. You can't even heal a scratch, let alone a magical coma."

"I can't," I agreed, stepping forward. I placed my muddy hands on the edge of his expensive desk, leaning in. "But Calvin O'Brien can."

Grayson froze. The name hit him like a physical blow. Calvin O'Brien wasn't just a doctor; he was the Head Healer of the Royal Lycan Pack in Europe. He was a legend. He was unreachable for a mid-tier Alpha like Grayson.

"You're lying," Grayson breathed, though doubt flickered in his eyes. "How would a slave know the Royal Healer?"

"That doesn't matter," I said coldly. "I have him on speed dial. He owes me a favor. I can have him here by tomorrow morning. He can bring Sage back to you."

Grayson stared at me, his chest heaving. The desperation to have his beloved Sage back was warring with his hatred for me. Desperation won. It always did.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Money? A better room?"

"I want out."

I held his gaze, my brown eyes clashing with his glowing amber ones. "I will bring Calvin here. He will wake Sage. And the moment she opens her eyes, you will accept my formal Rejection."

The room went silent. For a werewolf, rejection was the ultimate shame, a scarring of the soul. But for me, it was the only key to the cage.

Grayson let out a harsh, barking laugh. He looked at me with pure contempt. "You want me to reject you? You think that's a punishment? Wrenlee, being mated to you has been the greatest shame of my life. Breaking that bond would be a gift."

"Then do we have a deal?" I didn't flinch at his cruelty. His words couldn't hurt me anymore. You can't break something that's already dust.

"Fine," Grayson sneered, sitting back down and waving his hand dismissively. "Bring the Lycan. If Sage wakes up, you get your rejection. I'll throw you out of the territory myself."

"And if you're lying," he added, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "I will bury you in the woods right next to your mutt."

I turned around and walked to the door, leaving muddy footprints on the hardwood. I didn't look back.

"Deal," I whispered to the empty hallway.

The clock was ticking. Sage would wake up. And when she did, I would burn this pack to the ground with the truth.