My Alpha Let His Mistress Kill Our Pup

White light stabbed through my eyelids as consciousness returned. I winced, turning my head away from the glare. The antiseptic smell of the pack hospital filled my nostrils, sharp and clinical.

"She's awake," someone whispered.

I tried to lift my hand to shield my eyes, but pain shot through my fingers. My right hand lay bandaged and immobilized in a splint. The memory crashed back—Ethan's boot crushing down, bones snapping under his weight.

"Where...?" My voice cracked, throat raw from screaming.

A healer appeared in my field of vision, her face carefully neutral. "Luna Jocelyn, you've been unconscious for three days."

Three days. My free hand flew to my stomach, flat now where it had been slightly rounded. "My baby?"

The healer's eyes softened with pity. "I'm sorry. The trauma was too severe."

Something inside me shattered, but I couldn't cry. The tears had dried up, leaving only a hollow ache that spread through my chest.

"And the Dowager Luna?" I whispered.

"Ethan held a private burial yesterday." The healer looked away. "The injuries were too severe. We couldn't save her."

I closed my eyes, processing the magnitude of my loss. My child. My protector. My mate's soul. All gone in a single moment of violence.

"There's something else," the healer continued, her voice dropping lower. "Your hand... the damage is permanent. Three fingers are fused and won't fully extend again."

I stared at the bandaged mess that had been my right hand. The Luna's ring still hung from my swollen index finger, a mockery of what I once was.

"Will there be a formal mourning period?" I asked, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.

"Yes. Alpha Ethan has called a pack gathering tonight to honor the Dowager Luna."

---

The great hall was filled with somber faces when I arrived that evening. My arm in a sling, I wore a simple black dress that hung loose where it had once curved over my growing child. Whispers followed me as I moved through the crowd.

"Luna Jocelyn," they murmured, some with pity, others with thinly veiled satisfaction.

At the front of the hall stood Ethan, his face impassive in formal Alpha mourning attire. Beside him, Salma glittered in a silver gown that caught the light with every movement. Around her neck hung the Luna's ceremonial necklace—my grandmother's necklace—and on her wrist sparkled the silver cuffs that had been passed down through generations of Silverclaw Lunas.

My wolf snarled within me, but I kept my expression blank as I approached.

"Alpha," I said, lowering my eyes as protocol demanded.

"Jocelyn." His voice was cold, distant. "You will apologize to Salma publicly for your accusations."

I raised my eyes to meet his, searching for any flicker of the mate who had once loved me. There was nothing but amber ice.

"I'm waiting," he said.

I turned to Salma, who smiled with triumph barely concealed behind false sympathy.

"I apologize for my accusations," I said mechanically. "I was... confused after the accident."

"Of course you were, dear," Salma cooed, reaching out to pat my cheek. Her touch made my skin crawl. "We all understand."

As she turned to whisper something to Ethan, I noticed a phone on the side table behind her—a cheap burner phone, not her usual expensive model. With practiced sleight of hand learned from years of Luna duties requiring discretion, I slipped it into my pocket.

---

The crash site looked different in the morning light. Yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze as I made my way down the ravine, ignoring the pain in my still-healing body.

I knelt beside the wreckage, searching for my grandmother's silver locket that had been torn from my neck during the attack. The metal frame was twisted, but the locket remained intact, tucked beneath a piece of broken glass.

As I reached for it, a scent caught my attention—distinct, unmistakable. Expensive European cigars mixed with old leather. A scent I hadn't encountered in years but would never forget.

Rex Rogers. Ethan's father. The former Alpha who had been exiled to Europe for his crimes against the pack.

My fingers froze on the locket. This wasn't just Salma's jealousy. This was calculated. Planned.

I lifted my head, sniffing again to confirm. The scent was faint but clear—Rex had been here. Recently.

"This wasn't just a crime of passion," I whispered to myself, clutching the locket. "This was a coup."

And I had walked right into the middle of it, losing everything I loved in the process.

As I stood, a cold clarity washed over me. Grief crystallized into something harder, sharper. The broken pieces of my heart reformed into something unbreakable.

They thought they had destroyed me. They were about to learn how wrong they were.