My Alpha Ordered My Heart Cut Out for His Mistress

Three years. Three years of rotting in the silver-lined dungeons of the Shadow Creek Pack. The heavy iron door groaned open, and blinding, artificial light pierced my eyes. I flinched, my skin instinctively bracing for the burn of silver.

Rough hands grabbed my arms. "Get up, traitor. You're being released for a health check."

A health check? My inner wolf, weakened and poisoned by years of silver exposure, stirred faintly. Hope was a dangerous thing, but I let them drag me upward, out of the damp dark and into the sterile white halls of the pack clinic.

The smell of bleach and rubbing alcohol hit my nose. They shoved me into Room 4. Before I could process my surroundings, the guards forced me onto a cold steel operating table. Thick leather straps locked over my wrists, ankles, and chest.

"Wait," I croaked, my throat raw. "What is this?"

Dr. Marcus Webb, the pack's trusted physician, didn't look at me. He was busy arranging a tray of surgical instruments. My heart hammered against my ribs. The tools weren't standard stainless steel. They had the dull, deadly gleam of pure silver—coated to prevent a werewolf from healing.

And right in the center of the tray lay a heavy, mechanical chest spreader. Not a stethoscope.

"Dr. Webb?" I whispered.

He picked up a syringe. "I'm sorry, Elena. Alpha's orders."

He plunged the needle into my IV line. Liquid fire raced up my arm. Wolfsbane. A massive, concentrated dose. I gasped as my muscles locked up instantly. The fire turned to ice, freezing my limbs, paralyzing my vocal cords. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. I could only stare at the ceiling, trapped in my own body.

The clinic door clicked open.

"Is she prepped?"

My fated mate's voice. Alpha Paxton Meyer. Even after three years, the sound of his voice sent a sickening jolt through our frayed mate bond. He walked into my line of sight, his arm wrapped protectively around the delicate waist of Chloe Russell—his mistress. The woman who stole my life.

Chloe looked down at me, her eyes gleaming with a malicious delight that completely contradicted her fragile, sickly scent. "She's awake, Pax. Is it safe?"

"She can't move, baby," Paxton said, his tone dripping with that silky, manipulative warmth I once thought was love. "The wolfsbane has her completely paralyzed. It'll be over soon."

"We need to hurry," Dr. Webb murmured, snapping on his latex gloves. "If we don't transplant her Luna Heart into Chloe within the hour, Chloe's wolf will fail entirely."

My paralyzation couldn't stop the sheer horror flooding my mind. A Luna Heart. They weren't just killing me. They were harvesting my organs to save my usurper. I was nothing but spare parts to the mate who swore to protect me.

Then, the door opened again. Heavy, familiar footsteps.

"Arlo," Paxton said, his Alpha tone softening with pride.

My son. My baby boy. He stepped into view, and my soul shattered. He wasn't a little boy anymore. He was a teenager, tall and broad, wearing the arrogant sneer of a future Alpha. I desperately tried to twitch my fingers, to reach for him. *Arlo. Mommy's here.*

He stopped beside the operating table. He looked at my frozen, terrified face. There was no love in his eyes. Only disgust.

He leaned over and spat directly onto my cheek.

"Traitorous bitch," Arlo snarled, his voice cold and detached. He turned his back on me and reached out, gently taking Chloe's hand. "Don't worry, Mom. You're going to be okay now. We're getting rid of the rogue."

*Mom.*

He called her Mom.

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't just the mate bond tearing; it was the sacred, unbreakable thread of a mother's heart turning to ash. The agony was so absolute, so profound, that it bypassed my human consciousness and went straight to my dying wolf.

She didn't whimper. She roared.

Adrenaline, pure and feral, exploded through my veins, incinerating the wolfsbane.

Dr. Webb leaned over me, the cold silver scalpel pressing into the skin right above my sternum.

*Now.*

With a guttural snarl that shook the sterile walls, I forced a partial shift. Thick, razor-sharp claws erupted from my fingertips. I ripped my arms upward, snapping the thick leather straps like rotten twine.

Dr. Webb's eyes went wide. Before he could shout, I slashed my claws across his throat. Blood sprayed hot and bright across the white tiles. He collapsed, clutching his neck, gasping for air. It wasn't fatal, but he was down.

"Elena!" Paxton roared, lunging forward with his Alpha strength.

But he was too late, and too arrogant. I kicked out with both legs, catching him square in the chest. The force sent him flying backward into a massive glass cabinet of medical supplies. He crashed through it in an explosion of shattering glass and raining pills.

Chloe screamed, pulling Arlo back. My son stared at me in shock, but I didn't look at him. I couldn't. Not anymore.

I spun around, ignoring the burning wolfsbane still fighting my system, and threw my entire body weight against the clinic's second-story reinforced window.

The glass spider-webbed, then gave way.

I plummeted into the cold night air, the sharp shards raining down with me. I hit the dirt hard, my shoulder dislocating with a sickening crunch. I didn't care. I forced it back into place with a grunt of pain, my golden wolf eyes piercing the darkness.

I didn't look back at the clinic. I didn't look back at my past. I just ran, sprinting as fast as my legs could carry me toward the pack border, and toward my vengeance.