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My Alpha Rejected Me for His Mistress Novel Cover

My Alpha Rejected Me for His Mistress

Three years after Alpha Declan claimed her as his fated mate, Eleanor Voss, Luna of the Shadowridge Pack, faces a devastating betrayal. Dressed in silver silk beneath flickering candles, she waits for the man who once swore eternal devotion. Instead, she is met with cold abandonment. This emotional werewolf romance follows a rejected Luna as she confronts the painful shattering of their sacred bond, forced to navigate the ruins of a love sacrificed for another woman.
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Chapter 3

The pack healer's clinic smelled like antiseptic and dried lavender. I sat on the examination table with my wrist cradled against my chest and my ribs taped so tight I had to breathe shallow.

The healer—her name was Iris, she had been with Shadowridge for twelve years—worked in silence. She checked the brace on my wrist, pressed gently along my ribs to test for additional fractures, and wrote notes on her tablet without meeting my eyes.

I could have done this myself. I knew exactly where the cracks were, how deep the bruising went, which herbs would reduce the inflammation fastest. But I sat still and let her work, because this was not about my injuries. This was about the record.

"You'll need to keep the brace on for three weeks," Iris said quietly. "And no shifting until the ribs are fully healed. At least ten days."

"I understand."

She hesitated. Her fingers hovered over the tablet. Then she set it down and finally looked at me.

"Luna," she said. "I have to ask. Do you need—"

"I'm fine," I said.

She nodded slowly. She did not believe me. But she did not ask again.

When I left the clinic, the sun was setting. The pack house windows glowed warm against the dark. Inside, I knew, Declan was with Aaliyah. Making sure she was all right. Making sure the wound I had given her was properly treated.

I walked back to the Luna quarters alone.

That night, I sat at my desk and opened the secure channel. My right hand was clumsy in the brace, so I typed left-handed. It took longer, but I did not care.

*Incident report: Friday evening, pack lounge. Physical altercation initiated by this correspondent. Injuries sustained when intervening Alpha used excessive force, resulting in contact with reversing vehicle. Right wrist fractured. Three ribs cracked. Pack healer declined to ask follow-up questions regarding cause of altercation. Witness list attached.*

I attached the photo Iris had taken of my ribs. The bruising was already dark purple, spreading from my sternum to my side.

I sent it.

Idris Crane replied within thirty minutes. *Received. Continue documentation. Council investigators are monitoring.*

I closed the laptop and opened my journal. Wolfsbane. Arnica. Valerian. I wrote each name slowly, carefully, until my hand stopped shaking.

The mark on my neck was still cold.

---

The Luna quarters were on the third floor of the pack house, down a long hallway that was always too quiet. I spent most of my time in the small study attached to the bedroom, working through pack correspondence, reviewing event schedules, managing the things a Luna was supposed to manage.

I did not notice the scarf was missing until Wednesday.

It was grey, soft wool, my mother's. I had brought it with me when I accepted Declan's mark three years ago. It carried my scent more strongly than anything else I owned—something about the weave held it. I kept it folded in the second drawer of my dresser.

When I opened the drawer to put away laundry, the space where it should have been was empty.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty spot. Then I checked the other drawers. The closet. The bathroom. Nothing.

My wolf stirred. Not alarmed. Just... aware.

I did not report it. Not yet. A missing scarf was not evidence of anything. But I made a note in my journal, dated and timed, and I kept the page marked.

---

The Harvest Moon Banquet was in four days.

The pack house was busy with preparations. The event coordinator had taken over the main hall, directing warriors to move tables and hang garlands of autumn leaves and late-blooming asters. The kitchens smelled like roasting meat and spiced cider.

I was in my study, reviewing the final seating chart, when I heard Sophia's laugh through the open window.

I looked out.

She was in the garden below, running between the flower beds with Aaliyah close behind. Aaliyah was smiling, her arms outstretched, pretending to chase her. Sophia shrieked with delight and ducked behind a rosebush.

Aaliyah caught her gently and spun her around. Sophia's curls flew out in a dark halo. When Aaliyah set her down, Sophia wrapped her arms around Aaliyah's waist and pressed her face into her stomach.

"Aunt Aaliyah," she said. "You're the best."

Aaliyah stroked her hair. "You're my favorite, sweetheart. You know that."

I watched them for a long time.

Something was wrong. I could feel it the way I could feel a fever starting under someone's skin before they knew they were sick. The wrongness had a shape, but I could not see it yet.

Aaliyah had never paid this much attention to Sophia before. She had been polite, occasionally affectionate, but not like this. Not this constant, deliberate warmth.

Sophia's trust was being built. Carefully. Brick by brick.

But I had no evidence. No reason I could name. And if I went to Declan's sister and said, "Keep Sophia away from Aaliyah," what would I say when she asked why?

That I had a feeling?

That my wolf was uneasy?

They would think I was jealous. Paranoid. A weak Luna lashing out.

So I said nothing.

I watched Aaliyah braid Sophia's hair in the garden, her fingers quick and gentle, and I wrote it down in my journal. Date. Time. Location. Witnesses.

And I waited.

---

On Thursday night, I saw Aaliyah leaving the pack house kitchens with a small bag in her hand. She did not see me—I was in the shadows near the back staircase, returning from a meeting with the Gamma.

She walked quickly, her head down, and disappeared into the east wing where her rooms were.

The bag was cloth, tied at the top. I could not see what was inside.

But I could smell it.

Faintly. Just a trace on the air as she passed.

My scent.

My wolf went very still.

I did not follow her. I went back to my study, locked the door, and opened my laptop.

*Observation: Suspect observed carrying cloth bag with correspondent's scent. Location: pack house main floor, near kitchens. Time: 21:47. Witness: this correspondent only.*

I sent it to Idris Crane.

Then I sat at my desk and pressed two fingers to the mark on my neck.

It was still cold. Colder now.

Good.

I was going to need it.

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