My Alpha Sold Me to a Rival Pack

The silence in my room was absolute, but the noise in my blood was deafening. I lay curled on the rug, my back pressed against the cold draft of the balcony door. The aftershocks of Jackson’s Alpha Tone still rattled through my bones, a phantom vibration that made my teeth ache. But it was the fever that scared me.

For ten years, my body had been a quiet, empty vessel. The silver poisoning in my wrist was a dull, constant ache, a reminder of the wolf I had sacrificed. But tonight, the ache wasn't dull. It was searing. It felt like someone had lit a match inside my veins, the heat traveling from the scarred tissue of my wrist up to my shoulder, curling around my heart.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gasping as a spasm of pain twisted my gut. I waited for the darkness to swallow me, for the exhaustion to win.

Instead, something snapped.

It wasn't a sound I heard with my ears. It was a ripple in the void where my wolf used to be. A pressure. A presence.

*Hunt.*

The word didn't come from my thoughts. It growled from the base of my spine, ancient and hungry. My eyes flew open, staring into the dark. My breath hitched. For a decade, I had been alone in my own skin. Tonight, for the first time, I wasn't.

*Hunt.*

Before I could process the terrifying, exhilarating return of that voice, static exploded in my head. It was a mental link—weak, crackling like a bad radio connection, but distinct.

*"Lina... Lina, answer me."*

Elias.

I pressed my forehead against the floorboards, focusing all my energy on that slender thread of connection. Usually, wolfless pack members couldn't mind-link at all. The fact that I could hear him meant the silver blockade was cracking.

*"I'm here,"* I projected back, the mental words feeling heavy and sluggish. *"I'm alive."*

*"Barely,"* Elias’s voice was tight with suppressed rage. *"I heard the shot. The whole pack is in chaos. Jackson is in the infirmary getting the silver dug out of his shoulder. He’s furious, Lina. He’s planning to move up the ceremony."*

*"Let him plan,"* I thought, my mind sharpening through the fever. *"Did you find the ghost?"*

*"I found him."* The static cleared for a moment, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. *"Dante talked. It wasn't just an ambush, Lina. Jackson paid them. He paid them to herd Timothy into the canyon. He watched from the ridge."*

A sob threatened to choke me, but the voice in my spine growled again, swallowing the grief and leaving only cold, diamond-hard fury. *Hunt.*

*"Proof,"* I demanded. *"Dante’s word won't stand against an Alpha."*

*"Dante didn't keep the money,"* Elias replied. *"He kept the leverage. He said Jackson didn't pay in cash; he paid in uncut diamonds stolen from the pack vault. Jackson kept the receipt of the transfer and the original hit order in a safe deposit box. But the key... Dante says Jackson never trusts banks with the key. He keeps it on him. Or near him."*

I looked toward the door. *"He keeps his trophies close,"* I realized. *"The Alpha's Study. My father's old desk. There's a false bottom in the center drawer. He thinks I don't know about it because I was 'just a girl' when he moved in."*

*"The guards are doubled outside your door,"* Elias warned.

*"Then give them a reason to leave."*

There was a pause, then a dark chuckle echoed in my mind. *"Give me two minutes. Get to the study. Find that key."*

The link severed. I dragged myself up, my legs trembling. I moved to the door, pressing my ear against the wood. I could hear the heavy breathing of the two enforcers stationed outside.

One minute passed. Then two.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek tore through the Pack House. The fire alarm. Not just the sound, but the sprinklers hissed to life in the hallway, followed by shouts of "Fire in the kitchen!" and the thundering of boots.

"Secure the prisoner!" one guard shouted.

"The smoke is coming from the vents! We need to evacuate the wing!" the other yelled back. "Go help the suppression team, I'll hold the position!"

I heard one set of footsteps run off. One guard remained.

I knelt by the door. I didn't have a key, but I had a bobby pin I’d pulled from my hair, and I had a skill set that didn't belong to a princess. Jackson had taught me how to pick a lock when he was just a rogue boy trying to impress me. *"Always leave a back door, Lina,"* he’d said, guiding my hands. *"You never know when you'll need to run."*

The irony tasted like ash in my mouth.

I slid the pin into the lock, feeling for the tumblers. My hands, usually shaky from the nerve damage, were steady now. The voice in my head was an anchor. *Click. Click.*

*Snap.*

The lock turned. I waited for the guard to shift his weight, the squeak of his boot masking the sound of the latch opening. I cracked the door. The hallway was filling with white smoke—flou from the kitchen, I guessed, not real fire. Elias was dramatic, but efficient.

The remaining guard was coughing, waving his hand in front of his face, his back to me.

I slipped out. Barefoot. Silent.

I moved like a shadow through the smoke, bypassing the main staircase and taking the servants' corridor toward the Alpha's wing. The house was in pandemonium. Maids were running with towels; warriors were shouting orders. No one looked at the 'wolfless cripple' pressing herself into the alcoves.

The door to the Alpha's Study—my father’s study—was ajar.

I slipped inside and closed it softly. The room smelled of old leather, cigar smoke, and *him*. Jackson’s scent was everywhere, overlaying the comforting smell of my father. It made my stomach turn.

I didn't waste time. I went straight to the massive mahogany desk. I fell to my knees, ignoring the sharp pain in my caps, and pulled open the center drawer. It was filled with pack ledgers and Jackson’s expensive fountain pens.

I felt under the drawer, my fingers tracing the wood grain until I found the small imperfection. A tiny latch. I pressed it.

*Click.*

The false bottom popped up.

My heart hammered against my ribs. There, resting on a bed of velvet, was a single, silver key. It wasn't a modern bank key. It was old, ornate, and marked with a symbol I recognized—a private vault in the city that catered to the supernatural underground.

I snatched the key, my fingers curling around the cold metal.

"Got you," I whispered.

*Hunt,* the voice purred, satisfied.

Then, the doorknob turned.