My Alpha Sold Our Daughter to Pay His Debts

The morning sun filtered through the trees as I limped toward the training grounds, my leg still throbbing from yesterday's "accident." Archer walked beside me, his hand resting possessively on my lower back—a gesture that once brought comfort but now felt like a brand of ownership.

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard," he murmured, his voice carrying just enough concern to maintain his facade. "Your condition—"

"My condition is perfectly fine," I cut him off, straightening my spine. "As Luna, I have duties to fulfill. The pack needs to see me strong."

I felt his satisfaction radiating through our bond. He thought the poison was working—that I was growing weaker, more compliant. The irony wasn't lost on me; my supposed "recovery" was precisely what I needed to execute my plan.

The training grounds buzzed with activity as pack members prepared for the morning run. I spotted Marcus, Archer's Beta, directing younger wolves through combat drills. His eyes flickered to me briefly, a question in their depths that I couldn't quite decipher.

"Ready to join?" Archer asked, his tone light but his eyes watchful.

I nodded, stepping onto the field. The familiar scent of sweat and determination filled my nostrils as I moved among the pack members. They parted respectfully, some bowing their heads in deference to their Luna.

"Delta James," I called out, spotting the young wolf I'd researched extensively. Aggressive, impulsive, and eager to prove himself. Perfect.

The muscular young man approached, his eyes widening. "Yes, Luna?"

"I'd like to demonstrate proper defensive stance with you," I said, loud enough for others to hear. "To show the newer members."

Before Archer could intervene, I stepped into the sparring circle. James followed, his posture tense with excitement and nerves.

"Begin," I commanded.

We circled each other, my movements deliberate and controlled. James lunged forward, and I sidestepped gracefully, allowing him to regain his footing.

"Again," I instructed.

This time, when he charged, I dropped my guard deliberately—just for a moment, just enough. His claws slashed through my thigh in a spray of crimson.

Pain exploded through my leg as I collapsed to the ground. Blood soaked into the earth beneath me, staining the dirt dark red.

"Vanessa!" Archer's voice cut through the sudden commotion. Hands lifted me onto a stretcher as pack members shouted for Dr. Mitchell.

"It's fine," I gasped, clutching my leg. "Just a scratch."

But I knew better. The wound was deep—deep enough to require proper medical attention that our pack clinic couldn't provide.

"Get her to the hospital," Marcus barked orders. "Now!"

Archer's face contorted with fury as he leaned over me. "What were you thinking?" he hissed.

"That I needed to fulfill my duties," I whispered back, letting my eyes flutter closed. "Even if you won't let me."

The ambulance ride was a blur of sirens and pain. I drifted in and out of consciousness, aware of the paramedics working frantically around me.

"Blood pressure dropping," one called out. "We need to move faster."

As they loaded me into the ambulance, I reached out blindly, my fingers closing around a phone in one of the paramedic's pockets. No one noticed as I slipped it beneath my blanket.

"Stay with her," Archer ordered someone—likely one of his Gamma guards. "I'll meet you at the hospital."

The moment we were moving, I pulled out the phone with trembling fingers. I had less than a minute before we reached the hospital. Working quickly, I typed a message to my mother:

"Emergency. Need extraction. Hospital. 48 hours. Code: Oaklee's Birthday."

Then I deleted the message from the sent folder and slipped the phone back into the paramedic's jacket hanging nearby.

At the hospital, chaos erupted as doctors rushed me into surgery. The cut was worse than anyone had realized—deep enough to sever muscle tissue that would require specialized repair.

"Severe laceration," the surgeon explained to Archer. "We need to operate immediately."

I drifted under anesthesia, my last thought a prayer that my message had reached my mother.

When I woke, I was in a private room, monitors beeping steadily beside me. Archer sat in a chair by the window, his face dark with barely contained rage.

"You're causing quite the commotion," he said coldly. "I've arranged for your discharge. Dr. Mitchell can finish your treatment at home."

"No," I said firmly. "I'm staying here."

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "You're coming home where you belong."

The door burst open before I could respond. My mother, Abigail Daniels, swept into the room like a force of nature, flanked by four warriors from the Silvermoon Pack.

"I believe my daughter will be staying for a full observation period," she announced, her voice carrying the authority of a former Luna. "As is her right under inter-pack medical protocols."

Archer rose slowly, his eyes narrowing. "This is pack business, Abigail. You have no jurisdiction here."

"I have every right to ensure my daughter receives proper care," my mother countered. "And I've already contacted the Alpha Council to arrange a 48-hour observation period under neutral supervision."

The warriors moved to block the door as Archer took a step toward her.

"This isn't over," he growled.

"No," I said quietly, meeting his gaze. "It's just beginning."