My Alpha Wanted His Mistress and My Luna Mark

I woke before dawn and decided to claim the kitchen.

It was a Luna's domain — the place where meals were planned, pack routines set, the rhythm of the house established. If I couldn't sleep in the Alpha quarters, if I couldn't shake the floral scent from the curtains or stop Barnaby from ignoring me in the hallways, I could at least stand in that kitchen and make breakfast. It was small. It was something.

I dressed quickly, pulled my hair back, and walked down the corridor while the house was still quiet. The guest room door clicked shut behind me. My wolfsbane-scarred hand throbbed faintly under the bandage Maren had wrapped yesterday, a dull ache that hadn't faded the way a normal wound should have.

But when I pushed open the kitchen door, Lia was already there.

She stood at the stove in a soft cotton dress, her hair tied back with a ribbon, stirring a pot of oatmeal with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand mornings in a row. The counter was laid out with precision — sliced fruit, honey, cream, mugs arranged in a perfect line. The smell of coffee filled the room. She looked up when I entered, and her smile was gentle, apologetic, like she'd accidentally taken my seat on a bus.

"Oh, Florence," she said softly. "I didn't know you'd be up so early. I was just getting breakfast ready for the pack."

I stopped in the doorway. My wolf, who'd been scraping at my ribs since yesterday, went still and tense.

"I can help," I said.

Her smile didn't waver. "That's so sweet of you. Here — why don't you grab that pot? I need to strain the tea."

She gestured toward the stove, where a large kettle sat steaming. I crossed the room, reached for the handle —

And she tipped it.

The boiling water hit my outstretched hand in a single, searing wave. I gasped, jerked back, but the damage was already done. My skin blistered instantly, red and raw and wrong, the pain so sharp it punched the air out of my lungs. Wolfsbane. I could smell it now, acrid and bitter, laced through the water like poison.

Lia released a high, theatrical shriek.

"Oh my God! Oh no, oh no, I'm so sorry!" Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide and horrified. "I didn't see you — I thought you were reaching for the other pot — Florence, I'm so sorry!"

The kitchen door slammed open.

Cassius burst through, his Alpha aura flooding the room before his body even cleared the threshold. His eyes swept the scene — me clutching my blistered hand, Lia with her hands over her mouth, the overturned kettle on the floor.

He moved without thinking.

His body crossed the room in three strides and pulled Lia behind him, one arm extended protectively, his aura flaring hot and defensive around her like a shield. She folded into his chest, trembling, her face buried against his shoulder.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded, his voice rough with concern. His hand cupped the back of her head.

She shook her head, muffled against his shirt. "I'm fine. I'm fine. But Florence — Cassius, I burned her, I didn't mean to —"

He murmured something low and soothing into her hair.

I stood alone on the other side of the kitchen, my hand blistering and raw, unshielded, unnoticed. The wolfsbane was eating through my skin, and my wolf — my silent, dormant wolf — slammed against my ribs in a single, violent surge of fury so sharp I swayed on my feet.

Cassius didn't look at me once.

Maren arrived minutes later, summoned by someone I didn't see. She took one look at my hand and her jaw tightened. She didn't speak. She just guided me to the corner of the kitchen, away from Cassius and Lia, and opened her medical kit with quick, practiced movements.

Across the room, Cassius was still murmuring to Lia, his hand stroking her back, his voice a low, steady rumble of comfort.

Maren cleaned the wound in silence. The wolfsbane had seared deep, past the first layer of skin, and even with a werewolf's healing it would take days to close. She wound the bandage carefully, her hands gentle and deliberate, and I watched her face. Her lips were pressed together in visible distress. She refused to look at Cassius. She refused to look anywhere near him.

Her silence was weighted with everything she couldn't say in front of her Alpha.

I understood then. She had known about Lia for a long time. The pack's inner circle had known. They had all been too afraid of their Alpha to speak it.

When Maren finished, she pressed a small tin of salve into my uninjured hand and met my eyes for just a moment. There was pity there again, deep and aching, the kind you give someone standing at the edge of a cliff.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

She nodded once and stepped back.

I stood, cradling my bandaged hand against my chest, and walked out of the kitchen without a word to Cassius. He didn't call after me. He didn't even turn around.

The guest room door closed behind me with a soft click, and I sank onto the edge of the bed. My hand throbbed. My wolf snarled, low and furious, a sound I felt more than heard.

I rubbed the mate mark on my neck with my good hand, the gesture automatic, nervous, and stared at the wall.

Somewhere below me, I heard Lia's soft laugh.

My wolf scraped harder.