My Mate Rejected Me for His Mistress at the Ceremony

The compound was nothing like the Ironclad Pack house.

Angelo's Summit preparation base sat in neutral territory, a sprawling complex of stone and timber that looked like it had been built to last centuries. High ceilings. Wide hallways. Windows that actually let in light. The guards at the gate didn't stare when we arrived. They nodded to Angelo, glanced at me and Buster, and stepped aside.

Angelo led us through the main hall without ceremony. No introductions. No explanations to the wolves we passed. Just a steady walk deeper into the compound until we reached a corridor in the east wing.

He stopped at a door and pushed it open. "Your quarters," he said.

I stepped inside. Private room. Real bed. A desk by the window with clean paper and pens already laid out. A attached bathroom I could see through the half-open door. Buster pressed against my legs, his nose twitching as he took in the new smells.

"The strategy room is two floors down," Angelo continued. "We meet at dawn. You'll have full access to all Summit intelligence files and tactical records. Your name will be listed on the partnership roster as co-strategist, not as a consultant."

I turned to look at him. "Co-strategist."

"Equal partner," he said. "That was the contract."

I pressed my thumb against my wrist. My pulse was steady. Sixty-two beats per minute. "Your people are going to have questions."

"My people adjust quickly." He glanced at Buster, who was now sniffing the corner of the room with intense focus. "The pup stays with you. If he needs anything, tell the kitchen staff directly. They answer to me."

He left before I could respond. The door closed with a quiet click.

I stood there for a long moment, looking at the bed. At the desk. At the window that overlooked a training yard where wolves were running drills in formation. Then I sat down at the desk and pulled the first stack of intelligence files toward me.

Buster curled up under the desk near my feet. Within ten minutes, he was asleep.

I read until my eyes burned.

The next morning, I walked into the strategy room at dawn and found eight wolves already seated around a long table. Maps covered the walls. Tactical displays glowed on mounted screens. The air smelled like coffee and old paper.

Angelo was at the head of the table. He gestured to the empty chair at his right. "Aria Brooks, co-strategist. She'll be leading tactical analysis for the Summit trials."

I sat. The wolves stared. One of them—a broad-shouldered man with grey starting at his temples—nodded slowly. "Reid," he said. "Future Beta."

"Aria," I replied.

Angelo slid a file across the table to me. "Semi-final trial parameters. Review and advise."

I opened it. Read the terrain specs, the team composition rules, the scoring system. It took me maybe three minutes to spot the trap—a clause about mind-link communication that most teams would miss until it cost them.

I looked up. "The mind-link restriction applies to the Alpha only, not the full team. Most strategists will assume it's universal and overcorrect. We can use that."

Reid leaned forward slightly. "How?"

I pulled one of the maps toward me and marked three positions with a pen. "Split communication. Alpha stays silent. Secondary guides coordinate through standard howl patterns here and here. The other teams will be operating half-blind. We won't be."

Silence. Angelo was watching me with that same unreadable expression. Reid studied the map.

"That assumes our secondary guides can read terrain faster than their Alphas can adapt," Reid said carefully.

I looked at him. "It does."

"And you're confident in that assumption?"

"I wrote the terrain analysis protocol the Ironclad Pack used for five years," I said. "It's the same framework three of the Summit teams are currently using. I know how they'll move before they do."

Reid blinked. Then he sat back. "Understood."

Angelo's mouth curved slightly. Not quite a smile. "Anything else?"

I flipped through the rest of the file. Pointed out two more adjustments. A supply cache vulnerability. A timing gap in the patrol rotations. By the time I finished, the rest of the table was taking notes.

When the meeting ended, Reid stayed behind. He waited until the room cleared, then walked over to the intelligence cabinet and started rearranging files. I watched him pull my analysis sheets from the bottom of the stack and move them to the top. Reorganize the terrain maps to match the system I'd referenced.

He didn't say anything. Just worked methodically until the entire cabinet reflected my organizational structure.

Then he looked at me. "The Prince doesn't make casual decisions," he said quietly. "If you're here, you earned it."

He left.

I stood there alone in the strategy room, pressing my thumb against my wrist. My pulse was calm. Steady.

I'd earned it.

Three days later, a new intelligence report arrived during the morning briefing.

Angelo set it on the table in front of me without comment. I picked it up and read.

Ironclad Pack. Alpha status update. Ivan's wolf showing signs of deterioration. Visible loss of sheen. Aura weakening. Pack healers unable to identify cause or provide treatment. Recommended monitoring.

I read it twice. Then I set it down and returned to the tactical maps I'd been reviewing.

Behind the locked door in my chest, something stirred. Not Sage. Not yet. But something. A recognition. A confirmation of what I already knew.

The bond's destruction had a cost.

And Ivan was paying it.

I pressed my thumb against my wrist and counted my pulse. Sixty beats per minute. Steady.

I picked up my pen and went back to work.