My Mate Sent Me to Die for His Mistress

The Moonflower didn't exist.

I realized it the moment I reached the coordinates on Morgan's map—a clearing so deep in rogue territory that even the birdsong had died. The forest pressed in around me, dark and watchful. My wolf whimpered weakly, her senses dulled by whatever poison had been slowly destroying us.

There was no flower. Just trees and shadows and the creeping certainty that I'd walked into exactly what Morgan wanted.

The first rogue hit me from behind.

I went down hard, my face slamming into dirt and dead leaves. Before I could scream, rough hands grabbed my arms, wrenching them behind my back. My broken ribs—still not fully healed—cracked again under the weight of a knee pressing into my spine.

"Don't kill her." The voice was gravel and smoke. "Just make it look good."

A fist connected with my temple. White light exploded across my vision. I tasted copper, felt warmth trickling down my face. Blood. My blood.

They were methodical about it. One held me down while another tore at my clothes—ripping fabric, exposing skin. Not to assault me, I realized dimly through the pain. To make it look like something else entirely. The third rogue circled us, and I heard the distinct click of a camera phone.

Photos. They were taking photos.

"No," I choked out, trying to struggle. "Please—"

Another blow, this time to my ribs. The world tilted sickeningly.

Through the haze of agony, I reached desperately for the mate bond. *Kane. Kane, please. I need help. I need you.*

For one beautiful second, I felt him there. His presence, solid and strong, just on the other side of our connection. Relief flooded through me so intensely I sobbed.

*Kane, please, rogues—they're hurting me—*

And then the bond slammed shut.

Not gradually. Not gently. Like a door slamming in my face, the mental connection severed so abruptly I felt it like a physical blow. He'd blocked me out. Deliberately. Completely.

The rogues finished their work. One of them spat near my head before they melted back into the forest, leaving me broken and bleeding in the dirt.

I don't know how long I lay there. Time moved strangely, measured only in waves of pain and the growing cold seeping into my bones. Eventually, I dragged myself upright. My torn dress hung off me in shreds. Blood matted my hair, sticky and warm.

The walk back took hours. Every step was agony. My wolf was silent, too damaged to even whimper anymore. I stumbled through the forest like a ghost, leaving a trail of blood drops on the leaves.

By the time I reached the pack house, the sun had set. I pushed through the front door and collapsed in the foyer, my legs finally giving out.

"Help," I whispered to the empty hall. "Someone... please..."

Footsteps thundered down the stairs. For one stupid, hopeful moment, I thought Kane had come to save me.

Instead, he stood at the top of the staircase, his face twisted with rage I'd never seen before. In his hand, he held a phone.

"You disgusting liar."

He descended the stairs slowly, each step deliberate. Photographs fluttered down around me like poisoned snow—images of me in the clearing, clothes torn, rogues' hands on my skin. The angles made it look intimate. Willing. Like I'd wanted it.

"Kane, no—" I tried to push myself up, but my arms wouldn't hold me. "It's not what it looks like. They attacked me. I tried to mind-link you—"

"You tried to interrupt me while Morgan was dying!" His voice boomed through the foyer. Pack members appeared in doorways, drawn by the commotion. "She collapsed the moment you left. I was holding her, trying to keep her conscious, and you were in my head whining about rogues. So I blocked you out to focus on someone who actually needed help."

"I needed help," I sobbed. "Kane, I was being attacked—"

"You staged an attack." He threw the phone at me. It skittered across the marble, stopping inches from my bloodied hand. "To stress Morgan out. To make me feel guilty for sending you on a simple errand. You probably paid those rogues to rough you up and take pictures so you could play victim."

"No. No, Kane, please—"

His Alpha aura slammed down on me like a physical weight. I felt my bones grinding against the marble floor, my broken ribs screaming. Around us, pack members bared their necks in submission, but his focus was entirely on me.

"You are pathetic," he said quietly, and somehow that was worse than his shouting. "You're so jealous of Morgan that you'd endanger yourself, endanger this pack, just to get my attention."

"I went to get the flower," I gasped out, each word agony under the crushing weight of his dominance. "For her. I went for her—"

"There was no flower." Morgan's weak voice drifted from the top of the stairs. She leaned heavily on the bannister, pale and trembling. "My wolf stabilized on her own. The Moon Goddess blessed me with a miracle recovery."

She looked down at me with perfect, pitying sadness.

"I'm so sorry, Luna. I never meant for you to go through such lengths to help me."

Kane's expression softened as he looked at her. When he turned back to me, there was nothing but contempt.

"Get out of my sight."

He stepped over my broken body and climbed the stairs to Morgan, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to support her.

I lay bleeding on the marble floor of my own pack house, surrounded by wolves who wouldn't meet my eyes, and watched my mate walk away.

Again.