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The Alpha Signed Away His Fated Mate Novel Cover

The Alpha Signed Away His Fated Mate

I stood center stage at my own art exhibition, surrounded by the Pack elite who looked at me with nothing but pity. My husband, the Alpha Prime, was missing. Then someone pointed at the TV. There was Dante, live on the news, shielding another woman—a leggy Beta named Isabella—from the rain with his own body. While I stood alone, treated like a defect because I couldn't shift, he was playing the perfect gentleman to his mistress. That night, I walked into his office with a stack of boring gallery logistics paperwork. Buried deep on page four was a Severance Bond—an archaic law declaring a mate unwanted property. Dante didn't even read it. He was too busy laughing with Isabella to notice he was legally signing away his wife. I took the folder, packed a bag, and vanished into the night, taking the secret of his unborn heir with me. When he finally tracked me down in the Swiss Alps during a blizzard, he expected a submissive wife ready to return. Instead, he found a woman who looked him in the eye and said, "You are not needed here." I thought I was free, until a year later, when our daughter’s blood began to burn her alive from the inside. Her powerful Alpha bloodline was at war with her body, and my magic wasn't enough to save her. Trembling, I dialed the number I swore I’d never call again. "Dante," I sobbed. "It's Luna. She’s dying." The man who once treated me like a resource tore through mountains to save us. But this time, the Alpha Prime didn't come to conquer. He came to kneel.
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Chapter 3

Elara POV:

The Sovrano mansion wasn't a home. It was a mausoleum with better furniture.

I moved fast, shoving cash and Julian’s fake ID into a duffel bag. No clothes. No jewelry. Just survival gear.

My phone pinged.

*From: Silver Peak Sanctuary, Switzerland.*

*Subject: Application Approved.*

Switzerland. Neutral ground. The one place Pack Law couldn't touch me.

I reached for a sweater, and the room tilted.

A wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to grab the bedpost. And the smell—my senses were suddenly dialed to eleven. I could smell the dust in the vents. I could hear a squirrel's heartbeat in the yard.

*No. Not now.*

The Heat. Last month. Dante had come home wired from a border skirmish. It hadn't been love making; it had been biology.

I scrambled to the bathroom, ripping open a box of "Silver-Strip" tests.

Three minutes. Eternity.

I looked down. The strip wasn't just blue. It was glowing a violent, pulsating crimson.

*Positive. High Alpha Bloodline detected.*

I clamped a hand over my mouth.

Pregnant.

Cold panic washed over me. If Dante knew...

He wouldn't see a child. He’d see an heir. He’d take the baby, raise it in the "Blood Moon" way—cold, ruthless, a soldier first and a person second. And me? I’d be the incubator locked in the nursery.

"No," I whispered. "Not my baby."

I realized why he hadn't smelled it yet. The nausea masked it. But soon, I’d smell like milk and new life.

I chewed a handful of "Ghost Briar" from Julian’s stash. It tasted like dirt and ash, but it killed the scent.

My hand hovered over my flat stomach. There was a pulse there. Strong. Too strong for a few weeks.

My wolf lifted her head. She didn't whine. She snarled.

*Run,* she commanded. *Now.*

I zipped the bag. I wanted to leave a letter. I wanted to scream at him. But anger was a luxury I couldn't afford.

I had to be a ghost.

"Hold on, little one," I whispered to my belly. "We're going somewhere the orders don't reach."

*

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