The Unwanted Mate: Her Secret White Wolf Identity

Jaimen POV:

Denial is a powerful drug. Even with the forensic report sitting on my desk, my mind was running in frantic circles, looking for an escape route.

*She can't be dead,* I told myself as I paced the interrogation room. *This is a trick. A plot by the Council to destabilize my pack.*

But the word on the window... *Murderer*.

"Bring in Golda," I had ordered.

Golda was Christeen's mother. She was an Elder, once respected, now rotting in the pack's nursing home because I had forbidden anyone to visit her.

The heavy steel door creaked open. Two guards dragged the old woman in. She looked frail, her grey hair matted, her clothes hanging off her skeletal frame. But her eyes... her eyes were burning with a hatred that could scorch the earth.

They threw her into the chair. She didn't cower. She spat on the floor.

"You look terrible, Alpha," Golda croaked, a grim smile revealing her yellowed teeth. "Guilt does not wear well on you."

"Where is she?" I slammed my hands on the metal table, leaning into her face. "Where is Christeen hiding? Did you help her fake the DNA test?"

Golda laughed. It was a dry, rattling sound. "You are more blind than a newborn pup, Jaimen. You think she is hiding? You think my daughter, who loved this pack more than her own life, would abandon her home?"

"She abandoned me!" I roared. "She cut the bond!"

"You cut it!" Golda screamed back, finding a sudden reserve of strength. She lunged against her restraints. "You rejected her! You ripped her soul in half while she watched you murder her baby!"

"Lily was weak!" I shouted, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. "I did what I had to do to save the heir!"

"The heir," Golda spat the word like a curse. "That abomination you call a son."

I grabbed the whip from the table. It was woven leather, soaked in Wolfsbane solution. Just touching the handle made my skin tingle uncomfortably. For a regular wolf, a strike would feel like liquid fire.

"Tell me the truth, old woman, or I will peel the skin from your back."

Golda leaned forward. She stared right into my eyes.

"The truth? You want the truth, Alpha?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The truth is that Christeen is here. Right now."

I froze. I looked around the room. Empty.

"She is screaming at you," Golda said, her eyes tracking something in the air behind me. "She is screaming, but you cannot hear her because you have no soul left to listen."

"Stop it!" I raised the whip.

"Strike me!" Golda challenged. "Send me to them. Send me to my daughter and my granddaughter. I would rather be with the dead than breathe the same air as you."

I brought the whip down.

*Crack.*

The leather bit into her shoulder. Smoke rose where the Wolfsbane touched her skin. Golda screamed, but she didn't beg.

"Where is she?" I struck her again.

"Dead!" Golda gasped.

"Liar!" *Crack.*

"She... died... alone!" *Crack.*

I was panting, my arm aching. Golda was slumped in the chair, bleeding, her breathing shallow.

"Ivanna..." Golda wheezed.

I paused, the whip raised. "What about Ivanna?"

*"Follow... the money," Golda rasped, blood bubbling at the corner of her lips. "Look at the day... my granddaughter died. Look at who got rich."*

I lowered the arm. *"What are you talking about?"*

Golda lifted her head. Blood ran down her chin. *"A witch's services... aren't cheap. And neither are mercenaries."*

*"Ivanna's mother is in exile," I argued, though my conviction was wavering. "She has no contact with the pack."*

*"Check the accounts, Jaimen," Golda whispered, her eyes sliding shut. "Check the withdrawals from three years ago. The truth is in the ledger."*

I stood there, the bloody whip in my hand, staring at the unconscious woman.

*Check the accounts.*

I turned and stormed out of the cell.

"Marcus!" I bellowed into the hallway. "Get the financial records from three years ago. Now!"

I needed to prove them wrong. I needed to prove that Ivanna was innocent, that Christeen was a traitor, and that I wasn't the villain in my own story.

But as I walked back to my office, the cold followed me. And for the first time, I realized the silence in my head wasn't just the absence of a mate.

It was the silence of a graveyard.