When My Alpha Chose His Mistress Over Saving Me

Walker found me in the hallway outside the kitchen, where the morning light came in slanted and gold. For a second, I thought he might smile. He hadn't smiled at me in almost a year, but hope is a stupid thing. It keeps trying.

"Sylvia is moving into the Luna suite," he said. "Today."

I didn't move. I felt my thumb press hard against the inside of my wrist before I knew I was doing it. The small bone there, the little pulse, the thing I used to count when I needed something to count.

"Today," I repeated.

"This morning." His voice was the one he used in meetings. Flat. Final. The Alpha tone that the pack obeyed without thinking. I had obeyed it too, for seven years. "She's been through enough, Eva. She needs somewhere that feels safe."

Safe. In my room.

I looked at the floor between us. There was a scratch in the wood from when Buster had skidded after a tennis ball, back when Buster was still allowed inside. I focused on it.

"Walker." I kept my voice low. I had learned how to keep my voice low. "Can I have a little time. To pack my things."

He checked his watch. Not his phone. His watch, the one his father had given him. He didn't even look up.

"Twenty minutes."

Then he walked away.

I stood there for what felt like a long time, but it couldn't have been more than three seconds. Three seconds of my whole life folding closed like a book somebody else was reading.

Then I went upstairs.

The Luna suite was the room I had decorated myself, slowly, over years. A blue chair by the window. Linen curtains I had hemmed by hand during the months I was on bed rest after the second loss. I touched the back of the chair as I walked past. I told myself, don't.

I started with the closet. Folding fast. Not folding, really. Stuffing. I told myself I'd refold everything later, wherever later was.

The door opened without a knock.

Sylvia came in first, her hair loose down her back, wearing one of those soft cream sweaters that always made her look like she was about to cry. Behind her, two omegas I didn't know dragged in matching luggage. Brand new. The price tags were still on the handles.

"Oh," she said, like she was surprised to see me. Like this wasn't her doing. "Eva. I didn't realize you'd still be here."

I didn't answer. I went to the bookshelf where I kept the cedar box. It was small. Plain. Walker had never asked what was inside it. He had walked past it for two years without once asking.

Inside it was a lock of fur. Soft and grey, the color of weather. From the third one. The one I had carried the longest. The one I had almost named.

I reached for the box.

Sylvia stepped forward at the exact moment my hand closed around it. Her shoulder hit mine, not hard, but on purpose, the kind of bump you can pretend was an accident if anyone asks. The box jumped out of my fingers. It hit the floor and bounced once.

Walker was in the doorway. I hadn't heard him come up the stairs.

He took one step. His boot came down.

The sound it made was small. A dry, splintering crack. Like a finger snapping. Like nothing at all.

I made a noise. I don't know what kind. I dropped to my knees and gathered the pieces with both hands. Splinters of cedar. The tiny brass hinge bent sideways. The lock of fur loose now, free, mine, ruined.

"Eva." Walker's voice was tired. "Don't be dramatic."

I looked up at him. I looked up at him for a long time. He looked away first, at his watch again, like time was the thing in the room that mattered.

Sylvia was already opening a drawer.

They moved me to a room in the east wing that smelled like dust and old paint. The cot had no sheets. I sat down on the bare mattress with the pieces of the locket in my lap and finally, finally, I cried. Not loud. The way I had learned to cry in this house. Into the heel of my hand.

Something stirred inside me. Not words. Sable had never used words. Just a weight, settling, the way a wolf lies down beside you in the dark. And what she said without saying it was, you knew. You knew for years.

I did. I had.

I went down to the kitchen at two in the morning because my hands needed something to do that wasn't shaking. I pulled flour off the shelf. I kneaded a dough I did not need. The kitchen was dark and I did not turn on the light.

In the morning I came down to breakfast because I did not know what else to do. Sylvia was already at the table, in my chair, laughing at something Walker had said. Around her neck, catching the light, was the Luna pendant. The ceremonial one. The one only the Alpha could give.

I looked at Walker.

He looked at his plate.

In the doorway, Derek Holt stood very still with a folder under his arm. He did not look away. He watched Walker not meet my eyes, and something quiet and careful passed behind his face. He didn't speak. He just kept watching.