When My Mate Chose His Mistress

I came home to an empty Alpha suite.

Caden was at Macy's apartment. I knew, because Phoebe had pinged his phone an hour ago, and the location pinned itself to a building on Cedar Street I'd never set foot in. He'd told me he had a late strategy session with the Riverbend Beta.

Good. I needed the quiet.

I walked through the kitchen and set my keys on the counter. The marble was cold under my palm when I leaned against it. My wolf was still inside me, alert but calm. Waiting.

I opened the drawer beside the fridge and pulled out a single sheet of cream-colored stationery. The Wallace crest was embossed in the top corner. I almost laughed.

I sat down at the island and uncapped my pen.

*I, Natalia Diane Campbell, daughter of Diane Campbell, hereby reject Caden Wallace, Alpha of the Shadowridge Pack, as my fated mate. I sever the bond between us, incomplete as it is, with full intent and clear mind. From this moment forward, I claim no title, name, or obligation tied to him. So speaks the wolf. So binds the Moon.*

I signed it.

*Natalia Diane Campbell.*

Not Wallace. I had never been Wallace. I had only been a woman who let a man borrow her name.

I slid the Luna ring off my finger. It came off easily, like it had been waiting. I set it on top of the paper, dead-center, pressing the metal down to hold the page flat.

My finger tapped once against the counter. Done.

I went upstairs.

I packed one bag. Two pairs of jeans, three sweaters, the cashmere coat my mother had given me last Christmas. Underwear. Toothbrush. The small wooden box where I kept my mother's letters. The three encrypted drives went into the inside pocket of my jacket, zipped tight.

I didn't touch the closet full of dresses Caden had bought me. I didn't touch the jewelry he'd given me at anniversaries he barely remembered. I didn't even take the framed photo from our mating ceremony.

None of it had ever been mine.

I walked back down the stairs with my bag in one hand. At the front door, I paused. I looked back at the great hall once—the high ceilings I'd had repainted, the chandelier I'd ordered from Vermont, the alliance banners I'd negotiated into existence.

My work would stay. My name would not.

I opened the door and stepped out into the dark.

The night air was sharp and cold. My car sat in the gravel drive, headlights off. I slid into the driver's seat and put my hands on the wheel.

My wolf finally moved.

She didn't grieve. She didn't keen for the broken bond or whimper for the male we were leaving behind. She threw back her head inside my chest and *howled*—loud, ringing, wild. A howl of liberation. A howl that said *finally, finally, finally.*

I started the engine and drove away from the Shadowridge pack house without looking in the rearview mirror.

---

I heard about the morning from Phoebe.

Caden found the rejection at seven a.m. He'd come home from Macy's bed expecting coffee and a wife who pretended not to know. Instead, he found my ring on a piece of stationery and a kitchen that smelled only faintly of me.

He didn't cry. He didn't fall to his knees. According to the housekeeper who whispered to a maid who told Phoebe's cousin, he stood at the island for a full minute. Then he picked up the ring, slammed it down again, and roared loud enough to shake the windows.

He called me. I let it ring.

He called me eleven more times before noon. I blocked the number.

He sent Marcus Vance to track my scent. Marcus followed it to the edge of pack territory and lost it at the river, where I had driven through a half-mile of shallow water exactly for that purpose. Marcus reported back empty-handed. Phoebe said he didn't look disappointed.

By afternoon, Caden had convinced himself it didn't matter. He told his Gammas I had cracked under the pressure of Luna duties. He told the Riverbend Alpha I was visiting my sick mother. He told himself, over and over, that he had Macy, the summit credit, and a Lycan Council seat waiting for him at the banquet in twelve days.

He told himself he had never needed me.

That was the part that made my wolf smile.

---

Mrs. Wallace arrived at the pack house at three-fifteen, in a fur coat she did not need and pearls she had not earned. Phoebe got me the audio later—one of the kitchen staff had left her phone recording on the counter.

"She *left* you?" Mrs. Wallace's voice was a shriek wrapped in silk. "That ungrateful little nobody *walked out* on a Wallace Alpha?"

"Mother—"

"No. No, Caden, listen to me. This proves what I have been telling you for five years. She was never worthy of this name. Common blood will always crawl back to the gutter."

A pause. Ice clinked in a glass. My former mother-in-law was drinking his whiskey before noon.

"Now you listen carefully. The banquet is in twelve days. Your Council nomination is in twelve days. We will not let this little tantrum derail you. We will tell them she was unstable. Hysterical. That you tried for years to manage her moods and finally had to let her go for the good of the pack."

"That's... that could work."

"Of course it will work. You are an Alpha. She is nothing. Speak it, and the pack will believe it."

I listened to the recording twice in the dark of my motel room.

Then I smiled.

Twelve days. Speak it, and the pack will believe it.

My wolf stretched inside me, long and slow.

*Yes,* she purred. *Let them speak. Let them all speak.*

*And in twelve days, we will answer.*