After My Mate Killed My Sister, I Swore Revenge

The bite hurt more than I expected.

I stood at the center of the Silverclaw Pack House's grand hall, surrounded by hundreds of wolves dressed in their finest, and all I could feel was the burning pain spreading from my neck. Alpha Roman Wallace's teeth had just broken my skin, marking me as his chosen mate in front of everyone.

But there was no spark. No electric current running through my veins. No intoxicating scent wrapping around me like the stories always promised.

Just pain.

"Congratulations, Luna," someone said, their voice distant and hollow.

I forced a smile, my hand instinctively moving to cover the fresh wound on my neck. The mark felt wrong, like my body was rejecting it even as it bled. Around me, pack members raised their glasses, their faces blurring together in a sea of false celebration.

Roman released me the moment the ceremony ended. No lingering touch. No whispered words of affection. He simply stepped back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and scanned the crowd.

"Roman?" I reached for him, but he was already moving.

"Dahlia needs me," he said without looking back.

I watched him cut through the crowd toward a delicate-looking she-wolf in a pale blue dress. Dahlia Greene. She swayed dramatically, one hand pressed to her chest, her face pale and drawn. Roman caught her before she could fall, his arms wrapping around her with a tenderness he'd never shown me.

The whispers started immediately.

"Poor thing, she's so fragile."

"The Alpha is so devoted to her."

"I don't understand why he chose that Stevens girl instead."

I stood there, alone in the middle of my own mating ceremony, while my so-called mate cradled another woman in his arms. The mark on my neck throbbed with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of the lie I was now bound to.

Someone handed me a glass of champagne. I drank it without tasting it.

The night dragged on. I smiled until my face hurt. I accepted congratulations from wolves who couldn't meet my eyes. And through it all, Roman never came back to my side.

---

The next evening, I went looking for him.

The celebratory pack run was scheduled for tonight, and as the newly marked Luna, I was expected to run beside the Alpha. But Roman hadn't spoken to me since the ceremony. He'd disappeared into his private wing of the Pack House, leaving me to sleep alone in the Luna's quarters—a room that still smelled like the previous Luna, his mother, who'd died years ago.

I found his office empty, the door slightly ajar. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across his desk. Papers were scattered everywhere, and his computer screen glowed in the darkness.

Then I heard voices.

They came from the adjoining room—the private medical suite Roman had built last year. The door was cracked open just enough for me to see inside.

Roman stood with his back to me, his arms wrapped around Dahlia. She leaned against him, her head resting on his chest.

"It's so annoying," Dahlia said, her voice petulant. "This heartbeat inside me. It's too strong. Too loud. I can't sleep."

My breath caught. Heartbeat inside her?

"It'll settle," Roman murmured, stroking her hair. "The doctor said it takes time for the body to adjust to a transplant."

Transplant.

The word hit me like a physical blow.

"I just wish it would calm down," Dahlia continued. "It's like she's still fighting me, even now."

"Grace's heart is strong," Roman said. "That's why we chose it. That's why you're alive."

Grace.

My sister's name fell from his lips so casually, so carelessly, that I had to press my hand against the wall to keep from collapsing.

Grace's heart. Inside Dahlia.

"And the sister?" Dahlia asked. "Are you sure she doesn't suspect?"

"Elaina is harmless," Roman said, his voice cold and dismissive. "She's just a placeholder. Keeping her close maintains the bloodline energy, which helps your body accept the heart. Once the transplant fully settles, I'll find a reason to set her aside."

A placeholder.

I backed away from the door, my vision swimming. My foot caught on something, and I stumbled, catching myself against the doorframe.

The voices inside stopped.

I ran.

I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I had to get away. My legs carried me through the empty corridors, past the grand hall where we'd celebrated our sham of a mating ceremony, past the portraits of previous Alphas and Lunas who'd actually loved each other.

I made it to the main entrance before Roman's voice stopped me cold.

"Elaina."

I froze, my hand on the door handle.

"Where do you think you're going?" His footsteps echoed behind me, slow and deliberate.

I turned to face him. "You killed her. You killed Grace."

His expression didn't change. "You're being dramatic."

"Her heart—"

"Enough." The word came out in his Alpha tone, that special commanding voice that forced submission.

My knees buckled. I hit the floor hard, my body betraying me as it responded to his authority. I tried to speak, to scream, but my throat closed up.

Roman looked down at me with cold indifference. "You will not speak of this. You will attend the pack run tonight. You will smile and play your role."

My chest tightened. The mark on my neck burned like acid. My vision started to blur at the edges.

Roman's phone rang. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression softened immediately.

"I have to take this," he said, stepping over my convulsing body like I was nothing more than an obstacle in his path. "Dahlia's nurse. Something about heart palpitations."

He walked away, already speaking in soothing tones to whoever was on the other end.

I lay there on the cold marble floor, my body shaking, my lungs struggling to pull in air. The forced mark rejected me from the inside out, my weakened aura unable to sustain the artificial bond.

I was going to die here.

Somehow, I found the strength to crawl. Inch by inch, I dragged myself toward the stairs. My room. I had to get to my room.

It took forever. By the time I reached my door, I could barely see. My fingers fumbled with the handle, and I collapsed inside, the door slamming shut behind me.

Grace's pendant. Where was it?

I crawled to my nightstand, pulled open the drawer with trembling hands. There. The silver pendant Grace had given me on my sixteenth birthday. And beneath it, the burner phone she'd hidden for me years ago, before everything went wrong.

"If you ever need help," she'd said, "call this number. Promise me."

I'd never understood why she'd been so insistent. Now I did.

With shaking fingers, I powered on the phone. One contact. No name. Just a number.

I pressed call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then a deep voice answered, rough with sleep and something else—something that sounded like barely contained rage.

"Grace?"

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sob.

"Who is this?" The voice sharpened, alert now. "How did you get this number?"

"Help me," I whispered. "Please. I'm Grace's sister. And I'm dying."