His Unmarked Mate The Alpha She-Wolf Returns

"I'll do as you say. I'll come back to take over the pack, but you will not interfere with any of my decisions."

"Fine. As long as you come back, the pack is yours to lead," replied the voice on the other end of the call.

My hand trembled as I ended the call. At that moment, my gaze fell on the black stockings draped carelessly over the edge of the bed in the room I shared with my mate. My so-called mate.

They were a mocking reminder of the scent recognition my chosen mate of eight years, Caspian Thornecrest, shared with his Omega Attendant, Scarlett Ashwood. Her cloying honeysuckle scent still clung to the fabric, tangled with his musk. My inner wolf snarled, hackles raised, pacing restlessly behind my ribs.

I drew in a slow breath and reluctantly turned my eyes toward the gauze wrapped around my arm. Blood had begun to seep through the white cloth, blooming in faint crimson patches.

Meanwhile, the events of the afternoon replayed on a loop inside my skull. I had been walking through the narrow woodland path near the trading post at the edge of Thornecrest territory.

A black convoy of wolves in tactical gear materialized from the treeline. Before I could process what was happening, several shifted wolves and armed enforcers surrounded me, their silver-tipped weapons gleaming in the pale afternoon light.

Their cold eyes and matching scarred brands told me they belonged to the Ironvale Pack, one of Caspian's fiercest rivals.

"You thought you could run from us?" one of them snarled, his voice raw with dominance. When I said nothing, he struck me across the face with the back of his hand. The sudden blow sent me staggering into the rough bark of a tree.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I mumbled, forcing air into my lungs. My hand drifted instinctively to cradle my stomach.

But they didn't care.

One of them seized my wrist and wrenched it at a cruel angle. Another shoved me to the ground, the forest floor cold and damp beneath my palms.

Within seconds, the supplies I had been carrying scattered across the dirt. As I tried to push myself upright, the barrel of a silver-tipped weapon pressed against my temple. The metal burned faintly against my skin, and my wolf whimpered, retreating deep inside me.

"This is what happens when Caspian Thornecrest doesn't keep his blood-oath promises. If he won't stop, you'll pay," the man growled, his canines elongated, eyes flashing amber with his wolf just beneath the surface.

It was then I spotted a familiar dark vehicle pulling onto the forest road. Caspian was inside. Scarlett Ashwood sat in the passenger seat beside him, her blonde head tilted toward his shoulder. I screamed, my voice hoarse and desperate.

"Help me!"

Caspian glanced at me through the window. His expression did not change. Not a flicker. Not a flinch.

Instead, he turned to his Omega Attendant and cupped his hands over her ears, as if shielding her from danger. As if she were the one who needed protecting.

"Don't listen, don't look, or you'll have nightmares tonight," he murmured coolly.

Then the window rolled up, and the vehicle sped away, leaving nothing behind but the fading scent of cedarwood and betrayal.

I was left there alone. Tears carved hot trails down my cheeks. The enforcers did not hesitate.

One slammed me hard against the trunk of a fallen oak, and the jagged edge of a broken branch tore deep into my arm. Blood poured freely from the wound, its metallic scent flooding the air around me.

When they finally left, they left a message. "Tell Caspian this is just the beginning."

I dragged myself to the pack healer's den, my body battered and my spirit shattered. But the healer's words struck harder than any of the blows.

"You were about a moon's cycle along," she said softly, her eyes lowered, unable to meet mine. "We couldn't save the pup. The trauma to your body was too severe."

My eyes fixed on the ceiling of the healing den, hollow and numb. My inner wolf lay curled in the darkest corner of my mind, silent for the first time in years. Not pacing. Not snarling. Just still. A grief too vast for sound.

Later that night, when I returned to the den we shared, Caspian walked in carrying a bottle of aged whiskey in one hand and a reinforced case in the other. Most likely it contained pack resources or silver-tipped weapons from one of his territorial deals.

Without pause, he tossed the case onto the table and loosened the collar of his dark shirt. He barely glanced in my direction. The scent of smoke and dried blood clung to his skin and his clothes. It was a constant reminder of the brutal life he led, the violent world he chose over me every single day.

I sat on the low couch near the cold hearth, my arm wrapped in bandages, my face drained of color. He didn't even notice.

"Did you eat?" he asked flatly, pouring himself a drink. His tone carried no warmth. No concern. Just the clipped authority of an Alpha addressing a subordinate.

I raised my bandaged hand and showed him the stitches. "The healer said I need to avoid certain foods while this mends."

His brows drew together slightly. His gaze flickered to the bandage but did not linger. "Then make something that suits you."

I nodded, pulling out my phone to order something from the trading post's delivery runners.

Seeing me act so detached, so devoid of the warmth I had once shown him freely, Caspian paused. His glass hovered in midair, halfway to his lips. Something shifted behind his eyes, though I could not tell if it was his wolf stirring or merely irritation at my silence.

"Is your next check-up with the healer in three days? Do you need someone to go with you?"