I Lost Our Pup While He Was with Her

I found the scarf on a Tuesday.

It was folded. Not crumpled or tossed carelessly like something forgotten. Folded. Deliberate. Precise. Like someone had taken the time to smooth the silk between their fingers and lay it just so in the passenger seat of Julius's truck.

I opened the door to grab my phone charger from the glove box and the scent hit me before I even saw it. Vanilla and cedar. Thick. Cloying. So strong it had overwritten every trace of my own Luna scent that should have been there. My wolf stirred uneasily in the back of my mind. She had been quiet lately. Quieter than usual. But now she pressed forward, hackles raised, a low growl vibrating through our shared consciousness.

*Not ours,* she whispered. *Not ours not ours not ours.*

I picked up the scarf. The silk was cool against my palm. Expensive. The kind of thing you don't leave behind by accident. I brought it to my nose and inhaled. Camryn Snyder. The new warrior transfer. The one Julius had been spending late nights with in his office, going over territorial maps and security protocols. The one whose wolf supposedly struggled with adjustment anxiety and needed extra Alpha guidance.

I stood there in the driveway holding that scarf for a long time. The autumn wind pulled at my hair. Leaves skittered across the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, pack members were laughing. Normal sounds. A normal day.

I carried the scarf inside.

Julius was in the kitchen pouring coffee. He looked up when I walked in and smiled. That easy, confident smile that used to make my chest feel warm. Now it just sat there on his face like something painted on.

"Hey," he said. "I was just about to bring you—"

I set the scarf on the counter between us.

His smile faltered. Just for a second. Then it came back, but different now. Careful. "Oh. That. Camryn must have left it after the briefing last night."

"The briefing," I repeated. My voice came out flat. Neutral. I was proud of how neutral it sounded.

"Yeah. We were going over the eastern border patrol routes until pretty late. She probably took it off because the office gets warm and forgot to grab it on her way out." He said it so smoothly. Like he had been practicing. Like the explanation had been sitting ready in his mouth waiting for this exact moment.

I looked at the scarf. At the careful folds. At the way the vanilla-and-cedar scent was still rising off it in waves, filling our kitchen, marking territory that was supposed to be mine.

"It was in your truck," I said quietly. "Not in your office."

Something flickered behind his eyes. Annoyance maybe. Or calculation. "I gave her a ride back to her quarters. It was late. Dark. You know how the eastern trails get."

I did know. I knew those trails better than most wolves in this pack. I had run them a hundred times when we first built Ironveil. Back when Julius and I used to patrol together. Back when he still asked me to come with him.

"When did you start giving her rides?" I asked.

His jaw tightened. "Mariana. Come on. Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"This jealous thing. It's not a good look on you." His tone shifted. Harder now. The Alpha tone creeping in at the edges. The one he used to end arguments by reminding everyone in the room exactly who was in charge. "Camryn is a pack member. She's under my protection and my mentorship. That's my duty as Alpha. You know that."

I felt my wolf recoil. Not from the tone itself. We had both heard it before, directed at others. But this was the first time he had ever used it on me. His mate. His Luna.

I picked up the scarf. Folded it again even though it was already folded. Set it on the counter beside his coffee mug.

"Okay," I said.

He blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay." I turned and walked toward the stairs. My hand was steady. My breathing was steady. Everything about me was steady and calm and perfectly, perfectly still.

"Mariana." His voice followed me. Softer now. Almost uncertain. "You're not... we're good, right?"

I stopped on the third step. Looked back at him. He was standing in the kitchen holding his coffee mug like a shield. The morning light came through the window behind him and turned him into a silhouette. I couldn't see his face clearly anymore.

"We're fine," I told him.

That night I lay awake beside him in the dark. He fell asleep quickly like he always did. Easy. Untroubled. His breathing deep and even. I stared at the ceiling and ran my thumb across the inside of my left wrist. Back and forth. Back and forth. A small rhythm to keep myself anchored.

My wolf was quiet again. But not the peaceful quiet of contentment. This was different. This was the quiet of something wounded curling in on itself. Waiting.

*Go,* she whispered finally. Just that one word. Barely audible even in the privacy of my own mind.

I didn't go.

But in the morning when I woke up, I looked at the nightstand. At the small cedar box that held the copper wire ring Julius had twisted for me years ago when he was nobody and I was everything. The ring had turned green with tarnish. I hadn't opened the box in months.

I opened it now. Looked at the cheap wire. Remembered the gas station parking lot. The way his hands had shaken. The way he had promised me that one day he would replace it with something worthy of a Luna.

He never had.

I closed the box. Set it back on the nightstand.

Something behind my eyes changed. I felt it happen. Like a door closing very quietly in a room I didn't know I had been keeping open.

The following week, Julius mentioned it at breakfast. Casual. Like he was commenting on the weather.

"I've taken on personal mentorship of Camryn," he said, spreading jam on his toast. "To develop her strategic combat instincts. She's got real potential. Could be Gamma material eventually."

I set down my coffee. "When was this decided?"

"It's been ongoing for a few weeks now."

Weeks.

"You didn't tell me," I said.

He looked up. Genuinely confused. "Why would I? It's pack business. I don't report every training decision to you, Mariana. That's not how this works."

I looked at him across the table. At this man I had given up Silvercrest for. My family. My title. My future. I had stood beside him when elders whispered he would never shift. I had believed in him when no one else did.

And he didn't understand why I wasn't pleased.

"You're right," I said quietly. "That's not how this works."

He smiled. Relieved. Reached across the table to squeeze my hand.

I let him.

But my wolf, deep inside, had gone completely, utterly silent.