What the Alpha Lost

The silver burned through my veins like liquid fire, each heartbeat sending another wave of agony through my shoulder where the rogue wolf's fangs had torn deep. I pressed my palm against the wound, feeling the warm blood seep between my fingers as I struggled to stay upright in the moonlit clearing.

"Ryker," I gasped, my voice barely a whisper carried on the night air. "Help me."

But when I lifted my eyes, searching for my mate—my Alpha—the sight that greeted me was worse than any physical pain the silver could inflict.

Ryker stood twenty feet away, his arm wrapped possessively around Sloane's waist. They were laughing. Actually laughing, as if my blood wasn't pooling in the dirt at their feet, as if the silver wasn't eating through my insides like acid.

Sloane's head was tilted back, her perfect blonde hair catching the moonlight as she gazed up at Ryker with those crystal blue eyes that had stolen my mate's attention months ago. Her hand rested on his chest, fingers splayed over the place where his heart should be—if he still had one.

"Ryker," I tried again, louder this time, desperation cracking my voice.

His head turned toward me with deliberate slowness, those amber eyes I'd once loved now cold as winter stone. He looked at me the way one might look at a wounded animal—with mild annoyance and complete detachment.

"Can't handle a little scratch, Maren?" His voice carried across the clearing with brutal clarity. "You're supposed to be Luna material. Act like it."

The words hit harder than the rogue's claws had. Around us, the younger pack warriors shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between their Alpha and their bleeding Luna-to-be. I saw Marcus, barely eighteen, take a half-step forward as if to help, but one sharp look from Ryker froze him in place.

"Stay back," Ryker commanded, his Alpha authority rolling through the clearing like thunder. "She needs to learn to handle herself."

The silver poison spread deeper, making my vision blur at the edges. My wolf whimpered somewhere deep inside me, not from the physical pain but from the rejection in our mate's voice. Seven years. Seven years of waiting, of believing, of holding onto promises that turned to ash in my mouth.

Sloane detached herself from Ryker's side with practiced grace, her movements fluid as she approached me. To anyone watching, it would look like concern, like the future Beta female showing compassion to the wounded Luna.

But when she knelt beside me, her voice dropped to a whisper meant only for my ears.

"Poor little Maren," she murmured, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "Still clinging to fairy tales, aren't you?" Her fingers brushed against my wounded shoulder, and I hissed as pain shot through me. "Ryker's wolf told him the truth last week. I'm his true mate. His destined one."

The silver in my bloodstream felt cold compared to the ice that formed in my chest.

"The binding ceremony tomorrow?" Sloane continued, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "It's not happening. Not for you, anyway."

She stood with elegant efficiency, brushing imaginary dirt from her pristine white dress—the same dress she'd worn to tonight's pack gathering, the one that had made every male wolf in attendance stop and stare.

"Ryker," she called sweetly, extending her hand toward him. "I'm getting cold."

He moved to her immediately, his attention completely absorbed by her presence. When he spoke, it was with the casual indifference of someone discussing the weather.

"The ceremony is postponed," he announced to the gathered pack members. "I won't be returning to the packhouse tonight."

Ninety-nine times. This was the ninety-ninth time our binding ceremony had been delayed. I'd counted every excuse, every postponement, every moment of hope crushed under the weight of his indifference.

The pack members began to disperse, some casting pitying glances in my direction before following their Alpha's lead. Soon, only the moon and I remained in the clearing, along with the scent of my own blood and the echo of their laughter.

I forced myself to my knees, then to my feet, swaying as the silver continued its relentless assault on my system. My hand moved instinctively to the pendant at my throat—a wolf's fang carved from bone and strung on a leather cord. Ryker had given it to me the day he became Alpha, his hands gentle as he fastened it around my neck.

"This is my fang," he'd whispered against my ear, his breath warm on my skin. "A piece of my wolf, given freely to yours. It represents my love for you, Maren. My promise that you'll always be mine."

Seven years ago, those words had been everything. Now they felt like mockery.

My fingers fumbled with the leather cord, my hands shaking from pain and silver poisoning. The knot finally gave way, and the pendant fell into my palm—such a small thing to have carried so much hope.

The creek nearby gurgled softly, its waters dark under the moon's glow. I stumbled toward it, each step sending fresh waves of agony through my body. At the water's edge, I held the pendant over the surface, watching moonlight dance across the carved bone.

"Seven years," I whispered to the night air. "Seven years of believing in you."

I opened my fingers.

The pendant hit the water with barely a splash, the creek's current immediately claiming it. I watched as it disappeared beneath the surface, taking with it the last remnants of my faith in Ryker Mills, in us, in the future I'd thought we'd share.

The water swallowed my hope as completely as it had swallowed the fang.

I started to turn away, to somehow find the strength to make it back to the packhouse, when something impossible happened. The burning in my shoulder began to fade, the silver poison that should have been spreading through my system instead retreating like a tide. I looked down at my wound, expecting to see the angry red of infection, but found instead that the torn flesh was knitting itself back together.

This wasn't normal healing. This wasn't even accelerated wolf healing.

This was something else entirely.

And then I heard it—a howl, distant and haunting, echoing from the depths of the forest. But it wasn't coming from any wolf I knew. It was wild, ancient, and it seemed to be answering something deep within me that I'd never known existed.

My own wolf stirred, not with recognition, but with a strange, electric anticipation that made my newly healed skin prickle with awareness.

Something in the darkness was calling to me.

And for the first time in seven years, I felt the urge to answer.