When My Alpha Mate Replaced Me With My Sister

The first thing I noticed wasn't the pain, or the blinding white light of the hospital room. It was the silence.

For any werewolf, the mind is a crowded place. There is always the hum of the pack link, a distant buzz of voices and emotions, and closer than that, the presence of the inner wolf. She is usually a constant companion, a second soul scratching at the back of my consciousness. But as I blinked my eyes open, staring at the sterile ceiling tiles, there was nothing. Just a hollow, echoing void.

"Hello?" I tried to speak, but my voice was a rusted hinge. I reached inward, panic rising in my chest like bile. *Wolf? Are you there?*

Nothing. No growl, no whimper. It was as if half my soul had been gouged out.

I tried to sit up, but my muscles had atrophied. A nurse bustled in, checking the monitors with efficient, cold movements. She didn't bow. She didn't bare her neck in submission. She didn't even smile.

"The patient is awake," she muttered into a headset, not looking at me. "Notify Alpha Maddox."

"I am your Luna," I rasped, the disrespect stinging almost as much as the physical weakness. "Why do you call me that?"

She finally looked at me, her eyes flat. "You've been asleep for three years, Maya. Titles change."

Three years. The words hit me like a physical blow. I had missed three years of my life. My son, Seven... he was three when the car crashed. He would be six now.

The door opened, and the scent hit me before the man did. But it wasn't the scent of pine and rain that usually clung to my mate. It was cloying vanilla and synthetic roses—Daphne's perfume. It was all over him.

"Maddox," I breathed, relief warring with confusion. I waited for him to rush to my side, to engulf me in his warmth, to let the sparks of the mate bond heal me.

He didn't move from the doorway.

Alpha Maddox, the man who had once sworn to burn the world for me, stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His aura, usually a warm blanket, felt like a stone wall. There was no joy in his eyes, only a weary irritation.

"You're awake," he said flatly.

"Maddox, I can't feel my wolf," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. "I can't feel the pack link."

He walked over to the bed but stopped a few feet away, out of reach. "The doctor said the trauma was severe. Your wolf has gone dormant, Maya. You are... wolfless."

The word hung in the air like a curse. In our world, a wolfless werewolf was barely above a human. A cripple.

"But I'm still your mate," I said, my voice trembling. "I'm still the Luna."

Maddox looked away, his jaw tightening. "The Silverclaw Pack is strong, Maya. We cannot have a Luna who cannot shift, who cannot hear the pack's needs. For three years, we have moved on. We had to."

"Moved on?" I gripped the thin hospital sheets. "What does that mean?"

"It means that for the sake of stability, I am planning to make Daphne the official Luna," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "She has stepped up. She has cared for the pack. The Moon Goddess... perhaps she made a mistake with our bond. It happens."

A mistake. He was calling our fated bond a mistake because I had been hurt.

Before I could scream, before I could demand he take it back, he turned on his heel. "Get dressed. The car is waiting to take you to the pack house. You can rest there."

The drive back was silent. The windows were tinted, hiding the world I had lost. When we pulled up to the Alpha house, it looked wrong. The flower beds I had planted—wildflowers and moon-blooms—were gone, replaced by rigid, manicured rows of red roses. Daphne’s favorite.

I stumbled out of the car, my legs shaking. I didn't care about the house. I didn't care about the title. I just wanted my son.

"Seven!" I called out, my voice cracking.

In the garden, a young boy was playing with a toy wolf. He looked so big. His baby fat was gone, replaced by the lean angles of his father. He froze at the sound of my voice and turned. His eyes, the same shade of hazel as mine, widened.

"Seven, baby, it's Mommy," I sobbed, dropping to my knees and opening my arms. "I'm home."

He didn't run to me. He didn't smile.

Instead, a low, guttural sound ripped from his small throat. He growled at me. It was a sound of pure hostility, an animalistic warning.

"Seven?" I froze, heart shattering.

"Go away!" he screamed, backing up. "You're not my mommy! You're the weak one!"

The front door opened, and Daphne glided out. She looked radiant, her hair perfectly styled, wearing a silk dress that I recognized—it was one Maddox had bought for me years ago. She didn't look at me. She looked at Seven.

"Mommy!" Seven cried out, his face transforming from rage to adoration. He ran past me, swerving to avoid my outstretched hand as if I were contagious, and buried his face in Daphne's skirt.

Daphne rested a manicured hand on his head, smoothing his hair. She looked up at me then, and over the top of my son's head, her lips curled into a slow, victorious smirk.

"Welcome home, sister," she purred, her voice dripping with poison. "We've been doing just fine without you."