After My Alpha Betrayed Me for My Sister

I should have knocked.

That's the thought that keeps surfacing, even now, even as I stand in the doorway of the Alpha suite with my hand pressed flat against my belly. I should have knocked. But this is my home. He is my mate. The mark on my neck has been there for over a year. I stopped knocking on my own doors a long time ago.

The scent hits me before anything else does.

His musk — warm cedar and dark earth, the scent that once made my wolf press forward with hunger — tangled with something floral and sharp. Something I have known my whole life. Jasmine soap and the particular sweetness of my sister's skin.

Sabrina's hands are in Dallas's hair.

His face is buried against her neck.

I don't move. I don't scream. My wolf slams into my ribs so hard I nearly stagger, but I plant my feet and I stand there, and I press my palm against the swell of my belly where his heir is kicking, and I wait for them to notice me.

Sabrina sees me first. Her eyes open over his shoulder, and for one fraction of a second I see her true face — the satisfaction in it, clean and cold and triumphant, like a woman who has been waiting years for exactly this moment.

Then Dallas pulls back. He turns around.

He doesn't flinch. That's what destroys something in me — not the embrace, not Sabrina's expression, but the complete, absolute absence of shame on his face.

"Evelyn." His voice is calm. Almost bored.

"Get out," I say to Sabrina.

Neither of them moves.

I open my mouth to say something else — something I haven't yet decided — and Dallas's Alpha tone hits me like a hand around my throat. Not loud. Not violent. Just there, sudden and total, pressing my voice flat, locking the words behind my teeth. I have felt his tone before, in pack meetings, directed at Deltas who stepped out of line. Never at me. Never at his Luna.

My wolf goes absolutely feral.

But she is five months tired and I am five months heavy and Dallas is already speaking inside my head through the mind-link, and his voice there is worse than the tone — because it is quiet, and measured, and it sounds like a man delivering a business summary.

*You were selected for your bloodline. A strong-blooded heir requires a strong-blooded vessel. That's what you were chosen for. Nothing more.*

The mate bond on my neck ignites. Not the warm pull I've always known — something else, something that feels like the mark itself is trying to crawl off my skin.

*Once the pup is born, Sabrina will take her place as my true Luna. The heir will be raised here, in this pack. You will be — accommodated.*

Accommodated.

I press two fingers against my wrist and feel my own pulse. Fast. Uneven. I focus on it.

Sabrina is