After My Alpha Branded Me a Rogue, I Fought Back

I had always imagined this moment differently.

In every version I'd dreamed up over the past nine months, there were warm hands waiting. A mate's voice, low and steady, telling me I'd done well. The sharp, sweet smell of a new beginning cutting through the sterile air of the Healing Center.

Instead, I lay alone on a narrow cot in the coldest room they had, and I brought my daughter into the world with nothing but the sound of my own ragged breathing to mark the moment.

I'm Haven Morris. Fated mate to Bryan Williams, Alpha of the Silverfang Pack. Late Bloomer. Wolfless, they liked to call me. A label that had followed me like a shadow for seven years—longer than most Omegas had to endure, and I wasn't even an Omega by blood. My father, Marcus Morris, leads the Black Moon Pack. I came from strength. I was supposed to become it.

Supposed to.

I pressed my daughter against my chest and tried to catch my breath. She was so small. So impossibly warm against the chill of the room. Her fur, when she shifted instinctively in those first disoriented seconds, was darker than I expected. Deeper than Bryan's steel-grey. More like the richest shade of midnight.

I touched her tiny face and told myself it didn't matter. Coloring meant nothing. Blood meant everything. And she was ours.

I just needed Bryan to feel it too.

I closed my eyes and tried to reach across the fraying thread of our mate bond—that silver cord that had once felt like the most sacred thing in the world to me. It was thinner now. Years of neglect had worn it down to something brittle and aching. But surely this would reach him. Surely a pup, his pup, would be enough.

The door swung open before I could finish the thought.

I knew the sound of those heels. I had learned to dread them.

Mazie Parker stepped into the ward like she owned it, which, as Bryan's chosen Luna, she practically did. She was beautiful in the way cold things often are—sharp cheekbones, perfect posture, eyes that assessed everything and warmed to nothing. Dr. Sarah Mitchell stood near the wall and visibly shrank, her clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield.

Mazie looked at my daughter.

She smiled.

Then she opened the mind-link.

I felt it ripple outward through the pack bond—that invisible network that connected every Silverfang wolf—and I heard her voice spread through it like ink dropped in still water.

*Look at the pup. Look at the color. No Alpha scent. No Williams blood. Haven's been sneaking past the borders. We all know she has no wolf to keep her loyal. She's been warming herself with rogues.*

The words hit me like a physical blow.

I couldn't breathe. My arms tightened around my daughter—my daughter—and I heard Dr. Mitchell make a small, strangled sound from across the room. She didn't move. Didn't speak. She just stood there, watching, because