After My Alpha Replaced Me with His Pregnant Mistress

The dawn was gray and unforgiving, much like the ache that settled deep in my marrow. I knelt on the damp earth of the sacred grove behind the Black Moon Pack house, my knees pressed into the cold soil. I am Celine Stone, the last daughter of a bloodline that has stitched the wounds of werewolves for centuries, yet the only life I couldn't seem to save was my own.

I closed my eyes, gripping the moonstone pendant that rested against my collarbone. It was warm, pulsing with the last of my mother’s magic. I reached out with my senses, finding the tether that bound me to Drake. His wolf was a flickering shadow, a dying ember that I had to fan into a flame every single month.

"Live," I whispered, the word scraping my throat.

Silver light bled from my fingertips, sinking into the ground and traveling through the unseen bond. The pain was immediate—a sharp, tearing sensation as my vitality was siphoned away to patch the cracks in his aura. I gasped, sweat beading on my forehead despite the morning chill. For five years, I had done this. For five years, I had been the silent battery keeping the Alpha of the Black Moon Pack from crumbling into dust.

When the ritual ended, I slumped forward, trembling. My vision blurred. I needed a hand to help me up. I needed my mate.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path. I looked up, hope fluttering in my chest like a trapped bird.

Drake stood there. He looked magnificent, his dark hair tousled, his shoulders broad and powerful—strength that I had just poured into him. But his eyes, once warm silver, were cold and hard as flint.

"Drake," I breathed, reaching a shaking hand toward him. "The ritual… it’s done."

He didn't take my hand. He didn't even break stride. He brushed past me, the hem of his coat whipping against my cheek. "I have a council meeting, Celine. Don't be late for the gathering tonight."

He left me kneeling in the dirt, drained and empty.

***

The monthly pack gathering was usually a time of unity, but tonight, the air in the dining hall was thick with tension. I wore a high-collared dress to hide the bruising on my neck where the energy transfer had left its mark. As the Luna, my place was at the head table, at Drake’s right hand.

But as I approached, the chatter in the hall died instantly.

Drake entered, but he wasn't alone. Clinging to his arm was Sabrina Willis. Her red hair was a cascade of fire, her green eyes gleaming with a triumph I didn't yet understand. She wore a dress that left little to the imagination, and the scent radiating off her was overpowering—a cloying, floral perfume that made my healer’s instincts recoil. It smelled synthetic, masking something rotten underneath.

Drake walked her straight to the head table. Straight to my chair.

"Drake?" I stepped forward, my voice trembling slightly. "That