My Alpha Chose His Sister Over His Mate

The rain in Seattle never washed anything clean; it only made the filth of the Darkmoon Pack stick to my skin like a second layer of shame.

"Kneel."

The command crashed into my shoulders, heavier than physical lead. It was the Alpha Tone. My knees hit the cold linoleum of the hospital floor with a sickening crack, my body betraying my will as it always did when Alpha Grayson Richardson spoke.

"Seven years, Wrenlee," Grayson’s voice was low, a rumble of thunder that vibrated in my chest, triggering the mate bond I loathed. He stood over me, his shadow swallowing my trembling form. "Seven years since you burned her. Look at her."

I couldn't look away. My head was forced up by the sheer pressure of his aura. On the pristine white hospital bed lay Sage, my sister. She looked like a sleeping princess, her chest rising and falling in the magical stasis that had held her since the fire. Her skin was glowing, pampered daily by nurses, while I... I looked like something the cat dragged in and the dog refused to eat. My hands were raw from scrubbing the pack house floors, my Omega uniform hanging loosely on my malnourished frame.

"Pray for forgiveness," Grayson spat, his polished dress shoes inches from my face. "And don't stop until I say so."

The pack guards stationed at the door snickered. To them, I wasn't the Alpha's fated mate. I was the jealous monster who tried to kill the future Luna. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears leaking out to mix with the grime on my cheeks. I didn't pray to the Moon Goddess for forgiveness. I prayed for death. Or at least, for silence.

Hours later, Grayson finally dismissed me for a fifteen-minute meal break. It was a calculated mercy—just enough time to keep his slave alive, but not enough to rest.

I didn't go to the mess hall. I ran through the pouring rain toward the servant’s quarters, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to see Buster. My golden retriever was the only living soul in this territory who didn't look at me with hatred. He was the only warmth I had left.

But as I rounded the corner to the shed where I slept, the air smelled wrong. It smelled of copper and wet fur.

"Buster?" I called out, my voice cracking.

A supply truck was idling near the loading dock, the driver arguing with a guard about a schedule mix-up. They ignored the heap of golden fur lying in the mud a few yards away.

"No... no, no, no!" I skidded to my knees, mud soaking through my thin pants.

Buster was whimpering, a sound so high and broken it shattered what little composure I had left. His back legs were twisted at an unnatural angle, crushed. Blood was pooling dark and thick in the rainwater. He tried to wag his tail when he saw me, but only managed a weak thump against the