My Alpha Let Our Son Die For His Mistress's Bastard

The rain hammered against the black marble headstone like nature's own grief, each drop a reminder that my three-year-old son would never again laugh at the sound of storms. I stood there, clutching a single white lily, watching the water cascade down Noah's name etched in cold stone.

"Harper." Ryker's voice cut through the downpour, his strong hand finding mine. Even through my numbness, I felt the familiar spark of our mate bond, that electric connection that had once made me believe in forever. "We should go. You're soaking wet."

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The funeral had been a blur of condolences and pack members offering their sympathies, but standing here at Noah's grave made everything brutally real. My baby was gone. Torn apart by rogue wolves while playing too close to the border.

"I'm going to find them," Ryker whispered against my ear, his Alpha authority bleeding through his grief. "Every last rogue who touched our son. I'll make them pay, Harper. I swear it on the moon goddess herself."

For a moment, I almost believed him. Almost let myself sink into the comfort of his promises and the warmth of his embrace. But exhaustion hit me like a physical blow, my legs threatening to give out.

"I need... I need a moment," I managed, pulling away from him. "Just give me a minute alone with Noah."

Ryker's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I'll be by the cars. Don't stay too long."

I watched him walk away, his broad shoulders cutting through the rain as he headed toward the line of black SUVs parked along the cemetery's main path. The other mourners had already left, leaving only the essential pack members and security. When my knees finally buckled, I stumbled behind one of the large stone pillars that marked the cemetery's older section, pressing my back against the cold granite.

The rain provided perfect cover for my sobs, but as I tried to catch my breath, voices drifted from the other side of the pillar. Ryker's voice, low and urgent.

"I don't understand, Alpha." That was Jace, Ryker's second-in-command, confusion clear in his tone. "Why didn't you let the pack healers try to save Noah? When they brought him in, he was badly injured, yes, but it wasn't hopeless. The healers said they might have been able to—"

"Enough." Ryker's command was sharp, final. But then his voice dropped to barely above a whisper, and I had to strain to hear over the rain. "It was because of Damian."

Damian. The name hit me like ice water. I knew that name.

"Damian pushed Noah toward the rogue territory," Ryker continued, and each word felt like a knife twisting in my chest. "He's only six years old, Jace. He doesn't understand pack boundaries, doesn't know what danger means. If Noah had survived, if he had woken up and told everyone what really happened..."

"Maren would go to prison," Jace finished quietly. "And the council would sentence a child to