My Alpha Saved His Mistress Instead of Me

The pack run had been Marcelo's idea.

He'd announced it three days prior at the weekly council meeting, his Alpha tone leaving no room for debate. A show of unity, he'd called it. A reminder that the Black Moon Pack moved as one body, one purpose. I'd watched him from my seat at the far end of the table—the Luna's chair, though I'd stopped feeling like a Luna months ago—and said nothing. Petra Voss had nodded approvingly. The other council members had murmured their agreement. Rosalina, seated closer to Marcelo than protocol allowed, had smiled that soft, adoring smile she always wore around him.

I should have known then.

The territory's northern river was swollen from early spring melt, the current fast and mean. We ran in our wolf forms along the muddy banks, the pack spreading out in loose formation. I kept to the middle—not leading, not trailing. Invisible, the way I'd learned to be. My wolf was quiet inside me, her presence dimmed after five years of a bond that only ever pulled one direction.

Then the ground gave way.

It happened so fast. A deep, wet crack, and suddenly the riverbank was collapsing beneath us in a roaring slide of mud and stone. Wolves scattered, yelping. I tried to leap clear, but the earth tilted and I was falling, my wolf form twisting uselessly in the air before the river swallowed me whole.

The cold was immediate and absolute. The current seized me, dragging me under, and I surfaced choking just long enough to see Rosalina thrashing ten feet downstream, her pregnant belly making her movements clumsy and panicked. Then I went under again.

When I clawed back to the surface, Marcelo was there.

He'd shifted mid-dive, his human form cutting through the water with the powerful strokes of an Alpha who'd trained for this. He had a life ring—bright orange, standard pack emergency gear—clutched in one hand. Our eyes met across the churning distance.

I saw the moment he made his choice.

He didn't hesitate. Didn't even slow. He swam past me—close enough that I could have reached for him, close enough that he had to angle his body to avoid me—and threw the ring to Rosalina.

"Hold on!" he shouted to her, his voice raw with urgency I hadn't heard directed at me in years.

I didn't beg. Didn't call his name. My lungs were burning, my limbs going numb, but I would drown before I gave him the satisfaction of hearing me plead.

The current pulled me down again, and this time I didn't fight it.

The darkness was surprisingly gentle. The roar of the river faded into something distant and soft, and I felt my wolf—my poor, tired wolf—curl up inside me like she was finally allowed to rest. I should have been afraid. I should have been raging. But all I felt was a strange, cold clarity.

Five years. I had given him five years.

Then the darkness shifted, and I wasn't