My Alpha Sold Me to a Rival Pack

The ache in my left wrist always flared right before a storm, a deep, throbbing reminder of what I had lost. I stood on the expansive wrap-around porch of the Silvercrest Pack House, my fingers unconsciously tracing the jagged, ugly scar hidden beneath the sleeve of my cashmere sweater. Ten years ago, that scar had been a silver-laced blade meant for a starving rogue boy's heart. Today, that boy was coming home as Alpha.

"He's late," Elias murmured from the shadows behind me. As the pack's Gamma and my adopted brother, he was the only one who didn't look at me with pity.

"Alpha business," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Diplomacy takes time."

But as the sleek black SUV finally crunched up the gravel driveway, the knot in my stomach tightened. The pack members who had gathered on the lawn went silent, their heads bowing in instinctual submission. I straightened my spine. I might not have a wolf anymore, but I was still a Hudson. I was still the daughter of the man who built this territory.

The driver's door opened, and Jackson stepped out. He looked every inch the King I had groomed him to be—broad shoulders filling out his suit, power radiating off him in waves that made the air heavy. My heart gave a foolish little flutter. I took a step forward, ready to welcome him.

He didn't look at me.

Instead, he walked around the hood of the car to the passenger side. He opened the door with a gentleness he used to save only for me. A slender leg emerged, followed by a woman who smelled like expensive vanilla and arrogance.

Mariah Griffin. The daughter of the Obsidian Pack's Beta.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Werewolves from rival packs didn't just visit casually. Jackson placed a possessive hand on the small of her back, guiding her up the stairs. As they ascended, he finally looked at me. His eyes were cold, devoid of the warmth that used to be there when we were children hiding in the haylofts.

"Move, Lina," he said. It wasn't a growl, but it cut deeper than one.

I stepped aside, frozen, as they swept past me into the house my family built.

Inside, the humiliation only deepened. I found them in the main foyer. Mariah was running a manicured finger along the dusty rim of an antique vase—my mother's favorite.

"This has to go," she announced, her voice high and grating. "It smells like... old flowers. It clashes with my scent."

"That vase has stood there for twenty years," I said, walking into the room. I kept my chin high. "It stays."

Mariah turned, her lips curling into a smirk that didn't reach her eyes. She leaned against Jackson, who stood by the fireplace, watching us with bored detachment.

"Oh, Lina," she cooed. "You must be the housekeeper I heard about."

"I am the daughter of the former Alpha," I corrected, my voice hard. "And you are a