My Mate Faked Death to Steal My Luna Title

Three weeks after I buried my mate, his twin brother called a council meeting to discuss territorial transition procedures.

I sat at the far end of the Silverfang pack council table, in the seat I'd occupied since my eighteenth birthday when my father formally named me future Luna. The wood was old oak, scarred from decades of claws and arguments. I kept my hands folded on the surface and my expression carefully blank. Grief was expected. I wore it like armor.

"Kody Sullivan" stood at the head of the table, shuffling through documentation my father's Beta had prepared. He looked exactly like Cole—same dark hair, same sharp jawline, same broad shoulders that filled out his shirt in a way that used to make my wolf purr. The resemblance was perfect because they were identical twins. Estranged, Cole had said. Hadn't spoken in years. Kody lived out west somewhere, running a small territory Cole never talked about.

Now Kody was here, stepping into his dead brother's role. Helping with the transition. Being respectful and competent and saying all the right things about honoring Cole's legacy.

I wanted to believe it. I'd spent three weeks trying to believe it.

The council members—five senior wolves, my father's loyalists—listened as Kody outlined the procedural steps for transferring Alpha authority in the event of a death without a direct heir. His voice was steady. Professional. He moved around the table, handing each council member a packet of forms that needed signatures.

When he reached my seat, he leaned close to set the documents in front of me.

That's when I smelled it.

Pine and cedar. Sharp and clean, with an undertone of earth after rain. The exact scent that used to cling to Cole's skin when he came to bed. The scent that belonged to my fated mate—molecularly unique, Moon Goddess-ordained, unmistakable to the wolf bonded to it.

*Mate,* my wolf howled inside my chest.

Not Kody. Cole.

The world didn't tilt. It restructured. Every piece of the past three weeks snapped into a different configuration, and the picture that emerged was so clear I couldn't believe I'd missed it.

The rogue attack had happened at dawn, in the woods near the eastern border. Cole's patrol had been alone—no witnesses except the two wolves who found the "body" hours later, both newer pack members I didn't know well. The funeral had been closed casket. Too much damage, they'd said. A proper burial would dishonor what remained.

Kody had arrived within forty-eight hours, paperwork already in hand.

The territorial transfer documents had started moving through the council within a week. Efficient. Respectful. Necessary, Kody explained, because the Griffin bloodline's ancestral claim needed a supervising Alpha during my "grief period" or the Alpha Council might appoint an outside arbitrator.

I'd signed papers because I was too numb to argue. I'd stepped back from Luna duties because everyone told me to rest, to heal, to let Cole's family help.

I'd been compliant. Grief-stricken. Manageable.

I went very still.