On My Birthday, My Alpha Fed His Mistress

My twenty-first birthday didn’t begin with balloons or a breakfast in bed. It began with fire.

It felt as though someone had replaced my blood with molten lead. I gasped, clutching the thin sheets of the guest room bed, my knuckles turning white. This was the Shift Fever—the agonizing precursor to a wolf’s full awakening. For most, it happened at sixteen. For me, a "late bloomer," it had waited until now, the day I legally became an adult in the eyes of the pack law.

"Keaton," I whispered through our mind-link, the mental channel static-filled and weak. "Please. It’s starting."

Silence. Just the dull hum of a blocked connection.

I curled into a ball, shivering despite the sweat soaking through my pajamas. I wasn't even in the Alpha Suite. Keaton had moved me to the guest wing months ago, claiming he needed the main suite for "late-night strategy meetings" regarding the border expansion. I had agreed, like I always did, shrinking myself to fit the small space he allotted me.

A sharp knock rattled the door.

"Come in," I croaked, hoping against hope that it was him. That he’d come to hold me through the transition, just as I had held him through his flu last winter.

The door creaked open, but it wasn't Keaton’s broad shoulders that filled the frame. It was Tim, a young Omega with nervous eyes and a stained apron.

"Miss Valentina," Tim mumbled, keeping his gaze on the floor. He shuffled forward and placed a plastic tray on the nightstand. "Alpha Hayes sent this."

I pushed myself up on a trembling elbow. On the tray sat a chipped bowl of broth. No steam rose from it. A layer of congealed fat had formed a skin over the surface, grey and unappetizing. Beside it lay a single packet of saltines.

"Where is he?" My voice was a dry rasp.

Tim flinched. "Border patrols, Miss. He said the rogues are active today. He... he said he can't be disturbed."

Border patrols? On my birthday? On the day my wolf was finally clawing her way to the surface?

"Thank you, Tim," I said, dismissing him before my voice could crack.

As the door clicked shut, I stared at the cold soup. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and stinging. I had spent years pouring my family’s resources into this pack, funneling the Bishop fortune into Keaton’s accounts so he could play the big, strong Alpha. And this was my return on investment. Cold leftovers.

I squeezed my eyes shut and reached for the mind-link again. I needed to hear his voice. Even if he was busy, surely he could spare a second for his fiancée.

*Keaton?* I pushed the thought out with everything I had.

The connection snapped open. But he didn't answer.

Instead, the static cleared, replaced by ambient noise. I frowned, confused. I didn't hear the wind whipping through the trees or the growls of warriors on patrol. I heard the clinking of silverware against fine china.