The Alpha Believed His Rogue Over His Fated Mate

The engine of the black sedan hummed beneath me, a steady vibration that did little to calm the chaotic rhythm of my heart. Three years. It had been one thousand and ninety-five days since I last smelled the pine and rain scent of the Silver Moon territory. My hands shook as I gripped the reinforced metal briefcase in my lap. Inside lay the culmination of my sacrifice: a single, glowing blue vial of serum and three leather-bound journals filled with formulas that could save our entire race from the Feral Blight.

"We're here, Miss Bishop," the driver murmured, slowing the car as the iron gates of the pack house loomed ahead.

"Thank you," I whispered, my throat tight.

I stepped out, the gravel crunching under my boots. I expected the guards to recognize me instantly. I was high-ranking, the daughter of the former Beta, and—though I had never spoken it aloud—the fated mate of their Alpha. But as I moved toward the gate, two Gamma warriors I didn't recognize stepped forward, their spears crossed.

"Halt! Identify yourself, Rogue," one growled, his eyes flashing with aggression.

"I am not a Rogue," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, channeling the authority I had learned at the Royal Stronghold. "I am Helena Bishop. I have returned to see Alpha Greyson."

Before I could take another breath, rough hands grabbed my arms. I gasped, nearly dropping the briefcase. "Hey! Careful! This is delicate!"

"Alpha's orders," the guard sneered, shoving me forward. "All intruders are to be detained."

They didn't escort me; they dragged me. My heels scraped against the stone steps of the pack house, a place that used to be my home. Shame burned my cheeks as pack members stopped to stare, whispering behind their hands. I held the briefcase against my chest like a shield, protecting the cure with my life.

They threw the double doors to the Alpha's office open and shoved me inside. I stumbled, barely catching myself on the edge of a mahogany desk.

And then, I froze.

The scent hit me like a physical blow—storm clouds, cedar, and something uniquely *him*. Greyson. My wolf, Selene, stirred from her slumber, whimpering with a longing that nearly brought me to my knees. *Mate,* she whispered. *Mate is here.*

Greyson sat behind the massive desk, looking older, harder than the boy I had left behind. His jaw was set in stone, his dark hair falling over eyes that should have been filled with love. Instead, they were cold. Dead cold.

But he wasn't alone.

Perched on the arm of his leather chair, fingers trailing possessively over his shoulder, was Francesca. She was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way, her dark eyes gleaming with triumph as they landed on me.

"Greyson," I breathed, stepping forward, the pull of the bond urging me to touch him. "I'm home."

He didn't stand. He didn't smile. He just laughed—a dry, humorless sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Home? You think you