When My Alpha’s Mistress Tried to Kill Our Pup

Darkness had been my companion for five years, but it had long ceased to be my prison. Standing in the sunlit sunroom of the Moonridge pack house, I felt the morning warmth on my face, mapping the room through the gentle rustle of leaves against the windowpane. I was Whitney Aguilar, Luna of the Moonridge Pack. I didn't need eyes to see the peace I had built from the ashes of my past.

Then, the heavy, rushed footfalls of our Beta, Marcus, shattered the morning quiet.

"Alpha Bridger. Luna Whitney," Marcus panted as he burst into the room. His scent spiked with a sharp, metallic distress. "It’s the healing center. Someone vandalized it during the night. It’s completely destroyed."

My breath hitched. The sanctuary I had built for rogues and broken wolves—the place where I poured all my leftover grief into saving others—was gone.

Before the panic could take root in my chest, Bridger’s large, calloused hand wrapped firmly around mine. His intoxicating scent of cedar and sandalwood washed over me, instantly grounding my frayed nerves. "We're going," my mate’s deep voice rumbled, vibrating with a protective Alpha command that made my wolf purr even in her weakened state.

The ride to the borders was a blur of tense silence. When Bridger helped me out of the SUV, the air was immediately thick with the metallic tang of destruction. Shattered glass crunched violently under my boots. Splintered wood and torn fabric whispered of a frantic, violent frenzy. But beneath the smell of broken drywall and spilled medical supplies, a distinct, sickening odor clung to the wreckage.

Overripe, toxic florals. Like rotting orchids masked by cheap perfume.

My free hand instinctively flew to my face, my fingertips hovering over the faint scars surrounding my unseeing eyes. Cecelia. The rogue who had stolen my first mate, murdered my infant son, and burned my sight away with silver-laced acid. She had been here. The sheer malice in the air was suffocating.

A low, vibrating snarl tore from Bridger’s chest. He pulled me flush against his side, his body a shield of solid muscle. "I'll kill her," he vowed, his Alpha aura flaring with lethal intent against the invading scent.

"Let her rot in her own madness," I murmured, forcing my voice to remain perfectly steady. I stepped away from Bridger's protective hold and stood tall amidst the ruins of my hard work. I refused to cower. I pushed my own aura outward—a calm, ethereal Luna presence that wrapped around the clearing like a soothing, unshakeable blanket. I was no longer the broken, bleeding girl crying in the Shadowmoon dungeons. I was a queen in my own right.

Then, the wind shifted.

A new set of footsteps approached from the tree line. Heavy. Frantic. I tilted my head, my heightened hearing picking up the erratic snapping of twigs. Whoever it was, they were tracking the toxic floral scent, just as we were.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped dead.

A familiar scent hit the back of