The Secret Mistress: Poisoning The Alpha's Unborn Heir

On my wedding night, I waited for the fated spark. Instead, I found a fresh tattoo on my Alpha husband's chest.

Beneath the ink lay a jagged bite mark. Jameson had marked Caren, the wolf-less Omega, just hours before our ceremony.

When I confronted him, he called me paranoid. But the betrayal didn't stop at infidelity.

On my birthday, Caren brought me "fertility tea." I smelled the metallic tang of Wolfsbane immediately-a poison deadly to our kind. I refused to touch it, but Jameson's eyes flashed with dominance.

"Drink it. That is an order."

He used the Alpha Voice to force the poison down my throat.

As my throat seized and I clawed at the carpet, dying, he didn't help me. When I reached for the antidote, he shoved me into the wall to protect Caren, accusing me of trying to attack her.

I woke up in the hospital to the devastating news: the poison had killed our unborn pup.

Yet, Jameson still shielded his mistress, baring his fangs at his own mother to keep Caren safe. He thought he could fix it. He thought he still owned me.

"Sit! I command you to stay!"

He roared the Alpha Command, expecting me to kneel. But his authority shattered along with my heart.

I didn't just sign the divorce papers. I walked out to the parking lot under the full moon and rejected the bond, watching him collapse in agony.

Then, the "broken" wolf he despised finally shifted.

I rose as the legendary White Wolf, and left him howling in the dirt.

Chapter 1

Lana POV:

The heavy oak door of the Alpha Suite slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the celebration downstairs.

Two burly Gamma warriors dumped my husband onto the king-sized bed.

"Careful," I said, my voice tight. "He is your Alpha."

"Sorry, Luna Lana," one of them muttered, bowing his head. "The Moon Liquor... it hit him hard."

They retreated, leaving me alone with Jameson.

This was supposed to be the most magical night of my life. The night the Moonlight Pack officially recognized me as their Luna. The night Jameson and I would seal our bond under the eyes of the Moon Goddess.

But there was no magic here. Only the sour reek of spilled alcohol and the cold, hollow feeling in my chest.

I walked to the side of the bed. Jameson was sprawled on his back, his expensive tuxedo shirt unbuttoned halfway, his breathing heavy and uneven.

I reached out to brush a lock of dark hair from his forehead.

I waited for the spark.

The elders always said that when you touch your Fated Mate, it feels like lightning dancing under your skin. They said your souls hum in harmony, a song only the two of you can hear.

I felt nothing. Just warm, clammy skin.

My Inner Wolf paced anxiously in the back of my mind. She was silent, confused. She should be howling with joy, calling out to her mate. But the connection-the Mind-Link-was static. It was like trying to tune into a radio station that didn't exist.

Buzz.

My phone lit up on the nightstand.

Caren: Is he asleep? Make sure to give him water mixed with crushed valerian root. He gets headaches after drinking Moon Liquor.

I stared at the screen. Caren. My childhood friend. The charity case my father took in. The wolf-less Omega.

Why was she texting me about my husband's hangover cures on my wedding night?

I didn't reply. I turned back to Jameson. He shifted in his sleep, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Lana..." he mumbled.

My heart skipped a beat. He was dreaming of me. Maybe the bond was just weak because of the alcohol. Maybe...

His hand shot out, grabbing the pillow next to him, pulling it tight against his chest. He buried his face in the silk.

"My sweet Omega," he slurred, his voice thick with a twisted sort of affection. "Caren..."

The air left my lungs.

It felt like the room had suddenly been plunged into ice water. I took a step back, my hands trembling.

He didn't say my name. He said hers.

Jameson rolled over, the movement tearing his shirt open further. The fabric fell away from his left pectoral, right over his heart.

I gasped.

There was fresh ink there. A tattoo. It was still red and irritated, the skin raised and angry.

It was a letter. A stylized, gothic "C".

My knees hit the carpet. I couldn't breathe.

In our world, an Alpha does not tattoo his skin lightly. Our healing factor pushes ink out unless it is infused with magic or done with specific rituals.

I crawled closer, my vision blurring. I needed to see. I needed to be sure.

I engaged my wolf sight, my eyes sharpening.

Underneath the black ink of the letter "C"... the skin was mangled. The texture was wrong. It wasn't just a tattoo. It was a cover-up.

Beneath the ink lay the jagged, distinct ridges of a bite mark.

A Mating Mark.

A scream built in my throat, but I swallowed it down, tasting bile.

The Marking is sacred. It is the physical binding of two souls. An Alpha bites his Mate to claim her, to mix their scents permanently.

Jameson had marked someone else. And he had done it before our ceremony. He had hidden it under a tattoo of her initial.

Caren.

He had broken the highest law of the Moon Goddess. He had taken a chosen mate while bound by duty to me.

Buzz.

The phone lit up again.

Caren: Don't be mad, Lana. I know his habits better than anyone. Just trying to help you be a good Luna.

She knew. She knew he was passed out. She knew he was calling her name. She probably knew exactly what was on his chest.

My Inner Wolf let out a sound I had never heard before-a high, keening whimper of absolute betrayal. It wasn't the roar of a queen. It was the cry of a wounded animal trapped in a corner.

I looked at the man who was supposed to be my destiny. The man who was supposed to lead the most powerful pack in the city.

He wasn't an Alpha. He was a liar.

And I was the fool who had just married him.

Lana POV:

I didn't sleep. I sat in the armchair by the window, watching the sun rise over the city skyline that the Moonlight Pack controlled.

My phone had buzzed all night. Text after text from Caren.

Make sure the curtains are drawn. He hates the morning light.

If he wakes up aggressive, don't look him in the eye. Submit. It calms his wolf.

I hope you didn't try to initiate anything. He's tired, Lana.

She was coaching me. She was teaching me how to handle my own husband, positioning herself as the expert, the one who held the manual to Jameson's soul. It was a subtle, poisonous power play.

On the bed, Jameson stirred.

I stiffened. My scent must have spiked with anxiety because his nose twitched.

Suddenly, a melodic, chiming ringtone cut through the silence. It wasn't the standard ringtone. It was a custom one.

Jameson sat up instantly.

There was no grogginess. No hangover headache. His Alpha reflexes were sharp. He snatched his phone from the nightstand before I could even blink.

He turned his back to me.

"Hey," he whispered. His voice was a low rumble, dripping with a tenderness that made my stomach churn. "Did you sleep well?"

He wasn't talking to me.

I reached out with my mind, trying to push through the Mind-Link. I needed to feel him. I needed to know if he felt any guilt.

Jameson? I projected my thought.

Nothing.

It was like hitting a brick wall. He had blocked me.

An Alpha can block anyone from their mind, but blocking your Mate? That takes effort. That takes deliberate intent. It creates a cold, empty void where the connection should be.

I heard a giggle from the phone speaker.

"I miss you too," Jameson murmured. "Yeah. It was... boring. Just ceremony stuff."

Boring. Our wedding was boring.

He hung up after a minute, a soft smile lingering on his lips. Then he turned around and saw me. The smile vanished instantly, replaced by the cold, impassive mask of the Alpha.

"Why are you staring at me?" he snapped.

"Who was that?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"Business," he said, standing up. He walked naked to the bathroom, completely unashamed. "Beta matters. You wouldn't understand the politics, Lana."

"It sounded like Caren," I said.

He stopped in the doorway. He didn't turn around. "Caren is having a hard time, Lana. She's wolf-less. Vulnerable. She doesn't have your privilege. Since you've been so busy playing the blushing bride, someone had to check on her."

He made it sound like my fault. Like my status was a sin and her weakness was a virtue.

He walked back toward me, likely intending to give me a perfunctory morning hug.

As he got close, the smell hit me.

It wasn't the crisp scent of the forest or the musk of a male. It was vanilla and cheap lavender.

It was her scent. It was clinging to his skin, woven into his pores. It was so strong it masked his own pheromones.

I gagged. My body reacted violently, shoving him away.

"Don't touch me!" I cried out.

Jameson's eyes flashed gold-his wolf rising to the surface, offended by the rejection. "Watch your tone, Lana."

"The tattoo," I pointed a shaking finger at his chest. "What is that, Jameson? What is under that 'C'?"

He looked down, feigning surprise. He touched the fresh ink.

"This?" He let out a scoffing laugh. "You're hysterical. This is for a fallen comrade. Carter. He died in the border skirmish last year. I got it to honor him."

"Carter?" I whispered. "You expect me to believe that?"

"I expect you to trust your Alpha," he growled, stepping into my personal space. The pressure of his aura weighed down on me. He was using his dominance to silence me. "Stop being paranoid. It's unbecoming."

"I saw the bite mark, Jameson," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I saw the scar."

His face twitched. For a second, I saw panic. Then, it was gone, replaced by smooth, practiced lies.

"It's an old battle scar, Lana. The tattoo covers it because it was ugly. I'm going to the Witch Doctor today to get the ink removed if it upsets you that much. Are you happy now?"

He was gaslighting me. He was looking me in the eye and rewriting reality.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shift and tear the room apart.

But I couldn't.

I looked in the mirror. I saw a pale, trembling woman. A high-born daughter of an Elder who couldn't even shift fully. My wolf was dormant, broken. I was practically a Beta in a Luna's position.

Buzz.

My phone.

Father: How is the morning? Your mother's heart is weak today. She is so happy you are finally settled. Do not cause trouble, Lana. The pack needs this alliance.

I looked at the message. Then I looked at Jameson, who was already dressing, whistling a tune.

If I exposed him now, the alliance would shatter. My mother's heart might give out. The pack would fall into chaos.

I unclenched my fists. I lowered my head.

"Okay," I whispered, the lie tasting like ash. "Okay, Jameson. Go remove it."

Lana POV:

The rain in the city was relentless, washing the neon lights into blurry streaks on the pavement.

I sat in the passenger seat of Jameson's black SUV. The silence between us was thick enough to choke on.

Before we left the hotel, I had done something petty. Something small. I had posted a photo on the Pack's social media page. It was a picture of Jameson sleeping, captioned: My Alpha. Finally at rest.

It was a territorial marker. A digital pissing contest. I wanted Caren to see it. I wanted her to know that legally, publicly, he was mine.

Now, we were parked outside the Witch Doctor's clinic in the supernatural district.

"Let's get this over with," Jameson grumbled, turning off the engine.

We walked in. The air smelled of sage and antiseptic. The Witch Doctor, an old woman with cloudy eyes, prepared the laser and the magical salve.

"This will hurt, Alpha," she croaked. "Removing ink infused with magic requires burning the skin deep."

Jameson sat on the table, shirtless. He looked at me, his eyes challenging. "See? I'm removing it. Because I love you, Lana."

The words were hollow.

Suddenly, Jameson stiffened. His eyes glazed over. He was getting a Mind-Link message.

His face went pale.

"No," he whispered. "Where? Is she bleeding?"

My stomach dropped.

He jumped off the table, pushing the Witch Doctor aside.

"I have to go," he said, grabbing his shirt.

"Jameson, sit down," I said, standing in front of the door. "We are doing this now."

"Move, Lana!" he roared. "It's Caren. Rogues attacked her apartment. She's hurt!"

"The patrol warriors are already there," I said calmly, though my heart was hammering. "I saw the dispatch report on the pack network. She is safe. Sit down and remove the mark."

"She needs me!"

"She is an Omega. The warriors can handle it. You are the Alpha. You are my husband. If you leave now, everyone will know who you really prioritize."

Jameson looked at me with pure hatred. It was a look no mate should ever receive.

He looked around the room frantically. His eyes landed on the tray of instruments.

He lunged.

Before I could react, he grabbed a silver scalpel.

Silver. The bane of our existence. It burns us like acid. It stops our healing.

Jameson pressed the silver blade directly against the tattoo on his chest.

Sizzle.

Smoke rose from his skin. The smell of burning wolf flesh filled the small room.

"Jameson!" I screamed.

He didn't flinch. His eyes were wild, manic.

"If you don't move," he snarled, his voice trembling with pain, "I will cut this piece of flesh out right now. I will dig it out of my chest until I hit my heart. Do not test me, Lana!"

I stared at him in horror.

He was burning himself. He was willing to mutilate himself with silver just to get to her.

This wasn't love. This was obsession. This was madness.

"You're insane," I whispered.

"I'm going to her," he panted, the silver digging deeper. Blood, dark and thick, began to trickle down his ribs.

I stepped aside. I couldn't watch him kill himself.

He dropped the scalpel. It clattered to the floor, stained with Alpha blood.

He didn't even look at me. He threw the door open and sprinted into the rain. A moment later, I heard the sound of bones cracking and clothes tearing as he shifted into his massive black wolf, tearing down the street toward the slums.

I stood there, shaking. I knew Caren was manipulative, but seeing Jameson like this... it was pathetic. He wasn't a King; he was an addict, and she was his drug.

Five minutes later, my phone buzzed.

It was a photo from Caren.

There were no Rogues in the picture. No blood. No destruction.

She was lying on a couch, a small, superficial scratch on her arm-likely self-inflicted.

Jameson was there. He was in his human form again, kneeling beside her. His head was bowed over her arm.

He was licking the scratch.

In wolf culture, licking a wound is intimate. It is a claiming act. It releases enzymes that soothe pain, but it is also deeply sexual. It says, I will heal you because you are part of me.

Caren: He was so worried. He says his heart hurts when I bleed. Does he ever look at you like that, Lana?

I looked at the silver scalpel on the floor.

No. He had never looked at me like that. He had only looked at me with a blade pressed to his own heart, threatening to die if he had to stay with me.