The Alpha's Hidden White Wolf Mate

Danielle Phelps POV:

The heavy iron gate of the Silvermine Detention Facility shrieked as it slid open, the sound scraping against my raw nerves like sandpaper.

I dragged my right leg across the threshold, leaning my weight against the cold stone wall.

Bright midday sun poured over the gravel driveway. I raised my forearm to shield my eyes, the pale skin marked by faded circular burns where pure silver cuffs had bitten into my flesh for five years. Silver was the one fatal weakness of all werewolf kind, a metal that burned our flesh and severed our connection to natural healing, and my captors had made sure I never forgot it.

A sleek black bulletproof Lincoln Navigator sat idling near the tree line, its tinted windows bearing the embossed crest of the Savage Pack enterprise.

The driver-side rear window rolled down. My older brother, Bryant, stared out at me with an expression of pure disgust. As the eldest son and lead enforcer of our pack, he wore a tailored charcoal suit that cost more than most low-ranking wolves made in a year.

"Get in," Bryant barked, not bothering to step out. "You're making the perimeter look like a homeless shelter."

I tightened my grip on the frayed strap of my canvas duffel bag. Every step sent a jolt of fire through my right knee, where a broken silver pin remained embedded in the bone from the night of my arrest. I pressed my lips together and swallowed the groan rising in my throat.

Bryant shoved the door open and stepped out onto the asphalt. The heavy, suffocating pressure of his high-ranking Beta aura rolled off him in waves. In our world, genetics determined hierarchy from birth-Alphas ruled, Betas commanded, and those without a wolf were treated like garbage. Since I had never manifested an inner beast, I possessed zero aura to shield myself. His presence felt like a physical weight pressing directly onto my lungs.

He covered his nose with a silk handkerchief and took a half-step back. "You smell like rotting copper and damp concrete. Don't touch the leather seats."

"Good to see you too, Bryant," I said, my voice raspy and hoarse from years of disuse.

I grabbed the doorframe, hauling my dead weight into the plush rear cabin. The leather was cool against my worn denim jeans.

Bryant slid into the opposite seat, immediately turning his attention to an iPad displaying real-time financial charts for the Savage Group's mining operations. The driver hit the gas, and the heavy SUV accelerated smoothly down the mountain road toward the glittering skyline of Silvercrest Metropolis.

The silence inside the cabin was thick enough to choke on.

"How is Mother's paralysis?" I asked quietly, rubbing the rough calluses on my thumbs. "Is the physical therapy helping?"

Bryant didn't look up from his screen. His fingers swiped across a holographic ledger. "Thanks to Kacey providing pure blood infusions and staying by her side every night, Mother can sit in a wheelchair for an hour at a time. No thanks to you."

The mention of that name felt like an icy fist closing around my throat.

Five years ago, Kacey Kaufman-the adopted daughter our pack took in-drove drunk, struck an Elder's child, and fled the scene. Because she was a fragile Omega and I was an unshifted wolfless nobody, the family forced me to take the fall. They told me it was my duty to protect the pack's reputation.

"I gave up five years of my life for her crime," I said, my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands until the skin broke. "She owes me."

Bryant slammed the tablet face-down on the console. The force of the strike vibrated through the floorboards. "Shut your mouth, Danielle!"

His Beta aura spiked, flooding the confined space with sharp, aggressive static that made my ears ring.

"Kacey is a delicate Omega whose scent brings peace to the entire pack," Bryant snarled, pointing a thick finger at my face. "You are an empty shell with broken genes. Taking the blame was the only useful thing you have ever done for this bloodline."

A bitter taste flooded my mouth. I turned my head and looked out the window, watching the pine trees blur into gray streaks. Arguing with him was like talking to a stone wall.

Thirty minutes later, the SUV turned through the wrought-iron gates of the Savage estate. Lush emerald lawns stretched toward a three-story limestone mansion. Red and white laurel garlands hung from the marble columns, and rows of luxury sports cars lined the circular driveway.

"Is there an event today?" I asked, looking at the valet drivers sprinting across the courtyard.

Bryant adjusted his silk tie in the rearview mirror, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Today is Kacey's formal betrothal gala. Keep your head down, go through the servant's entrance, and do not embarrass us."

The car stopped before the grand fountain. Classical violin music drifted through the open French doors of the ballroom.

I pushed my door open and stepped onto the gravel. My right knee buckled under my weight, the broken silver fragment grinding against the joint. I caught myself on the frame of the car, gasping for breath.

Two female maids carrying silver ice buckets walked past. When their eyes landed on my stained shirt and limp, their lips curled into sneers.

"Is that the convict sister?" one whispered loudly. "She looks like something the stray rogues dragged in."

I straightened my spine, ignored the throbbing in my leg, and limped up the red-carpeted marble stairs toward the main entrance. I wasn't going to crawl through the back door of my own ancestral home.

I pushed the heavy oak double doors open.

The brass handles clicked, and the doors swung wide, bouncing against the interior wall with a low thud.

The music inside instantly cut off. Conversations died in mid-sentence. Dozens of high-ranking wolves from the city's most powerful

corporate packs turned their heads toward the doorway.

In the center of the chandelier-lit grand hall stood a petite woman in a custom white silk gown. Her golden curls fell over bare shoulders, her pale green eyes wide with manufactured innocence.

Beside her, holding her waist with unmistakable intimacy, stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with ash-blond hair and a familiar silver stud in his left earlobe.

Camryn Knox.

My fiancé. The heir to the Knox Corporation, the man who had promised to wait five years for my release.

When Camryn's eyes met mine, the color drained from his face, and his hand dropped from Kacey's waist as if he had been burned.