Betrayed by the Alpha

The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Modern Revenge Scheming

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I hovered in the corner of the damp Runt Quarters, powerless as a ghost, watching my five-year-old daughter take her last breath.

She died of a fever that a simple medicine could have cured.

But my husband, Alpha Elroy, refused to pay for it. He was too busy dining with his mistress to waste resources on a "runt."

When he finally arrived, there were no tears.

He picked up my daughter’s small body like a bag of trash and tossed her into the incineration pit meant for criminals.

"Stop hiding, Annis!" he roared at the empty woods, thinking I was alive and watching. "Your trick didn't work. The runt is dead."

I screamed at him, clawing at his suit, but my hands passed right through him.

Days later, his mistress gave birth to a son. But the baby was born with a fractured soul, dying.

The doctor said only a bone marrow graft from the White Wolf bloodline could save him.

Elroy didn't hesitate. He looked toward the incineration pit.

"Retrieve the girl's body," he commanded his warriors. "Her bones will save the future Alpha."

He intended to butcher our daughter's corpse to save his illegitimate child.

Enraged, he hunted down the Rogue who had secretly stolen Emma's body before it could burn.

"Give me the body!" Elroy demanded. "And tell Annis to stop spoofing her credit cards in Europe and show her face!"

The Rogue looked at him with cold pity and threw a coroner's report at his chest.

"Annis isn't in Europe, Elroy."

"She has been rotting in a shallow grave for six months. Your mistress paid for the bullet."

Chapter 1

Annis POV:

Being dead was not peaceful. It was cold. It was a constant, gnawing ache that felt like winter had settled deep inside my bones, or what was left of them. But the cold was nothing compared to the agony of watching my daughter die.

I hovered in the corner of the Runt Quarters. This was the place where the Pack threw the weak, the sick, and the unwanted. The air here smelled of mildew and despair.

"Mommy..."

The whimper was so faint it barely disturbed the stale air. Emma lay on a cot that was too small even for her five-year-old body. Her skin was burning. I could see the fever flushing her pale cheeks. It was the Pre-shift fever. For a normal pup, this was a celebration. It meant their wolf was waking up. But for Emma, whose wolf was buried deep under my recessive genes, it was a death sentence without the medicine.

I screamed. I lunged forward, trying to grab her hand, trying to smooth the damp hair back from her forehead.

The overhead bulb flickered violently, buzzing like an angry hornet, but my hand passed right through her.

I was nothing. Just a collection of memories and regrets, tethered to this cursed land by a Moon Goddess who clearly hated me.

The door creaked open. It was Old Martha, the caretaker. She looked at Emma, and her face crumpled. She tapped her temple, her eyes glazing over. She was initiating a Mind-Link.

In a wolf pack, the Mind-Link is a telepathic web that connects us all. It allows instant communication. But since I was dead, I could only hear the echoes of the Alpha's voice because my soul was still stupidly, tragically bound to his.

Alpha Elroy, Martha projected. The pup... Emma. She is convulsing. The fever is too high. We need the Moonflower extract. Please.

The silence that followed was heavy. Then, I heard him. His voice was a deep baritone that used to make my heart flutter before he crushed it. Now, it just sounded like judgment.

I am at dinner, Martha. Elroy's voice echoed in the room, cold and detached. Do not disturb me with trivialities.

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