After My Mate Sold Me to His Enemy

The copper tang of dried blood coated my tongue, a familiar taste after ten years of serving as the Silverclaw Pack’s Enforcer. My tactical gear was shredded, my skin stained with the grime of a three-day hunt, but I didn't care. I had eliminated the spies from the Ironwood Pack. I had kept him safe.

Thatcher.

My wolf, usually a silent predator within my mind, paced restlessly as I approached the Sacred Grove. The moon hung heavy and full, casting silver light through the ancient trees. I needed to report to my Alpha. I needed to tell him the borders were secure.

But as I stepped into the clearing, the report died in my throat.

Thatcher was there. But he wasn't alone.

Penny Jones, my foster sister, was pressed against him, her delicate hands resting on his chest. The scent hit me a second later—not the metallic stench of my own blood, but the cloying sweetness of artificial vanilla and... something else. Something that smelled like *him*.

"Thatcher?" I rasped, my voice rough from disuse.

He turned. And in that second, my world fractured.

*"MATE!"* my wolf screamed, throwing herself against the walls of my consciousness. The pull was instantaneous, a magnetic force threatening to drag me to my knees. The Moon Goddess had finally blessed me. The man I had served, the man I had loved in silence, was my fated mate.

I took a step forward, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm. "Thatcher, it's you. The bond..."

He didn't step toward me. He didn't pull me into the embrace every wolf dreams of. Instead, his lip curled in a sneer that chilled my blood colder than the night air.

"Cover yourself, Lottie," he spat, shielding Penny as if *I* were the monster. "You reek of death."

***

An hour later, I was on my knees in the center of the Alpha House's grand hall. The entire pack elite surrounded us, their whispers like buzzing flies.

Thatcher sat on his throne, Penny perched on the armrest like a delicate ornament. I was still covered in the filth of my mission, kneeling on the hardwood floor while he looked down at me with nothing but contempt.

"Lottie Weaver," Thatcher’s voice boomed, laced with the Alpha Tone that forced my wolf to whimper in submission. "You believe that because the Goddess played a cruel joke, you are fit to be my Luna?"

"I am your mate," I said, my voice shaking but defiant. "I have bled for this pack. I have killed for you."

"Exactly," he countered coldly. "You are a butcher. A blunt instrument. A Luna is a mother, a diplomat, a symbol of purity. Look at you. You are a violent, low-born stray with no lineage."

My hand trembled as I reached into my tactical vest. I pulled out the only thing that mattered to me—my mother’s Moonstone amulet. The glowing blue stone was the only proof that I came from somewhere, that I wasn't just a nameless orphan.

"I have lineage," I pleaded, holding the stone up like an offering. "My mother... this stone proves I am worthy..."

Thatcher stood up, walked over, and snatched the amulet from my blood-stained fingers. He held it up to the light, inspecting it with a scoff.

"Trinkets and trash," he muttered. "Just like you."

Then, with a sickening crunch, he closed his fist. I watched in horror as blue dust trickled from his hand onto the floor. He had crushed it. He had crushed my mother's memory as easily as he was crushing my heart.

"No!" I screamed, lunging forward, but the Alpha command slammed me back down.

"I, Thatcher Harrison, Alpha of the Silverclaw Pack," he announced, his voice echoing with finality, "reject you, Lottie Weaver, as my mate and Luna."

Pain, white-hot and searing, tore through my chest. It felt like my soul was being ripped in half. I gasped, clutching my chest, while Penny smirked from the throne, her eyes glinting with triumph.

***

I couldn't stay. The agony of the severed bond was suffocating. I packed a single duffel bag, intending to cross the border and go Rogue. Better to be a lone wolf than to live in the shadow of my rejected mate.

But as I reached the territory line, headlights blinded me. Thatcher’s SUV blocked the path.

He stepped out, blocking my exit. "Leaving? I didn't give you permission to retire, Enforcer."

"You rejected me," I snarled, the pain making me bold. "I have no place here."

"You're right. You don't," he said smoothly, crossing his arms. "But I can't have a lethal weapon like you running to my enemies. You're too dangerous to be free, Lottie."

He threw a folder at my feet. It bore the seal of the Shadowblood Pack—a pack notorious for their brutality and torture.

"I've arranged a marriage alliance," Thatcher said, his voice devoid of mercy. "You are to mate with Elliott, the Shadowblood runt. He's an illegitimate, wolfless cripple. He needs a protector, and I need a trade deal."

"You're selling me?" I whispered, horror replacing my anger. "To a runt?"

"It's all a butcher deserves," he sneered. "Recite the acceptance vows. Now. Or I'll have the guards drag you there in chains."

My wolf howled in despair, broken and bleeding. I looked at the man I had loved for ten years, the man who had just destroyed my life.

"I accept," I choked out, sealing my fate. "I accept the union with Elliott of Shadowblood."