Chapter 1 of He Died Just To Take Another Mate

My Alpha—Alaric Vandolph—did not truly die.

He only wanted the world to believe he had, all so he could claim another she-wolf as his mate.

I grieved him. Truly grieved. I broke apart piece by piece, swallowed by sorrow, convinced the Moon Goddess had taken him before we could ever exchange vows.

Then he came back.

Or so I believed.

A man entered our pack wearing Alaric’s face. The same eyes. The same voice. The same smile that once belonged only to me. I thought my Alpha had returned from death itself… until the truth clawed its way out.

There was no twin.

Theo Vandolph had never existed.

It was all a lie—a carefully staged illusion. Alaric had never been killed. He had orchestrated his own death to fulfill Elowen’s so-called dying wish: to become his wife before she “passed.”

But Elowen was never dying.

She never intended to die at all.

She only wanted him.

And Alaric chose her—freely, willingly, without hesitation.

The betrayal tore deeper than any wolf’s claws. He deceived me. He stripped me of everything—my future, my faith, my dignity. Even the child growing inside me was taken when he told me our unborn pup was gone.

That was when I decided.

“Fake my death,” I said to my father, the Alpha who raised me.

If Alaric could watch me mourn him, then he would drink the same poison. He would grieve me. He would ache for me.

And when I rise from the ashes of my false grave…

He will finally understand what it means to lose everything.

...

Aveline’s POV

The moon has always followed my life like a silent guardian.

I was born beneath its glow, wrapped in silver light, chosen from birth to become a Luna. And tonight—of all nights—I was meant to stand atop Moonlight Cliff, the holiest ground in our territory. There, my Alpha, my fiancé, was supposed to slide the moonstone ring onto my finger and bind me to him forever.

Alpha Alaric Vandolph.

My Alaric.

That morning, the title Luna of Vandolph felt unreal on my tongue—sweet, sacred, earned. As I adjusted the pale silk gown clinging softly to my body, I pressed a hand over my stomach. A quiet smile curved my lips.

No one else knew yet.

But inside me, life was growing.

Three weeks old. Fragile. No bigger than a small fruit. Yet alive—proof of our bond. The future heir of two powerful packs, born of an Alpha and his Luna.

The day meant to crown my happiness instead shattered it beyond repair.

I was riding toward the cliff when the forest-lined road twisted ahead of us, branches whispering in the wind. The driver reached to turn on the radio.

The voice that spilled out was shaking.

“This just in… Moonlight Cliff has been attacked. Witnesses report an assault by the Lycan Prince—the cursed ruler of the East. There were no survivors. All wolves present are presumed dead.”

My fingers went numb.

The car swayed before the driver corrected the wheel, his face pale. My heartbeat roared in my ears. Air refused to reach my lungs.

“No… no, please—no,” I murmured, shaking my head as if denial could erase the words.

When we finally arrived, the scent of blood struck first.

It wasn’t just death—it was violation. The ground was soaked crimson. Warriors of my pack had fallen here. And there, gleaming faintly beneath the moon’s cold gaze, lay the moonstone ring Alaric had promised to place on my finger.

There was no body.

Only blood.

They said the Lycan Prince must have thrown the bodies into the abyss below.

My legs gave out. I collapsed, clutching the ring to my chest as though it could keep my heart from tearing apart. Inside me, my wolf wailed—a broken, hollow sound that echoed through the night. Tears blinded me. My hand flew instinctively to my stomach.

I screamed.

Until my throat burned raw.

Until even the moon must have heard me.

When my voice failed, I sat there—empty, shaking—the ring scorching my palm like a cruel reminder.

A week later, we buried a coffin filled with nothing.

Packs from every corner arrived dressed in black. Still, I waited. Some foolish part of me believed Alaric would appear at the gates, laughing, apologizing for being late.

But the coffin descended.

And with it, my last hope vanished.

Then he appeared.

A man walked into the packhouse with the same stride. The same sharp gaze. The same face that haunted my dreams.

He introduced himself as Theo—Alaric’s forgotten twin.

No one had ever mentioned a twin. Not once. Yet there he stood, beside a woman who clung to him. His wife, Elowen Brookefield.

His voice was slightly rougher. His smile too tight. But gods—he looked like Alaric.

My heart twisted painfully.

Coincidence, I told myself. Fate was cruel—but not monstrous enough to mock me with his face.

I was wrong.

That night, drawn toward the Alpha quarters—the rooms meant to be mine—I overheard the truth.

Voices drifted through the door.

“You’ve gone too far, Alaric,” his mother whispered, anguish thick in her tone. “You faked your death. You abandoned Aveline while she’s pregnant and grieving. This is insanity.”

Ice flooded my veins.

Then his voice answered. The voice I loved.

“I had no alternative,” he said heavily. “Elowen begged me. She’s dying. She wanted to be my wife before the end. I owed her that. She was once my everything.”

My chest constricted.

“You left Aveline alone,” his mother snapped. “You left her carrying your child!”

“I’ll explain once Elowen is gone,” he replied. “Aveline is strong. Besides, we weren’t mated yet—she wasn’t bound to my soul. She’s my fiancée. She’ll forgive me.”

Forgive him?

My legs nearly collapsed beneath me.

I had mourned him. I had buried him in my heart. And all along, he lived—wearing another name, lying effortlessly to my face.

For Elowen.

For the woman who once left him and returned only when it suited her.

A sob escaped before I could stop it. I fled to my room, gripping the moonstone ring so tightly it sliced my skin. I wanted to throw it away, to destroy it—but my wolf restrained me, torn between fury and heartbreak.

With shaking hands, I messaged my father.

Father. I want to fake my death.

My phone rang immediately.

“Aveline,” his voice thundered, “what are you saying? What has happened?”

I told him everything.

How Alaric chose another.

How he let me grieve him.

How he left me pregnant and shattered.

“I want him to feel this,” I whispered. “If he could die for me, then I can die for him.”

After a long pause, my father growled softly. “Very well. Rest. I will handle it.”

The call ended.

A knock followed.