The scent of pine and damp earth clung to me as I trudged through the forest, seven long years of building the Elliott Pack weighing heavy on my shoulders. Alpha Osman Elliott walked beside me, his presence as commanding as ever, his broad frame towering over me. His once-warm eyes had grown cold, distant, and I could feel the shift in him even before he spoke.
The pack's den loomed ahead, a sprawling structure that stood as a testament to our hard work. But the moment we stepped inside, I knew something was wrong. The air was thick with tension, and the pack members—Delta warriors and Omegas alike—avoided my gaze, their heads bowed in submission. I caught the faint scent of another she-wolf, sweet and floral, and my stomach churned.
"Amaris," Osman's voice cut through the silence, sharp and final. He turned to me, his chiseled jaw set in a way that made my heart sink. "The Elliott Pack needs an heir. You can't bear pups, and I can't lead a pack without one."
I stared at him, the words slicing through me like claws. My wolf whimpered in the back of my mind, a low, mournful sound. But I didn't argue. I simply nodded, my throat too tight to speak, and turned to leave.
That evening, my mother reached out through the pack's mind link, her voice soft but insistent. "Amaris, come home when you're ready. Jayden, the Delta, has always been waiting for you."
Three days before the pack's official ascension to prominence, Osman pulled me into his den for one last night. His hands were rough, his scent overpowering, and he didn’t bother with restraint. The next morning, he dressed in his finest Alpha attire, a deep crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders, and left without a word. I was bedridden for three days, my body aching and my spirit shattered.
"Alpha," I sent a message through the mind link, my voice trembling. "Are you busy? I miss you terribly."
There was no response. The silence was deafening. Tomorrow was the day the pack would solidify its dominance, and Osman was nowhere to be found. Unable to shake the gnawing anxiety, I forced myself to his office that night, my steps unsteady.
The den was alive with activity, pack members bustling about in preparation for the celebration. But they avoided me, their eyes darting away as I passed. I reached Osman's office, the heavy wooden door creaking as I pushed it open. The room was dimly lit, the scent of his Alpha presence still lingering. On his desk sat a worn bowl of stew, the same one we’d shared in our early days.
I logged onto his computer, the screensaver a picture of us in our old den, crammed into a corner, eating from that very bowl. My fingers traced the crack along its edge—the same crack from our first argument. My eyes landed on the date in the corner of the photo—April 16th, exactly seven years ago today. It was the day he promised to mark me as his mate once the pack ascended.
A jolt ran through me, and I reached for my phone to call him. Just then, a clap of thunder exploded outside, making me drop it. When I picked it up again, his social media page was open.
The overhead lights flickered out, leaving the computer screen's eerie glow reflecting my pale face. His latest post, a mere minute old, was an engagement photo. The woman wasn’t me.
Osman was wearing the cufflinks I’d given him, his hand cupping the back of another she-wolf's head as he kissed her. The caption read, "Finally found the one."
My fingers shook uncontrollably, nails biting into my palms, as drops of blood blurred the ring on her finger in the photo. The ring was identical to the design I had tucked away in my phone case, a design Osman had once sneakily looked at while I was asleep. I thought he was planning a surprise for me. Some surprise.
On impulse, I scrolled through the last message Osman sent before leaving: "Wait for me; I’ll bring you a gift from my trip to England."
He lied about the business trip. The location tag on his engagement photo showed they were in New Zealand.
A suffocating wave washed over me. I shakily dialed his number, but all I got were endless busy signals.
The storm roared all night, and I spent it curled up in his office. The next day broke bright and sunny. Osman returned to the country, arm-in-arm with her, all over the headlines.
After the pack's ascension, there was a celebration. Despite my crucial role in the pack, I was barred from attending. I forced my way past the Delta guards, my clothes rumpled and my spirit bruised, to stand by Osman's side. The pack members stared, their whispers cutting through the air like knives, but I held my head high. I had earned my place here, even if Osman had forgotten it.
