After abandoned, I found my Fated Alpha

I dragged the scratchy gray cotton over my head. The maid’s uniform smelled like bleach and old dust. I fastened the cheap plastic buttons, my fingers trembling against the stiff fabric. My right knee throbbed, a dull ache that flared into sharp agony when I put my weight on it. I grabbed the wooden banister and pulled myself up the stairs.

At the top landing, a sound stopped me dead.

Skin slapping against skin. A low, guttural moan echoing through the half-open mahogany door.

"Fuck, Edward, right there," a woman whined loudly.

Becky. My biological sister.

"You like that?" Edward growled. His voice, the same voice that used to whisper sweet promises into my ear, now thick with lust. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You. Only you." Becky’s voice spiked higher. "Give it to me. Make me your Luna."

"Fuck yes," Edward grunted. "You take my knot so much better than she ever could. My perfect mate."

"Does she know?" Becky giggled, breathless. "Does your crippled little wife know what we do in her bed?"

"Who cares what Una knows? Spread your legs wider."

"She used to scream your name, Edward. Now she just limps around the kitchen."

"Shut up and take it. You're the only female I want in this pack."

I pressed my back against the corridor wall. My chest caved in. I clamped a hand over my mouth to trap the sob tearing up my throat. My Alpha. My mate. Fucking my sister in the room we used to share.

I couldn't stay here. I pushed off the wall and hurried down the hall, my bad leg dragging awkwardly across the carpet.

I rounded the corner and collided hard with a small figure.

"Watch it!" a high-pitched voice snapped.

I blinked through my tears and looked down. Johnny.

My five-year-old son sat on the floor, surrounded by shreds of shimmering silver fabric. The heavy shears in his small hands glinted under the hallway lights.

He snipped again. A jagged tear ripped through the bodice.

My stomach plummeted. I recognized that fabric.

"Johnny, stop!" I dropped to my knees, ignoring the sharp spike of pain in my joints. I snatched the ruined garment from his hands. "What are you doing? This is my dress!"

It was the gown I wore the night Edward crowned me Luna of the Black Moon Pack. The silk was now hacked into jagged, useless ribbons.

Johnny didn't flinch. He looked up at me, a bright, innocent smile spreading across his face.

"I'm making rags," he squeaked.

"Rags? Johnny, why would you do this? This is mine. It's the dress from my Luna ceremony."

"Because you don't deserve to be Dad's Luna," he said.

The words punched the air straight out of my lungs.

"What did you just say to me?" I whispered.

"Only Aunt Becky can be Dad's Luna." Johnny tilted his head, his blue eyes staring at me without a shred of pity. "Dad said so."

"Who taught you to say these things? Did Aunt Becky tell you this?"

"No. Dad said so."

"I am your mother, Johnny. You don't speak to me like that."

"Black Moon Pack only welcomes the strong," the five-year-old recited, mimicking his father's authoritative tone perfectly. "And you are a loser."

Tears spilled over my lashes, dropping onto the ruined silver dress.

"A loser? Johnny, look at me." I grabbed his arms. "I am not a loser."

"Release me! You're hurting me!" Johnny yelled, squirming in my grip.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I dropped my hands, wiping my wet cheeks. "It's just... Dad told everyone I was the pack's heroine. I fought for this pack. I saved your father's life. That's why my leg is like this."

Johnny rubbed his arm. "Losers cry."

"Johnny, please listen to me."

"Dad says you're just weak now. Weak wolves belong at the bottom. You scrub floors. Aunt Becky wears crowns." He stood up, kicking a piece of the shredded silk out of his way. "I want to go play. Don't touch my toys."

He spun around and trotted down the hall, his sneakers squeaking against the polished wood.

"Johnny! Come back here!" I called out.

He didn't look back.

I collapsed fully onto the floor, clutching the pieces of my past. My own son. The boy I nearly died birthing. He looked at me with nothing but disgust.

I shoved the ruined dress aside and grabbed the scrub brush and bucket left for me by the head omega. I dunked the stiff bristles into the soapy water.

*Scrub.*

The harsh sound echoed in the empty hallway.

*Scrub.*

I pushed the brush against the floorboards, putting my entire weight behind it. The physical exertion offered a tiny distraction from the gaping hole in my chest.

"You did it, Una," I whispered to the empty hall.

I scrubbed harder.

"He's perfect. You're perfect," I said aloud.

I slammed the brush into the suds. Water splashed over the rim of the bucket.

"I love you so much," I mocked, my voice sharp and bitter. "I'll never let anything hurt you."

"Liar," I hissed. "Fucking liar."

"You are the heart of this pack," I continued, mimicking his deep Alpha tone. "You saved me, Una."

"And then you threw me away."

How did it go wrong? Five years ago, in that hospital room, he held my hand like I was his entire world. I sacrificed my leg, my strength, my wolf's vitality to protect our borders. I took the silver blade meant for Edward.

And my reward was a maid's uniform and a bucket of filthy water.

"Are you going to clean that spot all day, or do you plan on finishing the whole floor?"

I froze.

The harsh, arrogant voice came from right behind me.

I turned my head, my grip tightening on the wet wooden brush.

A pair of polished black leather shoes stopped inches from my knees.