After My Mate Chose His Assistant Over Me

The storm hit Ironclaw just after nine.

I was in the upstairs study, sorting through the pack's quarterly reports, when the first crack of thunder rattled the windows. I didn't flinch. Twelve years as Luna of the Ironclaw Pack had taught me how to keep my hands steady through louder things than weather.

Then the lights died.

Not a flicker. Not a hum. Just — gone. The whole pack house dropped into black so thick I could feel it pressing on my eyes.

My lungs locked.

"No," I whispered. "No, no, no —"

My knees gave out before my mind caught up. I slid down the wall, the carpet scratching through my dress, and pressed my back flat against the plaster like it could hold me together. My breath came in short, ragged pulls. I couldn't see my own hands. I couldn't see anything.

I was eight years old again, locked in a closet while my father shouted somewhere in the house, while my mother — Blake Morrison, the bravest woman I have ever known — pleaded with him through a closed door.

I clawed for the mind-link.

*Hudson.*

My mate's presence brushed the edge of my mind, distracted, distant.

*Hudson, the power. It's out. I can't —* I sucked in a breath that didn't reach the bottom of my chest. *Please. I need you.*

A pause. Then his voice, clipped:

*Katie's having a panic spiral. She's alone in the east wing. I have to go.*

I stared into the dark.

*Hudson.* My voice in the link cracked, small as a child's. *I'm on the floor. I can't breathe.*

*Blair, she's hyperventilating. You're an adult. You know how to ride this out.*

And then — the cleanest cut of all — the link closed.

I sat there a long time. The thunder rolled. The rain hammered the windows like it was looking for a way in. My wolf, who had not spoken in years, did not stir. She only watched, somewhere deep, the way a creature watches a fire it has decided not to outrun anymore.

I don't know how long I stayed pinned to that wall. Long enough for my legs to go numb. Long enough for the panic to crest, then dull into something quieter, something almost like exhaustion. I fumbled for my phone. The battery was at nine percent. The screen was the only light in the world.

That was when I saw it.

Katie Diaz had posted twenty minutes ago.

A photograph of her curled on a leather couch I recognized — Hudson's reading couch, in his private den — wrapped in his red-and-black flannel. The collar of it fell off one of her shoulders. Her hair was tousled, her smile soft. The caption was three words and a moon emoji.

*Safe with him. 🌙*

I looked at the picture for a long time.

I waited for the part of me that always defended him to step forward. The part that said *she's just an Omega