My Alpha Forced Me to Serve His Chosen Mate

The second formal pack banquet was louder than the first. The dining hall was packed tightly with Silverfang warriors and Briarwood wolves who were still trying to figure out how to blend in. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat, spilled wine, and the heavy, nervous sweat of a newly conquered pack.

I was on clearing duty. My arms felt like lead. Every step I took sent a dull ache up my calves. My wolf was so quiet tonight, buried deep under the heavy weight of the Wolfbane Fade. My chest just felt hollow and cold. I moved from table to table, keeping my head down, stacking greasy plates and gathering dirty silverware.

I reached the table nearest to the Alpha's dais. A senior Silverfang warrior was sitting there, laughing loudly with his friends. I reached for his empty plate. My fingers were slick with dishwater and grease. As I picked it up, my grip slipped. The edge of the heavy ceramic plate clattered hard against his crystal wine glass, tipping it over. Red wine spilled across the white tablecloth.

He stopped laughing. He turned to me, his eyes flashing a dangerous, bright yellow.

"Clumsy bitch," he snarled. He shoved his chair back so hard it screeched against the stone floor. His large hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. His grip was like a steel vice. "Can't you do one simple thing right, Omega?"

I flinched, trying to pull my arm back. "I'm sorry. I'll clean it up right now."

He didn't let go. His fingers dug deeper into my skin, bruising the bone. "You'll lick it off the table if I tell you to."

Then, the air in the room simply vanished.

"Drop."

It was just one word. It wasn't shouted. It wasn't even loud. But it rolled through the massive dining hall like a physical shockwave.

Winston's Alpha tone.

It hit my chest so hard I gasped, my knees buckling slightly. But the warrior holding me took the full force of it. He released my wrist instantly. His eyes went wide with pure terror, and his knees hit the stone floor with a sickening crack. He bowed his head low, exposing his neck, his massive shoulders shaking uncontrollably under the crushing, suffocating weight of Winston's aura.

The entire hall went dead silent. Nobody breathed. The clinking of forks stopped. The music stopped.

I looked up at the head table. Winston was standing. He looked down at the kneeling warrior with a face carved from ice. He didn't look at me. His eyes were fixed entirely on the man bleeding on the floor.

"You forget yourself, Marcus," Winston said. His voice was completely flat, but it carried to every corner of the room. "You cause a scene in my hall over a spilled glass. You disrupt my pack's dinner with your pathetic lack of control."

"Forgive me, Alpha," the warrior choked out, his face pressed near the stone.

"Control your temper," Winston said coldly. "Or I will control it for you. Return to your seat."

Winston sat back down. He picked up his own glass and took a slow sip. "Clear the table, Omega," he added, waving a hand without ever glancing in my direction.

I grabbed the plate with shaking hands and hurried out the swinging doors to the kitchen. Everyone in that room thought he was just enforcing pack discipline. They thought he was showing his dominance over a rowdy warrior.

But I knew the truth.

When he spoke that word, the scent of dark cedar and rain had spiked violently. It wasn't the scent of an Alpha keeping order. It was the scent of pure, possessive rage. He didn't care about the noise in his hall. He cared that another man had put his hands on me. He just couldn't admit it to his pack, or to himself.

The next morning, Silas caught me in the hallway before the breakfast rush. He handed me a folded slip of paper. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"New assignment," Silas said quietly.

I opened it. *Personal Attendant to the Chosen Mate. Report to the guest suite immediately.*

I stared at the paper. It was his latest punishment. It wasn't enough to make me serve him in the dining hall. I had to serve the woman taking my place. He wanted to rub my face in it. He wanted me to feel the humiliation of dressing his future Luna.

I pressed my fingers to my wrist, took a deep breath, and walked up the grand staircase.

I knocked on the heavy double doors of Talia's suite.

"Come in," a smooth voice called out.

I pushed the door open. The room was bright and luxurious, smelling of expensive floral perfume. Talia was sitting at a large oak vanity, wearing a silk robe. I kept my eyes on the floor, my hands folded perfectly in front of my cheap gray dress.

"I'm here to assist you," I said softly.

She looked at me through the mirror. "The blue dress in the closet, please."

I walked to the massive walk-in closet. The fabrics were soft and expensive. I pulled out the dark blue silk dress and laid it carefully on the edge of the large, unmade bed. Then I went down to the kitchens to fetch her breakfast tray.

When I returned, two visiting Alphas from a neighboring allied pack were sitting in the small lounge area of her suite. Talia was fully dressed, looking flawless and regal. I set the heavy silver tray on the small table between them and stepped back into the corner, pressing my back against the wall.

The men talked about border patrols and trade agreements. Talia poured the tea. She moved with effortless grace, adding exactly the right comments, smiling at exactly the right times. She was everything an Alpha needed. She was perfect.

My chest gave a dull, hollow throb. My wolf didn't even have the strength to whimper anymore. She just curled tighter into the dark.

"Ellie," Talia said.

I blinked, startled to hear my actual name instead of 'Omega'. I stepped forward quickly. "Yes?"

"Could you bring us some more hot water, please?" she asked.

She looked right at me. Her dark eyes were calm. There was no smirk on her lips. No hidden cruelty in her tone. It was just a polite, simple request.

"Right away," I whispered.

When I came back with the water, I stood by the wall again for another hour. Through it all, Talia never snapped at me. She never demanded I stand closer or farther away. Every other wolf in this house used their rank to step on me, eager to please their Alpha by degrading the lowest Omega.

But not her.

After the guests finally left, Talia sat by the large window, looking out over the training grounds.

"You can clear the cups, Ellie," she said softly. "Then take a break. You look pale."

I froze, my hands full of porcelain saucers. I looked at her. Really looked at her. She wasn't looking at me with pity. It was just a quiet, clinical observation.

"Thank you," I murmured.

I walked out of the room holding the tray. My mind was spinning. Winston wanted this to break me. He wanted me to hate her, to feel the burning, ugly jealousy of watching another woman live the life that was supposed to be mine.

But I didn't hate her. She wasn't the enemy. She was just playing a role, the same as I was. It just made everything hurt worse. Because she was perfect for him, and I was dying, and Winston was tearing us both apart for a lie that I was simply too tired to fight anymore.