My Mate Watched Me Get Beaten by His Mistress

The evening was perfectly ordinary in the Silverfang pack house. I was sitting on the velvet sofa in the common room, sipping tea and scrolling through my phone.

Then, the mind-link exploded.

It wasn't a voice. It was a violent flood of images, broadcasted anonymously to every allied pack channel at once. My phone buzzed fiercely in my hand, syncing with the mental barrage. I blinked, trying to process the sudden influx of data.

Screenshots. Dozens of them.

A man was on his knees. A heavy leather collar was strapped tight around his neck. He was looking up at a camera with a submissive, eager expression.

It was Corey.

My fated mate. The man I had fought my Alpha father to elevate. The low-ranking wolf I had bought a house for, pouring my own inheritance into our future.

My stomach violently twisted. The tea sloshed over the rim of my cup, burning my fingers. I scrolled down, my hands trembling uncontrollably. In the next frame, a woman’s hand rested on his head, petting his hair. I didn't need to see her face. I recognized the heavy, dark metal rings on her fingers from the inter-pack summit photos.

Alpha Saanvi Vargas of the Black Moon Pack.

The pack house erupted. Whispers turned into shouts. Members stared at their phones, then slowly turned their heads to look at me. Pity and shock radiated from them.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs. My father, Alpha Gerald, stormed into the room. His Alpha aura flared with a terrifying, protective fury that rattled the windows. "Blakely!" he roared.

But I was already moving. I dropped the cup and bolted out the front door before he could stop me.

I didn't need a map. My grandfather had trained me to track since I was a pup. I shifted my senses, pulling in the night air. I found the sickening scent of the cheap cologne Corey always wore. Now I knew why he used it so heavily. It wasn't just a preference. It was a shield to mask the smell of another woman. To mask Saanvi.

The trail led me away from our territory to a luxury hotel just across the border, sitting on neutral ground. I ignored the lobby staff, pushing past the velvet ropes, and took the stairs two at a time. Fourth floor. Room 412.

I didn't knock. I lifted my leg and kicked the heavy double doors with all my strength. The wood splintered, and the lock shattered.

I froze in the doorway.

The room was bathed in the harsh, blinding glare of a ring light. A professional camera sat on a tripod. Corey was on the floor, mid-stream, wearing nothing but the collar from the photos.

But that wasn't what stopped my heart.

Saanvi Vargas lounged on the king-sized bed. She wore a crimson silk robe, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. And resting against her bare collarbone, catching the harsh light, was a heavy silver necklace.

My grandfather’s Alpha crest