She Was Unwanted, Now She's Queen

Alessia POV:

I stared at the glowing screen, watching the columns of numbers that kept the Silver Creek pack afloat. The click of my mouse was sharp and loud in the quiet study.

I navigated to my private royal trust fund. For three years, it had been set to automatically inject massive amounts of capital into the pack's public accounts every single month. I moved the cursor over the active status. I clicked the button and changed it to paused.

The screen blinked, confirming the severed financial tie. I leaned back in the leather chair. My throat felt like sandpaper.

I pushed myself up from the desk. I unlocked the study door and stepped out into the hallway. I needed a glass of cold water from the kitchen.

The corridor was dark and entirely still. Only the small brass wall sconces cast dim, yellow pools of light against the floorboards.

I walked barefoot. My toes sank into the thick, plush carpet. As a wolf, moving silently was second nature. I didn't make a single sound.

I reached the top of the stairs and began to descend. Halfway down, my ears twitched. I caught a strange noise coming from the first-floor kitchen.

It was a soft, high-pitched gasp, immediately followed by a giggling, hushed laugh.

My right foot froze over the next step.

I lowered my foot slowly. I pressed my body close to the wall and crept down the remaining stairs. I moved toward the kitchen. The heavy wooden sliding doors were pushed open just a few inches.

The main overhead lights were off. The only illumination came from a single, warm spotlight directly above the marble island in the center of the room.

I stopped a foot away from the gap. I looked through the narrow opening.

Valentina was sitting on the edge of the cold marble counter. She was wearing a short, black silk robe that barely covered her thighs.

Santino was standing directly between her parted knees. His head was bowed.

His large, calloused hands were wrapped around her bare ankles. His thumbs were pressing into her skin, moving in slow, rhythmic circles, rubbing the tension out of her muscles.

My breath caught in my throat. This wasn't just a massage. This was grooming. It was a deeply instinctual, intimate act reserved exclusively for mated pairs to soothe each other. When I had sprained my ankle a year ago, he had sat on the floor and done exactly that for me. Now, he was performing our sacred ritual on a stray.

A wave of pure, concentrated nausea slammed into my stomach. Acid burned the back of my throat.

I squeezed my eyes shut. My fists clenched so tight my nails cut into my palms. I fought the overwhelming urge to kick the door off its tracks and rip her throat out.

Instead, I took a slow breath. I closed my eyes and focused my energy inward. I located the mental channel in my brain—the mate link that connected my mind to his.

The link hummed to life, a low vibration in my skull.

*Take your hands off her,* I sent the thought through the link. My mental voice was made of absolute ice.

Through the crack in the door, I saw Santino’s entire body jerk. His hands froze on her ankles. His head snapped up, and he looked frantically around the dim kitchen.

Valentina tilted her head, her fake pout returning. "Santino? What's wrong?" she asked softly.

Santino didn't answer her out loud. Instead, his voice exploded inside my head through the mind link.

*Are you creeping around in the dark watching me like a ghost?* he snarled mentally. *Your jealousy is pathetic, Alessia. Go back to your room!*

I stared through the gap. My eyes were dead.

While his mind was shouting insults at me, his body was doing something else entirely. His hands didn't leave her skin.

Instead, his palms slid slowly upward, moving from her ankles, tracing the curve of her calves, his fingers digging into the soft flesh behind her knees.

Valentina let out a wet, sweet moan, arching her back slightly.

I listened to his arrogant, defensive lies in my head while watching his hands violate our marriage vows in real time. A slow, cruel smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth.

"Don't touch me with the hands that just touched her."