Chapter 36

My Cheating Mate

Jeremy pov

My father's office door was open when I arrived, but he was on the phone, his expression grave. He waved me in and gestured for me to sit.

"I understand the situation," he was saying, his Alpha voice firm. "Yes. Coordinate with our border patrols. If they cross into our territory, we respond with full force... No, I won't authorize pursuit into neutral lands without evidence. We're not starting a war over speculation." He paused. "Keep me updated. Every six hours, minimum."

He hung up and looked at me, his expression shifting from Alpha to father in an instant. "You look better. Emma said you actually slept."

"Twenty hours, apparently." I settled into the chair across from his desk. "She also said the rogue situation is getting worse?"

"It is." He pulled out a folder thick with reports. "That phone call was with Alpha Morrison from Silverbrook. Three of his border patrols have reported unusual rogue activity in the past week. Organized movements. Coordinated surveillance."

"Of what?"

"Of trade routes between our territories. The roads Emma would take if she visited their pack lands." His expression darkened. "Jeremy, Vanessa didn't just hire random rogues. She contracted with established rogue factions. The kind with leadership structures, territory, and resources."

My blood ran cold. "How established?"

"Black River Pack, for one." He pushed a report across the desk. "They're not technically rogues—they're an unaffiliated pack that operates outside normal pack law. About fifty wolves, all combat-trained, known for hiring out as mercenaries."

I scanned the report, my stomach sinking with each line. Black River had a reputation. They were disciplined, ruthless, and expensive. The kind of wolves you hired when you wanted guaranteed results.

"How much did Vanessa pay them?" I asked.

"Fifty thousand up front. Another fifty thousand on completion of the contract." My father's voice was grim. "And there are at least two more contracts we know about. Bloodmoon Collective—about thirty wolves, specializes in ambush tactics. And the Ash Creek runners, smaller group but known for being nearly impossible to track."

I did the math. "That's over three hundred thousand dollars."

"Closer to half a million, probably. Vanessa had access to her family's accounts, and they're one of the wealthiest families in our territory." He paused. "She spent six months planning this, Jeremy. Six months building contracts, establishing communication channels, setting up contingencies. This isn't amateur work."

"And they're still out there. All of them."

"Most of them. We've neutralized the three smaller contracts you helped identify—lone wolves and small groups that weren't deeply invested. But these larger factions?" He shook his head. "They're not going to walk away from that kind of money. Not without a fight."

I thought about Emma. About her going to training sessions, to coffee shops, to anywhere outside pack lands. Every moment she was exposed, vulnerable to rogues who'd been paid a fortune to kill her.

"What's our plan?" I asked.

"That depends on you." My father's expression was serious. "I need you for this, Jeremy. Really need you. But not half-dead from exhaustion. Not running yourself into the ground on guilt-fueled missions. I need you healthy and functional."

"I know. Emma made that very clear." I met his eyes. "Dad, I'm done being a liability. Done making you worry that I'm going to collapse in the field or get myself killed because I'm too exhausted to think straight."

"Good. Because what we're facing requires strategy, coordination, and sustained effort. Not one person burning himself out trying to solve everything alone."

He pulled out a map, spreading it across his desk. Red marks indicated reported rogue sightings. Blue marks showed our patrol routes. Yellow marked Emma's regular locations—her father's house, the training grounds, the pack house.

"Black River is here." He pointed to a cluster of red marks northwest of our territory. "They've been probing our borders for weak points. Testing response times. Watching Emma's movements."

"How do we know they're watching Emma specifically?"

"Because they've ignored three opportunities to attack general patrols, but they've shadowed her twice when she's been near border areas." He traced the route with his finger. "They're not interested in general chaos. They're focused on their target."

"We need to restrict Emma's movements," I said immediately. "Keep her in pack house areas only. Maximum security at all times."

"Already tried. She refused." My father's voice held a hint of respect. "Said she won't live like a prisoner. Agreed to security details but insisted on maintaining her normal routines."

That sounded like Emma. Stubborn, brave, refusing to let fear control her life.

"Then we need to be smarter about her security," I said. "Not just bodyguards—we need counter-surveillance, advanced warning systems, maybe decoys to draw out attackers on our terms."

"Exactly." My father looked pleased. "That's why I need you. Your tactical mind, your strategic thinking. But Jeremy, this is going to be a long campaign. Weeks, maybe months of sustained operations. Can you commit to that without burning yourself out?"

I thought about what Emma had said. About balance, about sustainability, about being present instead of drowning in guilt.

"Yes," I said. "But I need help. Can't coordinate all of this alone."

"You won't be alone. Marcus is handling patrol rotations. Elder Morrison is coordinating intelligence gathering. You'll focus specifically on Emma's security—planning her routes, analyzing threats, coordinating with her detail." He paused. "But Jeremy, that means regular hours. Actual sleep. Delegating when you're overwhelmed."

"I can do that."

"Can you? Because three weeks ago you were running yourself into the ground, skipping meals, sleeping three hours a night." His voice gentled. "Son, I understand the drive to protect Emma. To make up for what happened. But you can't protect anyone if you're not taking care of yourself."

"I know. I'm done making that mistake." I paused. "Dad, I slept for twenty hours yesterday. My body literally shut down. That's not going to happen again."

"How can I be sure?"

"Because Emma will kill me if it does," I said, only half-joking. "She made it very clear—if I go back to those patterns, if I start destroying myself again, she's done trying."

"Smart woman."

"Very smart." I looked at the map again. "What about the other two factions? Bloodmoon and Ash Creek?"

"Bloodmoon is operating out of disputed territory to the east. They're being cautious, staying clear of our borders. Probably waiting to see how Black River's operations play out before committing." He tapped another cluster of marks. "Ash Creek is the wild card. They're constantly moving, never staying in one place more than a few days. We've lost track of them entirely."

"So Black River is the immediate threat."

"Yes. They're well-funded, well-organized, and actively stalking Emma. If we can neutralize them, it might convince the other factions to cut their losses and walk away."

"Or it might make them more desperate," I countered. "More willing to take risks for the payout."

"Also possible." My father rubbed his face, looking every one of his sixty years. "That's why we need strategy. Can't just react to threats—we need to control the battlefield. Dictate the terms of engagement."

"A trap," I said slowly. "We use Emma as bait."

"Absolutely not." His response was immediate and firm. "We are not using your mate as bait, no matter how well-planned."

"Then a fake Emma. A decoy that draws them out."

"Better. But they're smart—they'll have ways to verify it's really her before committing." He pointed to the surveillance reports. "They've been watching her for weeks. They know her scent, her routines, probably even her wolf's coloring."

"So we need someone who can pass those tests. Someone who—" I stopped. "We'd need another she-wolf. Similar build, similar coloring in wolf form. And willing to take the risk."

"Even then, scent would be the problem. Can't fake that."

I thought for a moment. "What if we don't try to fake it? What if we use the real Emma but stack everything in our favor? Controlled environment, overwhelming force, guaranteed extraction plan?"

"No." My father's voice was steel. "I will not risk the future Luna's life on a tactical operation. End of discussion."

He was right. The idea of Emma in danger, even controlled danger, made my wolf snarl with protective fury.

"Then we wait them out," I said. "Make Emma's security so tight that any attempt would be suicide. Eventually they'll either give up or make a mistake we can exploit."

"That's the current plan. But Jeremy, these are professional mercenaries. Patient, disciplined. They could watch and wait for months until the perfect opportunity presents itself."

"Then we make sure that opportunity never comes."

We spent the next hour going over security details. Emma's regular routes, the weak points in our current coverage, potential ambush locations. My father had already done thorough work, but I found a few gaps—places where coordination between different security teams could be tighter, times when Emma was briefly exposed during transitions.

"I'll present these recommendations to Marcus," my father said, making notes. "He's in charge of implementation, but your tactical input is valuable."

"I want to be involved in the execution too. Not leading every operation, but present enough to adapt if situations change."

"Agreed. But Jeremy—" He fixed me with a serious look. "You check in daily. You eat meals with the pack instead of working through them. You sleep minimum six hours a night. And if I catch you running yourself into the ground again, I'm pulling you off this operation. Understood?"

"Understood." I paused. "Thank you. For trusting me with this. After everything I've done, all the ways I've screwed up—"

"You're still my son. Still the future Alpha. And despite your many, many mistakes—" a slight smile, "—you're one of the best tactical minds in this pack. We need you. I need you. But I need you healthy."

"I'll be healthy. I promise."

"Good." He stood, signaling the meeting was over. "Now go find Emma. She's at training grounds. Make sure she knows about the increased threat level. And Jeremy? Maybe don't tell her about Black River specifically. She doesn't need to know there are fifty mercenary wolves actively hunting her."

"She'll find out eventually."

"Eventually, yes. But let's give her a few more days of relative peace first."

I left his office feeling both determined and overwhelmed. The rogue situation was worse than I'd realized. Half a million dollars worth of contracts, professional mercenary factions, coordinated surveillance.

Vanessa had really tried to guarantee Emma's death. Even from the grave, her hatred was still trying to destroy us.

But we'd stop them. All of them. Black River, Bloodmoon, Ash Creek—every single wolf Vanessa had paid.

I'd make sure Emma was safe. Not through self-destruction and guilt-fueled missions, but through smart, sustainable work.

Because Emma deserved to live without fear. Deserved to train young wolves and drink coffee and exist in the world without constantly looking over her shoulder.

And I'd do whatever it took to give her that peace.

Starting with actually taking care of myself so I could be present for the fight ahead.

One day at a time. One threat at a time. One step toward healing at a time.

It wasn't dramatic. Wasn't some grand gesture of redemption.

But it was real. Sustainable. Healthy.

And right now, that was exactly what we both needed.