RISE OF THE SILVER WOLF

Veronica

"Where are my boxers?"

Richard's voice cut through our house, sharp and demanding. I stood in the basement, my fingers wrapped around the shopping bags containing his favorite dinner, steak, the expensive kind, and a bottle of wine I'd saved up for. Five years of marriage, and I still tried to make every Valentine's Day special.

"Coming!" I called out, setting the bags on the kitchen counter carefully.

I grabbed the fresh laundry basket and started up the stairs, my heart doing that familiar flutter it always did when I thought about surprising him. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe tonight he will look at me the way he used to, before everything changed.

His gray shirt lay crumpled on the third step. I picked it up without thinking, a habit now, after all these years. His pants were draped over the banister like a sign board. His belt coiled on the landing like a snake.

But then I saw something that made me freeze. A woman's coat. Wine-red cashmere, elegant and expensive, this is not mine.

My wolf stirred uneasily inside me, still weak from the surgery six months ago. Something's wrong, she whispered.

I climbed higher, my legs moving on autopilot even as my brain screamed at me to stop. A black dress pooled at the top of the stairs, sequined and far too glamorous for anything I owned. Then a lace bra, crimson and delicate.

And finally, a black thong. The laundry basket slipped from my fingers, boxers scattering across the floor.

"Richard, hurry up! I need you back here!"

The voice was breathless, feminine, followed by a low moan that made my stomach turn inside out. I knew that voice. I'd heard it at pack meetings, always sweet and simpering around my husband.

Catherine.

My feet carried me forward. I don't remember deciding to move, but suddenly I was standing in front of our bedroom door, mine and Richard's, and it was open just a crack. The smell hit me first: sweat, perfume, and sex. So much sex that the air felt thick with it. Through the gap, I could see them.

Richard, my husband, my mate, buried between pale thighs that weren't mine, thrusting in and out of her pussy like his life depends on it. Catherine's head thrown back against my pillows, her dark hair spilling across my sheets. The sheets I'd washed just yesterday, hung out to dry in the sun because Richard liked the way they smelled fresh.

I must have made a sound, a gasp, a whimper, something, because Richard's head snapped toward the door. Our eyes met.

He didn't stop immediately. It took him three more seconds, like his body needed time to catch up with his brain. Then he pulled away, and Catherine let out an annoyed huff.

"What are you doing here?" Richard's voice was flat, empty of everything except irritation.

I pushed the door open wider. My legs were shaking, but I walked in anyway. "What am I doing here? This is my house. My bedroom. My husband."

Catherine sat up slowly, deliberately, letting the silk sheet fall away from her body,stark naked. She reached for a slip draped across my dresser, my dresser and pulled it on with lazy confidence.

"Your husband?" She laughed, the sound high and cruel. "Veronica, sweetie, when was the last time you actually satisfied him? A Luna with one kidney is more useless than a maid. At least maids can do their jobs properly."

The words struck like claws across my face. My hand went instinctively to my side, where the scar still ached on cold days.

"Richard." I turned to him, searching his face for something, horror, shame, regret. Anything. "Tell her she's wrong. Tell her to leave."

He stood up, pulling on his pants with a soft calm. "There's no point hiding it anymore, Veronica. Catherine's right. You can't be what I need. You haven't been able to for a long time."

"I gave our son my kidney!" The words tore out of me, raw and desperate. "I saved Henry's life. The surgery, the recovery, you said you understood. You said we'd get through it together."

"And you've been 'recovering' for six months." Catherine slid off the bed, moving toward Richard like she owned him. Maybe she did. "A real Luna wouldn't be so weak. A real Luna would put her pack first, her Alpha first. But you? You can barely take care of yourself, let alone a child."

She wrapped her arm around Richard's waist, and he let her. He let her touch him while I stood there, his actual wife, his marked mate, watching my life crumble into dust.

"I'll be taking care of Henry from now on," Catherine continued, her smile sharp as broken glass. "He needs a strong mother figure. Someone who can actually keep up with him."

Something inside me snapped. My son. She was talking about my son. The boy I'd carried, birthed, nursed, loved with every broken piece of my soul. The boy I had literally given part of my body to save.

"You don't touch my son," I snarled, and lunged for her. I didn't even get close.

Richard's hand grabbed my throat, lifting me off my feet like I weighed nothing. My damaged wolf whimpered, too weak to shift, too weak to fight. He slammed me against the wall, and pain exploded through my spine.

"Know your place," he growled, his face inches from mine.

He hit me. Once, twice, three times. I tasted blood. Felt my lip split into two. The world spun in sick circles.

"Richard, darling, you're being too rough," Catherine purred from the bed, but she was smiling. "We don't want to damage her too badly. Not yet, anyway."

His fist drew back again, and I saw my death in his eyes. This was my mate, my husband, and he was going to kill me.

Then, clear as a bell through the fog of pain: "Wow, Aunt Catherine bought me so many gifts!"

Henry. My baby boy, his footsteps pattering down the hallway, coming closer.

I grabbed Richard's wrist with both hands, my voice barely a whisper through my crushed throat. "You don't... want our child... to see this. Do you?"

His fingers loosened. Just slightly, but enough.

I could hear Henry right outside, his little hand probably reaching for the doorknob. Any second now, he'd push it open. He'd see his father half-dressed with another woman. He'd see his mother bleeding on the floor. He'd see what his family really was.

Richard released me, and I slumped against the wall, gasping for air. Every breath felt like swallowing glass.

I forced myself to stand, my legs trembling, using the wall for support. Blood dripped from my chin onto my shirt, the nice one I'd worn for our Valentine's dinner. The doorknob began to turn…