The Alpha’s Grovel: From Mistress to Enemy

Maristella Winterfang

The heavy stench of my own unbonded mate-sweat filled the chamber as I stared at the cold clock on the mantle. Eleven at night, and the sacred blood-candles were almost burned down to nothing. Three full years since I was given to him as a land-tethered mate, and tonight was supposed to be the night he finally recognized my wolf.

I picked up the black-shell communication device, my trembling fingers leaving smudge marks on the glass before I pressed his direct mark. It rang five agonizing times before the line snapped open.

"What is it, Maristella?" Alaric’s cold voice hit me like ice-water. "I am busy."

"You said you would be at the Alpha Manor tonight, Alaric," I whispered, holding back the low whine in the back of my throat. "There is only one hour left of our mate-oath day."

"Pack business ran late," he growled. "I will not be coming back to the lodge tonight."

"Lord Thorncroft, is everything ready for the night shift?" a sweet, sharp voice purred right next to his receiver, cutting straight through the line.

Before I could speak another word, the connection severed. I stood there as my four-foot-five body trembled, my black skin flushed hot with humiliation. My omega wolf whimpered deep inside my chest, curling into a tight ball of pure misery.

On the table sat the sealed parchment from the High Shaman—the medical proof that my womb had finally caught his seed, the child that was supposed to bind our bloodlines forever. I snatched the parchment, stuffed the entire feast into wooden travel baskets, and ran out to my carriage.

The cold mud of the Hollow Glen Settlement stuck to my slippers as the elder pack members slowly emerged from their broken stone huts.

"Lady Maristella?" an old she-wolf whispered, her eyes wide as she saw the heavy baskets in my arms. "You brought food for the glen again?"

"Who among the pups marks their sprouting day tonight?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay level.

"It is mine, my Lady!" little Lyra squeaked, running up before stopping abruptly, staring down at her mud-caked paws in shame.

"Come here, little one," I said, dropping to my knees right in the dirt to hand her a thick slice of sweet bread. "Call the other pups. We feed the whole glen tonight."

I watched them eat, but the old she-wolf’s soft blessing felt like silver blades digging into my lungs: May the Moon Mother grant your Alpha the eyes to see what a precious mate he holds.

I turned away before she could see the wet tracks on my face and drove straight back toward the center of the Frostfang Capital Roads.

The signal fire at the Moon Beacon Square blazed bright red, forcing my carriage to a halt. High above the stone arches, the optical projection crystals beamed the latest pack decree across the night sky.

The image locked onto Alaric Thorncroft—his massive, muscular frame cutting through a crowd of pack guards as he carried Ysoria Blackbriar in his arms like sacred cargo. The broad projection title burned into my eyes: LORD THORNCROFT CHARGES TO THE MOONCLAW HEALING HALL FOR HIS HIGH-BORN SECRETARY.

The crystal zoom captured his face—the raw, panicked terror in his eyes as he looked down at Ysoria, who had nothing more than a light scratch on her ankle.

I pressed my hand over my mouth to smother a sob. Two moons ago, when my own belly was torn by dark-fever and I lay vomiting blood on the stone floor, I had called his line directly.

"Do not bother me with simple ailments, Maristella," he had barked back then. "Call a lower healer."

I almost bled out in that empty room. Yet here he was, carrying a high-born Blackbriar female across the capital because her foot was sore.

My thumb dragged over the screen of my communication tablet, reading the council messages flooding the territory: Is Lord Thorncroft preparing to reject his low-born Omega for the Blackbriar bloodline?

I pulled off the clear-lens glasses I kept in my cloak, my eyes burning red in the dark cabin. He was never cold. He was never emotionless. He was simply never mine.

"He took her into the private sanctuary," Cassiel Ravenscar said, stepping out from the shadow of the Moonclaw Healing Hall archway the second my feet touched the cold cobblestones.

"Show me where," I said, my voice dead and stripped of all softness.

Cassiel pushed open the heavy iron doors of the upper chamber without a word. Inside, the heavy scent of crushed crushed herbs and Alaric’s dominant alpha pine filled the room. Ysoria was reclining on the silk fur dais, her delicate foot resting on a cushion while Alaric sat right on the edge of her bed.

"Maristella?" Alaric’s head snapped toward the door. He immediately reached up, closed his zero-power clear glasses, and folded the temples closed, one side at a time, dropping his harmless persona in an instant. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to deliver your anniversary present, Lord Thorncroft," I said, stepping fully into the torchlight, my small frame holding absolute silence.

Ysoria pulled the fur blanket higher up her chest, her lips curving into a subtle, mocking arch. "Lady Maristella, please do not blame the Alpha. I slipped during our territory inspection, and he only acted out of duty to a noble house."

"Quiet, Ysoria," I snapped, not even looking at her. My gaze locked straight onto Alaric’s dark eyes. "Is this where you were working for the pack dominion?"

Alaric stood up, his five-foot-eight frame casting a massive, suffocating shadow over me as he closed the distance between us. "You are making a scene over nothing. Go back to the Alpha Manor."

"I am carrying your pup, Alaric," I said, pulling the High Shaman's scroll from my tunic and slapping it hard against his broad chest.

Alaric caught the paper, his eyes flickering down to the red seal. For a fraction of a second, his alpha jaw clenched, a flash of genuine shock breaking through his cold mask.

"You're pregnant?" he gritted out, his voice dropping into a low, possessive rumble that vibrated right through my bones.

"I was," I said, reaching into my belt and pulling out the silver oath-blade reserved only for complete mate severances. "But an Omega's child will not be raised in the shadow of a Blackbriar mistress."

"Do not touch that blade, Maristella," Alaric growled, taking a fast step forward, his alpha aura flaring violently enough to crack the stone beneath our boots. "You belong to the Thorncroft line. You do not get to decide this."

"Watch me," I whispered.

I dragged the edge of the silver blade right across the palm of my hand, spilling sacred blood onto the Shaman's scroll, burning the pregnancy contract to black ash right between us.

Alaric lunged forward to grab my wrist, his large, burning fingers crushing my skin, but before his bond could force my submission, Cassiel stepped directly between us, his own heavy blade clearing its scabbard with a sharp ring.

"Touch her again, Alpha," Cassiel warned, his voice low and lethal, "and the Ravenscar pack considers it an act of war."

Alaric froze, his eyes burning with pure, unadulterated fury as he stared down at the blood dripping from my hand onto his boots.

"You think you can just leave my pack, Maristella?" Alaric snarled, his voice laced with absolute possession. "You carry my blood. You are tethered to my mark!"

"Not anymore," I said, pulling a second document from my cloak—the official royal restoration seal from the Winterfang Ancestral Keep. "My father, Lord Evander Winterfang, has reclaimed his seat on the High Council. The Omega title was a lie to protect me from your father's war."

Ysoria’s face turned deathly pale on the bed.

Alaric stared at the royal crest, his chest heaving as the reality of what he had just thrown away crashed down on him.

"You lied to me for three years?" Alaric roared, stepping around Cassiel, his large hand snapping out to grab my jaw, forcing me to look directly into his darkened eyes. "You played the weak little wolf in my bed while holding high-blood rank?"

"You never looked closely enough to see who I was," I said, my voice echoing off the stone walls as I yanked my head free from his grip. "Keep your secretary, Lord Thorncroft. The Winterfang pack is claiming its revenge."

I turned my back on him and walked toward the heavy oak doors.

"Maristella!" Alaric’s roar shook the entire healing hall, the sound of tearing stone echoing behind me as his wolf fought to break free from his command.

"Let him roar," Cassiel muttered at my side, guiding me out into the cool night air where a fleet of black Winterfang carriages waited. "The Moon Oath Registry Hall has already processed the annulment."

I stepped into the carriage, the blood on my palm still warm. As the horses surged forward toward the Winterfang Ancestral Keep, I looked back one last time to see Alaric standing on the steps of the healing hall, his glasses crumpled in his fist, his face twisted in a dark, terrified fury he could no longer control.

The carriage door slammed shut, and my communication tablet buzzed in my hand with a new message from the Moon Herald Council: LORD THORNCROFT HAS DECLARED A COMPLETE LOCKDOWN OF THE CAPITAL ROADS TO RECAPTURE HIS MATE.