The Alpha King's Mistress

Florence

Another Swiftmane Pack member was killed by the intruders while I watched. As they ran and struggled for their lives, their horrifying screams reverberated in my ears. I felt the weight of the silver chains binding my wrists, ankles, and neck, rendering me immobile. My alpha and his luna had already perished during the attack.

I didn't pity the pack, nor did I expect them to care about me. It was a transactional relationship—I had paid a substantial sum of money to their Alpha and Luna in exchange for their pack's acceptance of me. But because I didn't shift alongside them, they shunned me like an outcast.

And I didn't care.

Feeling safe was far more important to me than the insecurity of this pack. Let them assume I couldn't shift; they couldn't be further from the truth. However, addressing it was both pointless and advantageous for me. I had no desire to share my story or flaunt my wolf to these unworthy people.

I remained in this pack because I hadn't found any other options and didn't want to face rejection every step of the way. Time was running out for me each day. But now, even that refuge was being snatched away as I watched a group of unknown men massacre my pack members.

These intruders were not your typical pack of shifters, of that I was certain.

When I returned from my work as a receptionist in a small human-town hotel, I had the chance to flee. However, I heard the voice of someone who had shown me kindness. And so, I hesitated, now shackled and unable to turn away from that voice.

The leader of the group, a big man with bulging muscles, grinned menacingly at the chaos unfolding before him. His men stood behind him, ready to follow his every command.

I had never seen this man before, nor did I know his motivation for attacking my pack or what our pack had done to invite such a brutal invasion. My isolation from the group had lasted a long time. Despite that, I felt a small sense of allegiance to them for helping me hide when I needed it. I clenched my teeth and licked my dry, chapped lips as I witnessed yet another severed head.

The silver chains dug into my skin, causing pain and leaving red, wounded, and bleeding marks.

Damn this silver.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a female scream. She was the only person who had shown me kindness—the fifteen-year-old girl named Sara Douglas. While the rest of the pack had ignored me, she had talked to me.

I focused my attention on the men as they dragged Sara onto the stage. She was a young and innocent girl, and I couldn't help but be drawn to the vulnerability in her eyes.

It seemed I still had a conscience in me.

Being hunted for most of my life, I couldn't pinpoint where I would feel safest at the age of 28. Every night, I slept with one eye open, fearing that someone would break into my modest house and end my life. Such was the drawback of being coveted in the werewolf community. It was a harsh reality, but living a life where I constantly had to be on guard presented its own set of challenges. Rather than risk having my heart damaged or shattered by poor choices, I chose to keep everyone at a distance. By maintaining a vigilant guard, I was able to find a semblance of peace for a while.

"Please. No, no!" Sara pleaded desperately, insisting that she had done nothing wrong.

Her cries moved me. There was no way I could allow anything to happen to this young girl. My gaze fixated on the man who was causing her harm, and I couldn't bear the screams any longer.

"Leave her alone. She's just a little girl and hasn't done anything wrong," I shouted, my voice resonating over the chaos to the man responsible.

Before the attack, I had the opportunity to shift into my wolf and escape but I cannot leave Sara alone. I wondered if it was a blessing in disguise that I hadn't shifted, as it allowed me to remain unidentified.

My ability to keep that part of me hidden was something I had cherished my whole life—the reason for my constant hiding.

"You spoke for this trash?" the man asked, clearly the one in charge.

He exuded a small amount of power, enough to be felt but nowhere near the strength of an actual Alpha. I knew this because I had spent my life spying on various Alphas and packs. Strangely, his voice seemed familiar to my wolf, Nasya. She had a better memory than I did, especially when it came to scents.

Remaining composed, I clarified, "She's just a girl."

Just by looking at him, I knew I would have remembered this man if we had crossed paths before. He stood at almost six feet tall, with silver hair cascading over his tense face. A long, thick scar marred his right cheek, starting from the bottom of his face and ending there. It was a gruesome scar.

It was clear that this man was far from ordinary. My attention was drawn to his neck, where a black skull tattoo with Greek letters was etched. Squinting my eyes, I tried to decipher the text.

As I read the characters, I silently cursed. I was fluent in numerous languages, including Greek. And the words MADCREST PRIDE were tattooed on the man's neck in Greek characters.

The Werewolf Council has given the go-ahead to pursue MADCREST PRIDE—a big pack of rogues. Rogues are werewolves who have either been expelled from their pack or fled of their own free will. Being a lone wolf for an extended time without a pack drives them insane, but a hundred years ago, rouges discovered a means to extend their lives by forming their own pack. Due to the conflict between the initial leaders of the rogues and werewolves, which ultimately led to the rogue's annihilation, they have been silent for the last several years. However, ten years ago, new reports of werewolf kidnapping and rogue experimentation emerged.