His Unmarked Mate The Alpha She-Wolf Returns

I'll do as you say. I'll come back to take over the pack, but you will not interfere with any of my decisions.

Fine. As long as you come back, the pack is yours to lead, replied the voice on the other end of the call.

My hand trembled as I ended the call. At that moment, my gaze fell on the black stockings draped carelessly over the edge of the bed in the room I shared with my mate. My so-called mate.

They were a mocking reminder of the scent recognition my chosen mate of eight years, Caspian Thornecrest, shared with his Omega Attendant, Scarlett Ashwood. Her cloying honeysuckle scent still clung to the fabric, tangled with his musk. My inner wolf snarled, hackles raised, pacing restlessly behind my ribs.

I drew in a slow breath and reluctantly turned my eyes toward the gauze wrapped around my arm. Blood had begun to seep through the white cloth, blooming in faint crimson patches.

Meanwhile, the events of the afternoon replayed on a loop inside my skull. I had been walking through the narrow woodland path near the trading post at the edge of Thornecrest territory.

A black convoy of wolves in tactical gear materialized from the treeline. Before I could process what was happening, several shifted wolves and armed enforcers surrounded me, their silver-tipped weapons gleaming in the pale afternoon light.

Their cold eyes and matching scarred brands told me they belonged to the Ironvale Pack, one of Caspian's fiercest rivals.

"You thought you could run from us?" one of them snarled, his voice raw with dominance. When I said nothing, he struck me across the face with the back of his hand. The sudden blow sent me staggering into the rough bark of a tree.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I mumbled, forcing air into my lungs. My hand drifted instinctively to cradle my stomach.

But they didn't care.

One of them seized my wrist and wrenched it at a cruel angle. Another shoved me to the ground, the forest floor cold and damp beneath my palms.

Within seconds, the supplies I had been carrying scattered across the dirt. As I tried to push myself upright, the barrel of a silver-tipped weapon pressed against my temple. The metal burned faintly against my skin, and my wolf whimpered, retreating deep inside me.

"This is what happens when Caspian Thornecrest doesn't keep his blood-oath promises. If he won't stop, you'll pay," the man growled, his canines elongated, eyes flashing amber with his wolf just beneath the surface.

It was then I spotted a familiar dark vehicle pulling onto the forest road. Caspian was inside. Scarlett Ashwood sat in the passenger seat beside him, her blonde head tilted toward his shoulder. I screamed, my voice hoarse and desperate.

"Help me!"

Caspian glanced at me through the window. His expression did not change. Not a flicker. Not a flinch.

Instead, he turned to his Omega Attendant and cupped his hands over her ears, as if shielding her from danger. As if she were the one who needed protecting.

"Don't listen, don't look, or you'll have nightmares tonight," he murmured coolly.

Then the window rolled up, and the vehicle sped away, leaving nothing behind but the fading scent of cedarwood and betrayal.

I was left there alone. Tears carved hot trails down my cheeks. The enforcers did not hesitate.

One slammed me hard against the trunk of a fallen oak, and the jagged edge of a broken branch tore deep into my arm. Blood poured freely from the wound, its metallic scent flooding the air around me.

When they finally left, they left a message. "Tell Caspian this is just the beginning."

I dragged myself to the pack healer's den, my body battered and my spirit shattered. But the healer's words struck harder than any of the blows.

"You were about a moon's cycle along," she said softly, her eyes lowered, unable to meet mine. "We couldn't save the pup. The trauma to your body was too severe."

My eyes fixed on the ceiling of the healing den, hollow and numb. My inner wolf lay curled in the darkest corner of my mind, silent for the first time in years. Not pacing. Not snarling. Just still. A grief too vast for sound.

Later that night, when I returned to the den we shared, Caspian walked in carrying a bottle of aged whiskey in one hand and a reinforced case in the other. Most likely it contained pack resources or silver-tipped weapons from one of his territorial deals.

Without pause, he tossed the case onto the table and loosened the collar of his dark shirt. He barely glanced in my direction. The scent of smoke and dried blood clung to his skin and his clothes. It was a constant reminder of the brutal life he led, the violent world he chose over me every single day.

I sat on the low couch near the cold hearth, my arm wrapped in bandages, my face drained of color. He didn't even notice.

"Did you eat?" he asked flatly, pouring himself a drink. His tone carried no warmth. No concern. Just the clipped authority of an Alpha addressing a subordinate.

I raised my bandaged hand and showed him the stitches. "The healer said I need to avoid certain foods while this mends."

His brows drew together slightly. His gaze flickered to the bandage but did not linger. "Then make something that suits you."

I nodded, pulling out my phone to order something from the trading post's delivery runners.

Seeing me act so detached, so devoid of the warmth I had once shown him freely, Caspian paused. His glass hovered in midair, halfway to his lips. Something shifted behind his eyes, though I could not tell if it was his wolf stirring or merely irritation at my silence.

"Is your next check-up with the healer in three days? Do you need someone to go with you?"

"No need," I replied, my voice flat and hollow.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, draining the last of the amber liquid from his glass.

Minutes later, his phone buzzed against the stone countertop. The instant his gaze fell on the name glowing across the screen, something shifted in his face. A small smile curved the corner of his lips. The kind of smile I had been starving for across eight long years.

Later, as I padded past the guest chamber on the second floor of the pack estate, his voice drifted through the heavy oak door.

"Don't worry, Scarlett. This one's on me. I'll make it up to you tomorrow," he said, his tone warm and impossibly tender.

It was a tone I had never once heard him use for me.

The only smiles Caspian Thornecrest had ever offered me were mocking ones, sharp as bared fangs, whenever his temper flared. Beyond those, he was nothing but cold distance and silence.

But it didn't matter anymore. I refused to let it matter. The next morning, I prepared breakfast for one.

The air inside the pack estate hung heavy and still. There was a stark contrast to the usual crackling tension that saturated the den of Caspian Thornecrest, Alpha of the Thornecrest Pack.

Without delay, I plated a simple sandwich and poured a cup of black coffee. Just enough for me.

Within seconds, Caspian strode into the dining hall, every movement deliberate, his Alpha presence rolling off him like heat from a furnace. The dominance aura pressed against my skin, an invisible weight that lesser wolves would have buckled beneath.

For a moment, he paused beside the long table. His pale eyes shifted to the empty place where his breakfast used to sit.

He drew a breath, about to speak, but before he could form the words, one of his wolves entered the room. Grimshaw. His gaze was lowered, neck slightly tilted in deference to his Alpha.

He wore dark tactical gear, the leather holster at his hip carrying a silver-tipped blade that glinted under the morning light. He stopped several feet from Caspian, keeping the respectful distance expected of a Beta addressing his Alpha.

"Alpha, our scouts have confirmed it. The wolves who attacked Vivienne yesterday belonged to Lysander Ironvale's pack."

Caspian's gaze swiveled toward me. The irritation that had clouded his eyes moments ago drained away, replaced by something far more dangerous. Controlled rage. His wolf surfaced just enough to send a ripple of golden light through his irises.

"Ironvale," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried a weight that sent a chill racing down my spine. My own wolf stirred uneasily in my chest, pressing low against my ribs.

He straightened, squaring his broad shoulders. His commanding presence swelled until it filled every corner of the room. "I want a full investigation. Every wolf who was there, every detail. I want to know why the Supreme Alpha targeted her."

Grimshaw dipped his chin in agreement, his expression grim. "Yes, Alpha."

"And make sure to bring me Ironvale's Beta by tonight," Caspian added, his tone colder than a winter kill. "Alive."

Grimshaw gave a curt nod and departed without another word, his boots silent on the stone floor.

Then Caspian turned back to me. His piercing gaze locked onto mine with the full intensity of an Alpha stare, the kind meant to force submission. I held it. My wolf held it too, refusing to bare her throat.

"You knew they were Ironvale's wolves." His voice dropped low, a growl threading beneath the words. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it mattered," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "You seemed preoccupied with more important things."

He took a step closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. I caught his scent, cedar and smoke, and something bitter underneath it. Agitation. "Who knows, they might have followed your trail back to the estate. They could track somebody through you. Somebody like Scarlett."

I bit down on my lower lip as the last fragile thread of hope inside me snapped clean. Not for a single moment had he been worried about me. He was afraid they might hurt Scarlett. His precious Omega attendant. I was so foolish.

My inner wolf snarled, low and wounded, pacing restlessly behind my ribs. She wanted to shift, to let the pain bleed out through fur and fang. I held her back.

When I didn't respond, his eyes drifted to the table again. "Where's mine?"

His voice was calm on the surface, but there was a sharpness beneath it that could slice through bone.

I took a deep breath and turned to face him, my expression carefully neutral. "I thought you don't like black coffee."

When those words reached him, he didn't respond. But his jaw tightened, the muscle feathering beneath his skin. Both of us knew the truth. He hated black coffee, yet I had always forced him to drink it every single morning.

I knew the bitterness helped him endure the crushing weight of leading a pack built on aggression and blood-debts. The caffeine steadied his nerves before council gatherings and territorial disputes. This morning, I chose not to care.

I ignored his darkening gaze and downed my cup in one swift gulp. The heat burned a path down my throat, grounding me. Then I placed my plate in the sink and grabbed my satchel from the hook by the door.

"Let me take you to the den."

I didn't wait for his permission as I strode toward the door.

Behind me, I caught his voice offering me a ride to the den. I dismissed it as a trick of my heightened hearing. To be honest, Caspian had never once bothered to share a transport with me. Not in all the years I had been at his side.

We had been bound together for eight years, moving through pack life shoulder to shoulder. Yet somewhere along the way, whatever warmth had existed between us had gone cold as stone. Our bond, never formally sealed with a mark, had withered into something hollow. It felt less like a mating and more like a territorial arrangement. Just another transaction in the brutal game of pack politics.

The Den

By the time I arrived at the Thornecrest Pack's central den, the whispers had already begun.

The sprawling compound sat behind high stone walls reinforced with wolfsbane-laced iron. To outsiders it looked like a grand estate, but every corridor held enforcers disguised as attendants. Their sharp eyes, occasionally flashing amber, scanned constantly for threats. The scent of dominance hung heavy in every room, layered thick with Caspian's territorial markings. This was the heart of one of the most dangerous packs in the region.

Minutes later, Caspian arrived. He stepped out of a sleek black vehicle alongside his Omega Attendant, Scarlett Ashwood. Her soft laughter drifted through the main hall, and every wolf in the lobby turned to look. Ears practically swiveled. Nostrils flared. The scent of her, cloyingly sweet like overripe honeysuckle, wrapped around everything.

Scarlett. The thorn buried deep in my side.

The whispers grew louder as Caspian walked with her into the den. Every wolf under his command knew I was his chosen mate. But Scarlett's constant presence had begun to blur the lines of rank and loyalty. Caspian was involved with her in ways he had never been with me. He gave her rides in his personal vehicle, shared meals at his private table, and even granted her access to restricted sections of the den where pack strategy was discussed. Areas I, his supposed mate, had never been invited into.

Inside me, my wolf stirred with a low, bitter growl. She had stopped fighting about this a long time ago. Now she simply watched with flat, golden eyes, waiting.

Ignoring them both, I made my way to the common area where the shared records were kept. I was only there to copy patrol documents, and I pretended not to notice the sidelong glances the other wolves threw my way. They wanted a show. A spectacle. Some sign that I was cracking under the weight of Scarlett's growing influence within the pack.

But I refused to give them the satisfaction.

The whispers grew bolder as I passed two lower-ranked wolves near the corridor.

"The Shadowmere female is too cold," one of them muttered, loud enough for my wolf-sharp hearing to catch every syllable. "Males prefer females who are soft and yielding. Delicate, like Scarlett."

By cold they meant that I never gave them gossip. I never bared my throat in distress for their entertainment. I never put my pain with Caspian on display for the pack to feast on.

The moment they caught my scent shifting closer, both wolves fell silent. One instinctively tilted her head, exposing the barest sliver of her neck in submission. But the damage was done. I kept walking, my boots striking the polished stone floor in a steady, unhurried rhythm, until I reached my private quarters within the den.

On my desk, two items waited. A formal letter of severance, declaring my intention to break all ties with the Thornecrest Pack. And beside it, a small black velvet pouch. I slipped both into the inner pocket of my jacket and made my way toward Caspian's private chambers.

When I reached the heavy oak door of his quarters, I didn't bother knocking. I shoved it open and startled the two of them.

Scarlett was perched on the edge of Caspian's desk, her legs crossed, her body angled toward him with the kind of easy familiarity that should have belonged to a mate. Her wide, doe-eyed expression shifted to something close to fear when she saw me standing in the doorway. The scent of alarm rolled off her in waves, sharp and acrid beneath that honeyed sweetness.

"Vivienne, this isn't what it..." Scarlett began, her voice trembling.

"Out." The word ripped from my throat, and I felt the faintest pulse of Alpha command lace through it. My wolf had surged forward without my permission, and for a split second, my eyes burned with a flash of molten gold.

Scarlett flinched. Her inner wolf clearly recognized the dominance rolling off me, even if she would never admit it aloud.

Caspian's eyes narrowed, the pale blue of his irises brightening with a warning flare. His jaw tightened, canines elongating just slightly behind his lips. "Vivienne. Watch yourself."

Ignoring him, I reached into my pocket and tossed the black velvet pouch onto his desk. It landed with a soft thud and spilled its contents across the dark wood. A pair of black stockings.

"Next time you sneak into my quarters," I said, my voice cold and level, "don't leave your things behind."

Scarlett's face turned crimson. The flush crawled from her cheeks down to her throat as she snatched the stockings from the desk, her fingers shaking. "Th-thank you, Ms. Shadowmere. I'll be more careful."

Before I could say another word, she bolted from the room. Her hurried footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, frantic and uneven.

The door swung shut behind her, and the silence that settled was suffocating.

Caspian and I were alone.

The tension in the room pressed against my skin like a physical weight. He stood motionless, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the floor between us. His wolf was close to the surface. I could sense it in the way the air thickened around him, heavy with dominance and something darker. The faint scent of cedar and iron that always clung to him sharpened, turning aggressive.

My own wolf held perfectly still inside me. She did not cower. She did not bare her throat. She simply stared back through my eyes with ancient, unblinking patience.

"What are you trying to prove?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.