Alpha‘s Ninety-Ninth Cut

There’s a number no one knows but me and my Alpha husband—ninety-nine.

It’s how many times he severed our link: every argument, every time he chose his mistress, every public humiliation.

On the ninety-ninth, outside an OB-GYN clinic, he shoved me away to catch another woman, and I lost our baby alone on the sidewalk… along with the last of my love for him.

The next day, I turned every cut into evidence, handed it to the Elders, and checked into the Royal Research Institute with “bond abuse” written in my file—

Months later, he showed up at the Institute’s warded gates, on his knees in the rain, begging me to forgive him.

But I just answered:

“You’ve already taken everything I had to give. The only thing you don’t get to have… is my forgiveness.”

……

……

On the fifth day after my ectopic pregnancy miscarriage, I forced myself to go out.

The ballroom smelled like iron and honey—blood-wine and polished wood—like every alliance feast my husband ever hosted to remind the pack who held the leash.

I stood at his left, where a Luna is supposed to stand. Steady. Silent. Perfect.

Janet wasn’t steady. Janet never was.

One stumble, one bright laugh too sharp for the room, and the ceremonial tray tipped. The goblet meant for the visiting Alpha hit the floor and shattered, blood-wine blooming across the white stone like a fresh wound.

The visiting wolves went still.

Then the growls started—low, offended, lethal.

Janet’s eyes went huge. She swayed like she’d been the one struck. “I—I didn’t mean—”

Walter moved before anyone else did.

Not to the broken vow. Not to the furious guests.

To her.

His hand caught her elbow. His voice softened, just for her. “Breathe.”

My stomach didn’t clench anymore when I saw it. It used to. It used to hurt like a knife.

Now it was only… information.

Walter lifted his gaze to me, and the softness vanished like it had never existed. In front of the council tables and the visiting Alphas, he didn’t need to pretend we were equal.

“Melissa,” he said, the way you say weapon.

I already knew what was coming.

“Go fix it,” he ordered. “Apologize. Offer compensation. Do whatever you have to do.”

Janet made a tiny sound, like a child about to cry. Walter tightened his grip on her, then looked back at me.

“You’re Luna,” he added, as if that explained everything. As if my title meant shield.

I opened my mouth.

Because my body still remembered what it meant to be his. Because some idiot part of my heart still believed that if I spoke, if I reminded him I’d barely healed—if I said Walter, please, not tonight—he would listen.

The bond flared between us, hot and intimate, a thread straight through my ribs.

I reached for it.

And Walter severed it.

Not gently. Not with regret. He simply turned his will like a blade and cut me off mid-breath.

The world didn’t go silent.

It went… hollow.

The ache that used to slam through me with every cut didn’t even rise properly. It arrived late, like a message delivered to the wrong address. A distant throb. A dull pressure behind my eyes.

Ninety-seven times will do that.

Pain becomes weather.

You notice it, but you don’t stop walking because it rains.

Walter’s face didn’t change. His eyes stayed on mine for half a second—cold command, nothing else—then he turned away like I’d already obeyed.

My fingers curled against my gown. I could still smell Janet’s fear, sweet and sharp. I could still smell Walter’s protective rage—for her.

And I could smell my own blood beneath my perfume, faint but real.

I stepped forward.

The visiting Alpha’s mate lifted her chin, disgusted. “Your pack insults us with clumsiness and excuses?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and the words tasted like ash. I bowed—deep. “The offense is ours. We will pay restitution. Name the price.”

The Alpha’s eyes narrowed. “You’re offering as if you have authority.”

I almost laughed.

“I do,” I said softly. “I’m the one who repairs what breaks.”

Behind me, the room swelled with whispers. Walter didn’t come. He didn’t stand beside me. He didn’t take responsibility.

He didn’t have to.

Because he had me.

I negotiated with wolves who wanted blood. I promised territory concessions, trade rights, an apology before the whole hall. I swallowed humiliation until it sat heavy in my gut.

When it was done, I walked back through the crowd like a ghost.

Walter was already guiding Janet toward the exit, his palm at the small of her back, shielding her from every stare.

He didn’t look at me once.

The bond stayed quiet, deadened—his choice, his control.

My nails bit into my palm as I watched them disappear into the corridor.

Ninety-seven.

The number settled in my mind like a stone.

And with it came a strange, chilling thought:

Maybe the pain was fading because there wasn’t much left in me to cut.

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