Murdered By My Mate's Mistress

CIARA

"Then let's die together!"

Those were the last words I heard.

"Shock! Again—charge! Shock!"

I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. My own lifeless body lay on the hospital bed, the beeping monitor’s flat lining as doctors fought in vain to bring me back.

My sister sobbed beside me, her swollen eyes locked on my rounded stomach—a tragic testament to the life that had once thrived inside me.

And in the next room? My husband's mate. His true mate. The woman he had always loved.

Curled up in bed, she whimpered softly. But she had won. And I had lost.

My name is Ciara, and this is my story. Walk with me. See how it all began.

The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blood.

He dragged me—eight months pregnant—into the heart of the forest, past the towering pines and into the ruins of an old pack outpost. Moonlight filtered through the broken beams, casting eerie shadows over the stone walls. His enforcers stood by, silent and unfeeling, as he shoved me onto the rusted remains of a high lookout platform.

My ankles and wrists were bound in silver chains before I could fight back. The burn seared into my skin, the pain enough to make my wolf whimper inside me. But I had no strength to shift—not with his pup in my belly.

Damien’s golden eyes glowed as he loomed over me, his expression cold. Emotionless.

"If you hadn’t blackmailed Eve, she wouldn’t have tried to end her life."

I gasped for air, my pulse hammering. "I didn’t—Damien, please! I swear I never—"

His grip tightened around my throat.

"A true Luna wouldn’t drive my mate to such despair."

Mate. That word cut deeper than the silver did.

Eve wasn’t just his mistress. She was his fated mate. The one the Moon Goddess had chosen for him, so to say. The one I could never compete with, no matter how much I fought.

"You should have stayed in the shadows where you belonged," he said, voice devoid of warmth.

Then, with a simple flick of his wrist, he yanked the lever beside me.

The platform shuddered violently.

I screamed.

The ropes securing me to the old lookout snapped free, and I plummeted.

Wind howled in my ears. My stomach twisted violently as I tumbled through the air, the world spinning in a blur of moonlight and treetops. Then—pain. Blinding, searing pain.

Something cracked inside me. A wet gush of warmth spread down my legs.

The agony was unbearable. My wolf howled in my mind, but I could do nothing. I lay there, broken, staring up at the night sky.

Somewhere in the distance, Damien was already walking away.

He didn’t look back.

He never did.

The next morning, his beta approached him cautiously, as if walking on broken glass. The unease was palpable in the air, thick enough to choke on.

"Alpha Damien…" he began hesitantly, his voice almost cracking under the weight of fear. "The Luna hasn’t returned."

Damien barely spared him a glance, his hand lazily tightening the belt of his robe. His voice, when it came, was as cold as winter steel. "She’s fine."

The beta shuffled, his hands wringing nervously. "She—she was screaming at first. But then… she went silent. And she is carrying your child."

For the first time, a crack appeared in Damien’s stoic facade. His brows drew together in a rare frown, something akin to irritation—or was it doubt?—shadowing his face.

He had expected me to cry, to plead, to throw myself at his feet in disgrace. To beg for forgiveness as I always had. But silence?

Silence was unlike me.

Silence was dangerous.

Had I finally broken beyond repair? Had I finally... given up?

The thought barely brushed his mind before he scoffed, brushing it away like an annoying insect. "She’s always been dramatic," he sneered, waving the beta off. "If she thinks I’ll go running after her, she’s wrong."

He turned on his heel, dismissing my fate as easily as flicking ash from his fingertips.

Inside his chambers, the world was a different place.

Eve lay nestled beneath his sheets—my sheets—her silver hair spilling like a halo across the pillows. Her delicate frame curled in on itself, small and fragile, like a porcelain doll crafted for worship. She stirred as he approached, her scent—a perfect blend of wild lavender and something hauntingly hers—slipping into his senses and numbing the faint simmer of anger he had carried back from the confrontation.

"Damien," she murmured sleepily, blinking up at him with large, tear-brimmed eyes. Her voice was a trembling song of guilt and innocence. "I feel so guilty… I never wanted you to punish Ciara for me. Should I go… should I go apologize?"

Her lips quivered, just enough to awaken a primal protectiveness inside his chest.

He knelt beside her, dragging his fingers down her pale arm in a possessive, grounding caress. His grip was firm, almost bruising.

"You’re too kind, Eve," he murmured, voice thick with something dangerous.

Then, colder, darker:

"Ciara will learn her place. If she crosses you again... mate or not, I'll end her myself."

Tenderly, he kissed the faint scratches marring Eve’s delicate skin—marks left from her theatrical fall. His gaze, normally an endless well of ice, softened as though her pain physically wounded him. On our bed, they tangled in passion, their bodies a knotted mass beneath the sheets, oblivious to the blood still wet on the altar stones outside.

That was when I realized...

The depth of my mistakes.

It wasn’t loving him that ruined me. It was believing, even for a moment, that he ever loved me back.

But at least now, Damien could rest easy.

There was no chance of me ever coming between them again.

Because, to them, I was already dead.

When Damien had first come for me, I ran. Gods, how I ran—lumbering through the woods like a broken deer, my eight-month pregnant belly swinging heavily with every frantic step. Every ragged breath scraped my throat raw.

He didn’t chase me.

He didn’t shout.

He simply stood there, arms folded across his broad chest, his golden gaze blank.

It didn’t matter.

I never had a chance.

His enforcers were on me in seconds, their claws digging into my arms, their laughter echoing in my ears as they dragged me back.

“Enough," Damien growled, his voice like crushed gravel, low and furious. "Resisting only makes this worse."

They forced me down onto the cold stone altar, the sacred heart of our pack lands. Rough hands pinned my wrists and ankles while thick cords bound me tight. I thrashed and screamed, my cries slicing through the night like knives.

And then—

A sudden, tearing pain deep within me.

A warmth spreading between my legs.

My water had broken.

Panic seized me like a fist around my throat. "Damien!" I gasped. "Please! Our baby—"

A soft voice cut through my desperation.

Eve.

She pressed closer to Damien, her expression pure and innocent. "I thought Ciara’s due date wasn’t until next week? But… she looks so scared, Damien. She even wet herself before the ritual started… Maybe we should stop?"

A flicker of something—annoyance? doubt?—passed through Damien’s eyes.

Then his face hardened into granite.

"Ciara," he snarled, leaning down until his breath was a toxic cloud against my ear, "you’ll do anything to manipulate me, won’t you? You think using our child will earn you mercy?"

He straightened, his voice loud enough for all the pack to hear.

"Stay up here and think about what you've done."

And then—

The moon rose.

And the spell began.

Pain tore through me, a thousand knives carving their way through my flesh as the cursed shift forced itself upon me. My bones shattered and reformed at wrong angles, my screams morphing into guttural, broken sobs.

Then—

A cry.

Small. Weak. Fragile.

My baby.

Tears blinded me as I reached out with trembling, blood-slicked hands, clutching the tiny, squirming life against my chest.

The scent of blood filled the air, thick and metallic.

The trees shuddered.

A shadow moved.

Damien.

His golden eyes, so often a balm to my heart, now looked at me—and the child I cradled—with revulsion.

Eve’s voice floated to him, cold and decisive. "It’s an abomination."

The circle of pack wolves closed in around me, their growls low and vibrating through the ground.

Damien’s verdict came without hesitation.

Without mercy.

"Kill it."

"No!" My scream was the sound of a soul tearing apart. I curled around my child, shielding it with everything I had left—my body, my spirit, my dying will.

But the moment Damien stepped forward, claws gleaming under the full moon’s ruthless gaze, I knew—

I had already lost.

And after that?

He didn’t spare me a second thought.

Instead, he surrounded Eve with healers, bathing her in attention and adoration.

Rare flowers, precious silks, priceless jewels—he offered them all to her like a king lavishing a queen.

As for me?

I was left to rot in the dirt, forgotten like refuse.

When someone dared to speak of what had happened—whispers in darkened hallways, gasps behind trembling hands—Damien silenced them with a single decree.

"Even if she’s dead," he said, voice devoid of a single shred of regret, "she brought it upon herself."

Two days later, the day that should have been filled with joy and new life, Damien ran his fingers through Eve’s hair as she curled into his lap, her pale cheek resting against his heart.

“In two days, it would have been her due date," he murmured almost absently.

Eve traced lazy circles on his chest, her fingers delicate and trembling with false innocence. "Maybe we should just… forget it," she whispered. "I believe Ciara didn’t mean to hurt me. It’s my fault—I shouldn’t have come back."

Damien caught her hand, pressing it against his chest.

“Eve," he whispered, voice thick with adoration, "you’ve saved my life. I owe you everything. I’ll protect you until my last breath."

He tucked a lock of her silver hair behind her ear tenderly.

"Ciara should have welcomed you. Should have accepted you with grace. Instead, she turned on you… forcing my hand."

His jaw clenched, the ghost of anger flashing through his otherwise tender expression.

"I don't even want to imagine…" he whispered, voice breaking slightly, "if I had lost you that night, Eve, I would never have forgiven myself."

The night wind shrieked against the windows, rattling them like bones.

Damien didn’t notice.

Eve didn’t notice.

But I did.

Because it wasn’t the wind.

It was a growl.

A warning.

A whisper laced with death.

I wasn’t dead.

Not yet.

I was coming back.

For my child.

For my stolen life.

For vengeance.

For blood.