Mated to the Beta, Wanted by the Alpha

Chapter 4

-IRIS-

No.

Could it be? Or was it just a coincidence? Tristan wasn’t a common name, but still…

"So Alpha Knox is your alpha? My stepsister was dying to meet him." I schooled my face to keep my expression neutral. The last thing I need is for my mate to think I still have a crush on his alpha.

Had a crush. Past tense, Iris.

"A lot of women want to snag him," Mark chuckled, his hand running on the top of his cropped hair. "I guess it’s the whole dark-and-serious vibe. The 'I can save him' fantasy, you know?"

I knew. More than he realized.

I needed to change the subject. Focus on my mate, not on a teenage crush. "What about you, Mark? What do you like to do besides helping him run the pack? Any hobbies? Cooking, photography, reading…?"

He shook his head and leaned closer. "Nah. I like working out. Fighting, lifting weights." His voice dropped as he tilted his head until we were sharing the same breath. "Gotta stay strong enough to protect my mate."

His closeness made me feel lightheaded. Chiara purred inside me, her white fur shimmering with excitement.

"Mark…"

"You smell so f*****g addictive." His nose traced the line of my neck, and I nearly melted. The mate bond was something else, an overwhelming feeling impossible to ignore.

But before I turned into a puddle on the marble floor, Mark froze and pulled back. His black eyes flashed white. Someone was mind‑linking him.

Across the room, people stopped mid‑movement. The music cut off. No one was dancing anymore.

"A big group of rogues crossed the borders. They're infected with the Blight, and some of them are the big ones," Mark said, grabbing my hand and pulling me across the room.

I forced myself to keep up, my legs much shorter than his, and those stupid heels doing me no favors.

People were rushing toward the exits, panic twisting their faces. We all knew the drill: fighters went to defend the pack, and everyone else headed to the packhouse for safety.

"Is that where Alpha Knox went? You said he went to check on something!" I shouted over the uproar, swallowing the ballroom.

The thought of Tristan facing a sick rogue made my stomach twist like a serpent. He couldn’t die.

He just couldn’t.

"Yeah. There were rumors about rogues with rotten fur hunting near the borders. Your Alpha said it was just gossip, but Knox didn’t want to risk it. Especially not during a party with so many people in one place would draw them in."

About fifty years ago, a strange sickness started sweeping through the werewolf world. At first, everyone thought it was rabies: foaming mouths, wild eyes. But it didn’t take long to realize it was something much worse. The infected weren’t just delirious; they were starving. Their bodies stopped absorbing food, leaving them in a constant state of hunger. They attacked anything alive: deer, humans, other wolves. The only ones they didn’t go after were others like them.

No one ever figured out where it came from, and no cure was found. The disease ate wolves from the inside out, leaving them thin, weak, and eventually dead.

Sometimes, one of them would mutate, growing freakishly big and terrifyingly strong. We called those the "big ones," and they were the worst of all.

But every infected wolf had one thing in common: they were contagious. Their saliva carried the Blight, and one bite was enough to spread it. Thankfully, their blood wasn’t infectious.

"Our alpha mind-linked us too. He said it’s not a big deal, but we should go to the secured locations anyway."

Our Alpha was a jerk. He’d taken over a couple of years ago and immediately proved he was arrogant, pompous, and full of big dreams with zero leadership skills. He never trained, never fought, and spent most of his time buying useless crap or sucking up to other alphas.

Dad always told me to hide my powers from him. He’d definitely try to use them. For once, I agreed with Dad.

"Well, your Alpha is a tool. The sick rogues are more than your fighters can handle. It’s a good thing you have other pack leaders here to help you," Mark said sternly as we stepped outside.

The night was warm, like mid‑spring. A crescent moon hung in the sky, casting silver light over the winding paths of our pack grounds.

"You go to the packhouse and stay safe, okay? I'll help the others," Mark told me, releasing my hand and pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"'Kay," I murmured, watching my mate shift into a sleek black wolf and sprint toward the woods.

Others followed him. Most of the visiting guests were joining the fight, which was a relief, because our own warriors were lazy and poorly trained. Our Alpha, as you’ve probably gathered, cared more about status and alliances than protecting his people.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I wanted to help. Every instinct screamed at me to run after them. But I was small, not nearly as strong as the others. I’d only slow someone down… or get someone killed.

From a distance, the sounds of battle rolled through the trees: roars, howls, the wet crunch of biting, and other noises that made my skin crawl. How many rogues were out there? There had never been an attack this large.

I spun on my heels and headed for the packhouse. Most people were already inside, and the paths were empty.

I was just rounding the last corner when my luck snapped in half.

A group of infected rogues was charging straight toward the packhouse. And behind them lumbered a "big one," its massive silhouette unmistakable even in the moonlight. The paths were deserted; not a single fighter in sight to protect the people trapped inside.

My heart lurched violently.

What should I do?