Betrayal Under The Blood Moon

Chapter Ten

DANTE

The complaints start before dawn.

"She's changing everything." James, one of my senior enforcers, doesn't bother with pleasantries. Twenty years of service means he thinks he can barge into my office whenever outrage strikes. "Guest cabins that were meant for demolition. Omega gatherings without Alpha supervision. Do you know what she's planning for the ball?"

"My mate is handling the social aspects of her Challenge." I don't look up from territory reports. Let him see how little his grievances matter. "As is her right."

"Her right?" He slams both hands on my desk. "She's been wolf for less than a week. Now she's spending pack resources like water, inviting our enemies to feast at our table—"

"Careful." The word drops between us like a blade. "You're discussing my chosen mate."

He backs down but doesn't retreat. "Alpha, think. If something happens during the Challenge, if one of those bastards gets lucky—what happens to the pack? This outsider has you risking everything."

Outsider. The word hangs in the air like smoke from a fire that's been burning since she arrived. My pack watches their Alpha lose his mind over a woman who was human last week. Who bleeds when she has visions. Who plans revolution over tea and petit fours.

"The pack survives." Simple truth. "Eric and Mike know the succession. Portland territory continues regardless."

"Under whose leadership? Your beta who's half fae? Your second who thinks with spreadsheets instead of instinct?" James shakes his head. "They're good wolves, but they're not Byrne blood. Four centuries of your line holding this territory, and you'll throw it away for—"

"For my mate." I stand, letting him feel the weight of Alpha authority. "The white wolf who channels moon and storm. Who already carries my scent if not my mark. Question me again and we'll settle this in the courtyard."

He submits, throat bared just enough to show respect. But I smell his doubt, his fear. The pack feels it too—their Alpha taking risks for an omega who might not survive what's coming.

The door opens before James leaves. Sarah, one of our older omegas, peers around his bulk. "Alpha? The unmated omegas were wondering—about tomorrow's tea—"

"Whatever permissions you need, you have them." I wave her in as James storms out. "What's the question?"

She enters like sunlight after storm. Where James brought complaint, she carries excitement bright enough to taste. "We want to help. With preparations. Some of us remember the old protocols, how things were done before..."

Before the treaties. Before we were caged behind walls for our own protection. Before omegas needed permission to gather.

"Sadie would appreciate the assistance." Truth. My mate might be brilliant at politics, but she's still learning pack dynamics. "Coordinate with Pete."

"Already did." She bounces on her toes, forty years old but giddy as a pup. "Alpha, is it true? About the white wolf traditions? That she's planning to—"

"Planning to host tea. Nothing more official than that."

But her grin says she hears the truth beneath diplomatic words. "Of course, Alpha. Just tea. And conversation. And perhaps some dress fittings."

She leaves humming old songs I haven't heard since childhood. The ones my grandmother sang while teaching us that omegas were treasures, not possessions. Lessons some packs forgot in the name of protection.

My phone buzzes. Eric's number, which means official business.

"The Council wants to send observers." No preamble. "Three representatives to ensure the Challenge follows traditional law."

"Tell them no."

"Already did. They're insisting. Treaty obligations—any Challenge involving bloodlines of significance requires oversight." He pauses. "White wolf qualifies as significant."

"Send them the formal refusal. My territory, my mate, my rules."

"That's what I told them. They mentioned sanctions."

"Let them." I move to the window, watching morning break over my land. "What are they going to do? Fine us? We own half the Pacific Northwest's supernatural economy."

"Dante." His voice drops. "They're scared. White wolf hasn't been seen in decades. Now one appears, already partially claimed by the richest Alpha on the coast. They think you're hoarding power."

"I'm protecting what's mine."

"Which looks like hoarding from the outside." Papers rustle through the phone. "I can stall them. But after the Challenge—"

"After the Challenge, they'll have bigger concerns than one Alpha claiming his mate."

Because I know what Sadie's planning, even if she hasn't told me directly. Revolution dressed in silk and served with the proper forks. By the time the Council realizes what happened under their noses, omega dynamics will have shifted throughout the territory.

"Your funeral." Eric hangs up, leaving me with morning light and building headache.

The door opens again. This time it's Pete, arms full of receipts and whiskers twitching with stress. "Alpha, about the budget—"

"Whatever she needs."

"She's already burned through the million. Catering, flowers, renovations—do you know what she's planning for the omega tea?"

"Surprise me."

He sets down his papers like surrendering weapons. "Stylists from Portland. Makeup artists. A string quartet. She's turned afternoon tea into—"

"Into what omegas deserve." The words come out sharper than intended. "Beauty and music and choice."

"The traditional packs—"

"Can voice their complaints at the Challenge. While fighting for the right to court a woman who's already made her choice clear."

Pete's whiskers still. "You know what she's doing."

"I know she's brilliant." I turn from the window. "I know she survived twenty-six years of poison and came out swinging. I know she's using their own traditions against them."

"And you're letting her."

"I'm enabling her." Distinction that matters. "There's a difference between allowing and actively supporting."

"The elders think you've lost your mind." He straightens papers nervously. "That the white wolf has you spelled. Moon-mad."

"Maybe she does." I think of her scent, the way she moves, how her mind works three steps ahead of everyone. "Maybe I like it."

"Alpha—"

Movement in the courtyard catches my eye. Sadie, dressed in my shirt and hot-pink leggings, directing renovations on the guest cabins. Morning light turns her skin gold, her hair ink-dark. She gestures and workers scramble to obey. Not from fear but from recognition—she's mate to their Alpha, white wolf of Portland, force of nature barely contained in human form.

"Send her up."

"Alpha?"

"Send my mate to discuss her plans. Since everyone's so concerned about them."

Pete scurries out, probably grateful to escape. I pour whiskey despite the early hour. If I'm facing revolution before lunch, might as well be fortified.

She enters like she owns the air. Barefoot, those leggings making her legs look a mile long, hair still tousled from sleep. But her eyes—sharp as winter, already calculating angles.

"Pete says you want to see me."

"Pete says you've spent a million dollars in three days."

"Give or take." She moves closer, and I catch her scent. Heat-warm still, though the worst has passed. Underneath, the smell of plans and ambition. "Problem?"

"Several pack members think so."

"Several pack members can kiss my white wolf ass." She perches on my desk, legs swinging. "Unless you agree with them?"

"I think you're planning something bigger than a ball."

"I'm planning the best Challenge gathering in decades." Her hand finds my chest, palm flat against my heart. "Showing all those posturing Alphas what they're competing for."

"By revolutionizing omega social structures?"

"By hosting tea." Innocent tone, but her fingers have found the buttons of my shirt. "Though if conversations happen to touch on larger topics..."

"Sadie."

"I need another million."

The words hang between us while her fingers work. One button. Two. Her palm slides against bare skin, and my control slips a notch.

"For?"

"Surprises." She leans closer, breath warm against my throat. "Trust me?"

"You're trying to seduce budget approval out of me."

"Is it working?" Her teeth find my pulse point, sharp enough to sting. "I could stop. Go back to party planning. Leave you to your morning whiskey and territorial reports..."

"Manipulative little wolf."

"Your manipulative little wolf." She slides off the desk and into my lap, thighs bracketing mine. "Who's planning the social event of the century. Who needs resources to do it properly."

"Resources you're using to reshape pack politics."

"Resources I'm using to show those Alphas exactly what kind of mate you've claimed." Her hips roll, and I bite back a growl. "Intelligent. Powerful. Worth more than their small minds can imagine."

"By empowering every omega in the territory?"

"By showing strength." She kisses me, deep and filthy. "Unity. Progress. Everything Portland represents under your leadership."

"Pretty words." But my hands are already on her thighs, sliding higher. "What's your real plan?"

"Make them dance together. Old enemies, new allies. Force proximity until they remember we're stronger together than apart." Another roll of her hips. "Unite the packs through social pressure and really good wine."

"And if they refuse?"

"Then they look petty and small in front of everyone who matters." She bites my lip, drawing blood. "While you look like the Alpha confident enough to let his mate shine. Progressive. Powerful. Everything they're not."

"You've thought this through."

"I've done nothing but think since the heat broke." Her hands frame my face. "About the future. The pack. What happens after you demolish ten Alphas and claim me properly."

"When. When I claim you properly."

"Prove it." Challenge in her eyes, in her scent, in the way she grinds against me. "Give me what I need to make this Challenge legendary. Show everyone that Dante Byrne doesn't just claim a white wolf—he empowers her."

"Another million."

"Two would be better." She kisses down my throat. "There are so many omegas who need proper attire. So many details that could elevate this from event to legend."

"You're going to bankrupt me."

"You're worth two hundred million in land alone." Her teeth scrape my collarbone. "Not counting the quarries, the fishing rights, the tourism revenue. You can afford to spoil me."

"Is that what this is? Spoiling?"

"This is investment." She slides from my lap to her knees, hands working my belt. "In the future. In progress. In showing every pack from here to Seattle that Portland leads in more than territory."

My control fractures as she frees me from my pants. The sight of her—white wolf on her knees, choosing submission—scrambles every thought.

"Two million." The words come out rough. "But I want full disclosure. Every plan, every scheme."

"Deal." She looks up through her lashes. "After."

"After wha—"

Coherent thought dies as her mouth closes around me. Hot, wet, perfect pressure that whites out higher function. She takes me deep, deeper, until I'm hitting the back of her throat and she's humming satisfaction that vibrates through every nerve.

My hand tangles in her hair, not guiding but grounding. She doesn't need instruction. Her tongue works magic while her hand grips what her mouth can't take. She hollows her cheeks and sucks hard enough to pull lightning down my spine.

"Fuck." Eloquent as always. "Sadie—"

She pulls off with an obscene pop. "Two million?"

"Whatever you want." Truth. In this moment, I'd give her the whole territory if she asked. "Just—"

"Good Alpha." She swallows me down again, and my vision goes white at the edges.

She works me like she's been studying my responses. Probably has. My mate pays attention to everything, catalogs reactions for future use. She knows exactly how to take me apart—tongue pressing just there, hand twisting just so, humming when I get close to drive me back from the edge.

"You're going to kill me." Growled through clenched teeth.

She pulls back enough to speak. "You're going to live. And give me two million. And trust me to make this Challenge something no one forgets."

Then she takes me so deep I feel her throat convulse around me, and I'm gone. Release hits like a lightning strike, pleasure so intense it borders pain. She swallows everything, greedy for it, while I shake apart above her.

When she finally releases me, sits back on her heels looking satisfied as a cat with cream, I can barely remember my own name.

"So." She wipes her mouth delicately. "Two million?"

"You're a menace."

"Your menace." She rises gracefully, settling back in my lap. "Who's going to throw a party that reshapes the supernatural world. With your full support."

"My manipulated support."

"Same thing." She kisses me, letting me taste myself on her tongue. "Besides, you like it. The big bad Alpha, wrapped around his omega's finger."

"Other way around, little wolf."

"We'll see." She slides off my lap, heading for the door. "I have contractors to terrify and omegas to empower. Send Pete when the funds clear."

"Sadie."

She pauses at the door, looking back. Morning light halos her in gold, turns her into something mythical. White wolf in truth, powerful beyond measure.

"Thank you." Simple words carrying weight. "For trusting me. For letting me be more than breeding stock."

"You were never just that." I straighten my clothes, trying for dignity. "You're my mate. My equal. My perfect match in manipulation and ambition."

"Sweet talker." But she's smiling. "Save it for the ball. You'll need pretty words when you're covered in other Alphas' blood."

She leaves me with whiskey and morning light and the taste of her still on my tongue. Two million dollars poorer but somehow richer for it.

My pack thinks she's changing everything. They're right. But they don't understand—she's not destroying what we've built. She's evolving it. Taking tradition and twisting it into something stronger.

Let the Council send observers. Let the elders mutter about moon-madness. Let the other Alphas think they're competing for a prize.

They'll learn what I already know—Sadie Westbrook isn't a prize to be won.

She's a revolution to be reckoned with.

And I'm funding every beautiful, terrifying moment of it.