Rejected Mate, Hidden Heir

Mira’s POV “Friday, Ms. Calloway. If we don’t receive the first deposit by Friday, we’ll have to give Finn’s surgery date to the next child on the list.” The woman from St. Brigid’s Hospital said it gently. Somehow, that made it worse. “You’ll have it,” I said. “I promise.” I had three hundred and six dollars in my bank account. Finn’s heart surgery cost eighty thousand. Twenty thousand to secure the date, and the remaining sixty thousand by December first. I hung up before she could hear my voice shake. Then I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and stared through the windshield. The gate in front of me was black iron, twice as tall as my car. Cameras sat on both posts, turning slowly to watch me. The agency had called it “a private estate, name withheld.” Live-in housekeeper. Twenty thousand dollars a month for three months. All I had to do was clean, cook, and keep my mouth shut. I’d thought, That’s exactly sixty thousand. It’s a miracle. Then the gates swung open, and I saw the name carved into the iron arch. BLACKFERN MANOR. My hands went cold on the steering wheel. Blackfern. Kincaid land. The one place I’d sworn I would never return to. Turn around, Mira. My phone buzzed. Aunt Dot had sent a photo. Finn was sitting up in his hospital bed, a thin tube taped beneath his nose, holding a crayon drawing above his head. A wolf wearing a red cape. Underneath it, Aunt Dot had written: Super Wolf says Mama is brave. Finn’s lips looked blue around the edges. They were always a little blue now. I put the car in drive and went through the gate. A woman stood waiting at the bottom of the driveway. She had a black bob, red nails, and a clipboard pressed against her chest. Her eyes moved over my car as if she were counting its dents. “Mira Calloway?” “Yes.” “Sable Lane. I run this house. Now I run you too.” She didn’t smile. “Sign here, here, and here.” “What is it?” “A silence agreement. You don’t talk about this house, the people who live here, or anything you see. If you do, you owe the Kincaid family one million dollars.” She held out a pen. “Your first month’s pay is already in your account. Check if you don’t believe me.” I checked. Twenty thousand dollars. Right there on my screen. I could pay the hospital by Friday. Finn would keep his surgery date. For the first time in eight months, I felt like I could finally breathe again. I signed. “Rules,” Sable said as she led me up the stone steps. “Stay out of the east wing. No photos. And there’s a small green door behind the kitchen pantry. You never open it, never clean it, and never ask about it.” “Understood.” “They all say that.” The front hall seemed endless, my footsteps echoing against the walls. A staircase curved up to a landing, where a man stood with one hand resting on the rail. I’d spent the entire two-hour drive preparing myself for this moment. Calm face. Blank face. The face of a stranger. I should have prepared for his eyes. Storm grey. They settled on me, searching for something, then went completely still. Five years. He was thinner now, and there was a new streak of silver at his left temple. But I still recognized the scar through his right eyebrow. I still knew the way his shoulders pulled back when he was carrying something too heavy. Dorian Kincaid. Alpha of Blackfern. The man who had broken my heart in front of three hundred people. “Is this the new one?” he asked Sable. “Mira Calloway. Highly recommended.” “They always are.” He came down two steps. “Does she cook?” “I do,” I said. His hand tightened around the railing, his knuckles turning white. It lasted only a second. Then his nostrils flared. Once. Like a wolf catching a scent. That morning, I’d scrubbed my skin with pine-and-lavender soap until it burned. It was strong enough to cover almost anything. But his eyes sharpened, and I knew he’d caught it beneath the soap. The scent of me. He knew who I was. And he was pretending he didn’t. “Careful, Sable.” A younger man leaned against the dining room doorway, flipping a silver coin between his fingers. Sandy hair, dimples, and a smile that made him look far too friendly for this place. “The last one lasted nine days.” “Jasper,” Sable said sharply. “I’m only being friendly. Brother, aren’t you going to welcome her?” “Ms. Calloway.” Dorian’s voice was polite and flat, as cold as a bank. “Breakfast is at seven. Black coffee. Don’t speak to me while I eat.” He turned and headed back upstairs without looking at me again. Sable showed me around the house as quickly as possible, like she had better things to do. “Kitchen. Dining room. Library. The Hall of Alphas.” She pushed open a tall door. “You’ll dust in here on Thursdays.” I stepped inside. Portraits covered the walls, every single one hidden beneath black cloth. Two hundred years of Alphas, all concealed. Only one frame was uncovered. A photograph sat on a small table, a single candle burning in front of it. A man with red-brown hair and a crooked front tooth, caught in the middle of a laugh. ROWAN AMES. BETA OF BLACKFERN. LOYAL TO THE END. I stopped breathing. Two and a half years ago, that same man had sat on my kitchen floor while my little boy pulled at his hair. He’d promised to keep my secret. He’d promised. “Eighteen months ago,” Sable said quietly. “The candle stays lit. You dust around it. You never touch it.” “Yes.” “You’ve gone pale.” “It was a long drive.” “Long drives don’t make people look at a photograph like that.” She watched me for a moment longer than she should have, then closed the door. My room was small but clean. A bed, a dresser, and a window overlooking a wild garden. I placed Finn’s drawing on the dresser, then turned it facedown in case anyone came in. At six, I prepared my first dinner. Roast chicken, buttered potatoes, and green beans. Jasper arrived first and ate straight from the pan, standing at the counter. “You cook like someone who’s feeding a family,” he said around a mouthful. “Any kids?” My knife stopped moving. “No.” “Hm.” He flipped the coin and caught it in his palm. “You hesitated.” “It’s been a long day.” He smiled like I’d just given him a present. Dorian never came downstairs. I covered a plate for him and left it on the dining table anyway. An hour later, it was still sitting there, cold and untouched. At eight, Sable appeared in the kitchen doorway. “One more thing. Every night at eight, you prepare a small plate. Plain. Boiled chicken, rice, no salt. Leave it at the green door.” “Who eats it?” “The house.” “The house eats?” “Mira.” She sounded tired rather than angry. “Please don’t ask.” I prepared the plate and set it down. Then I turned to rinse the pot. When I looked back, the plate was gone. I hadn’t heard a single footstep. At two in the morning, something shattered upstairs. Then I heard a sound I recognized. Not a shout. A howl, low and broken, the kind of sound a wolf makes when the pain becomes too much to hide. I was out of bed before I even realized I’d moved. In the hallway, Sable stood in her robe, her face drained of color. “Stay in your room.” “Someone’s hurt—” “Mira. Please.” Her voice cracked. “This is not yours to see.” She hurried toward the stairs. I counted to ten, then followed her. The study door was slightly open, a strip of lamplight spilling across the carpet. I pushed it wider. Broken glass covered the floor. Picture frames lay shattered, and papers were scattered everywhere. Dorian Kincaid knelt in the middle of it all, bent forward with one fist pressed against his mouth. He wasn’t throwing things. He was falling apart in silence, like a man who’d spent years holding up a roof until his arms finally gave out. My shoe crunched against a piece of glass. He looked up. For one heartbeat, his eyes weren’t cold anymore. They were gold. Bright as a wolf’s, wet with tears. “Mira,” he whispered. Not Ms. Calloway. My name, broken in half. Then I noticed what he was holding in his other hand. A half-circle of silver hanging from a broken chain. My half of the mating pendant. The one I’d ripped from my neck and thrown at his feet in front of the entire pack, on the night he cast me aside. He’d kept it. For five years, he’d kept it.