Bring My Parents Home, Breaking the Mate Bond

I quietly brought my aging parents into the Higgins Pack, hoping to surprise my Alpha mate on the night of the Winter Solstice—the most sacred time of reunion and celebration in our pack.

I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to mend the growing rift in our mate bond.

But instead, it became the spark that burned away all my illusions.

The moment we stepped into the Alpha's Pack House, before the snow had even melted from our boots, a chilling Beta aura swept toward us—strong enough to melt the snow clinging to the leather soles.

It was her.

Jacqueline Gregory.

Alpha Chandler's most trusted housekeeper. A Beta who prided herself on her so-called “pure bloodline.”

She snorted, her voice sharp as wolf fangs.

“Harper Fleming, these are your parents? No wonder—reeking of dirt and farmland. My gods, the stench is giving me a migraine.”

I clenched my fists, swallowing the fire boiling inside me, and quickly knelt to wipe the muddy slush off my parents’ coats.

I tried to summon the house guards, but Jacqueline had already released her Beta dominance, suppressing the nearby Omega staff and shoving my mother aside like she was nothing.

Mom, never one to tolerate humiliation, snapped back instantly:

“And who the hell are you to speak like that? Don’t you have an ounce of decency?”

A flicker of malice crossed Jacqueline’s eyes. She didn’t back down. If anything, she escalated.

She grabbed a ceramic ornament from the foyer shelf and hurled it at my mother.

I reacted on instinct, throwing up my hand to shield her. The ornament missed Mom but clipped my wrist, the jagged edge slicing through my skin. Blood welled up instantly, dripping onto the pristine white marble floor—like some kind of sacrificial offering.

Jacqueline stared at the wound like she was watching a low-budget Omega ritual. She took a step forward, her smug grin widening.

“I’m the future mistress of this Pack House,” she declared, loud enough for all the servants to hear. “The current mate of Chandler Higgins—Alpha heir to the Higgins Pack.”

“You think you’re still the Luna? Please. The Alpha’s done with you. You’re just the discarded shell of a broken mate bond. And your dirty low-blooded relatives? They’re tainting his territory just by breathing.”

She sneered again. “That Harper? She’s just a fallen Luna. Soon, there’ll be nothing left of her—not even bones to bury.”

My parents stood frozen in disbelief.

They never imagined that the son-in-law they’d once been so proud of would turn his back on the ancient traditions of the pack. An Alpha heir betraying his Luna… was a betrayal of the sacred bond granted by the Moon Goddess herself.

My father’s body trembled with rage. He stepped forward to confront Jacqueline.

She shoved him. Hard.

He stumbled backward, crashing into the wooden shoe cabinet by the entrance. His body slid down, crumpling to the floor.

“And what makes you think a low-rank mutt has the right to enter the Alpha’s private domain?” Jacqueline scoffed, her voice laced with disgust. “With that peasant aura? I thought you were here to clean the floors.”

Every word from her mouth was like a poisoned fang.

My father groaned in pain, face pale. I rushed to his side, frantically calling out to the servants for help.

But the same staff who usually bowed politely and wore pressed uniforms—some of them even with traces of Beta lineage—suddenly became deaf to my voice.

Jacqueline dusted her fingers like she was shaking off filth.

“Take these backwoods mutts,” she snapped. “Strip them in the snow—cleanse them. Don’t let their filth pollute the Alpha’s aura.”

The servants sprang into action like a pack on command.

My mother lunged forward, shielding me and my father, screaming, “Don’t you dare touch us! Alpha Chandler is—”

Before she could finish, Jacqueline shoved her—hard. She stumbled, falling into the snow outside the threshold.

My vision went red.

I tried to charge forward, but two servants pinned me down with brute force.

They tied us—my parents and me—with rough wolf-hide ropes, binding us tight, then dragged us like discarded carcasses into the courtyard.

Winter in the Higgins Pack was brutal. Here, snow wasn’t just a season—it was a ritual. It symbolized purification. Exile.

I was thrown onto the icy ground, my long winter dress instantly soaked through. The cold stabbed into my bones like silver needles.

Jacqueline stood at the Pack House entrance, watching us with a mocking smile—like she was enjoying some low-blooded slapstick tragedy.

She clapped her hands once.

The servants understood.

They began pelting us with snowballs—compact, icy ones, packed with bits of sharp frost.

It felt less like a prank, and more like the pack’s punishment ritual for traitors.

“Stop!” I screamed. “Do you even know who they are? They’re not just Chandler’s in-laws—they’re his adoptive parents!”

But my voice was swallowed by the wind and snow. No one listened.

The snowballs kept coming—one after another, slamming into my face, arms, back. Each impact stung, amplified by the freezing air. Shame and pain twisted together, freezing me in place.

My father, already frail, was paling fast. His lips turned blue, his breathing shallow. I could see him teetering on the edge of consciousness.

My mother, furious and defiant, kept shouting back—until, suddenly, she stopped.

Her power faltered. Her voice vanished.

I looked up, alarmed—just in time to see her collapse.

Her face was blue. Her limbs convulsed. Her eyes rolled back as she crumpled into the snow.

“MOM!”

I screamed in horror, breaking free from the bindings just enough to crawl to her side. My hands trembled as I held her, her body already chilling, her breath barely there.

“Call a medic!” I cried out, my voice cracking. “NOW!”

The servants exchanged uncertain looks. One finally turned and ran inside.

Jacqueline didn’t flinch. She stood on the steps, smirking like a judge handing down a sentence.

“How convenient,” she sneered. “A mother who faints on cue.”

“Get out of here. Take your filthy whining and leave. The Alpha’s Pack House doesn’t welcome pathetic sob stories from lowbloods.”

I held my mother in my arms as snow mixed with tears on my cheeks. I didn’t know what hurt more—the cold or the grief.

All I knew was that something inside me cracked open.

And it would never be whole again.