The Alpha’s Love Was Nothing but a Scam

When the ice crashed down, I heard the crack of my own ribs breaking.

The cold bit deep, laced with agony, piercing bone and marrow before stealing every shred of feeling.

Warm liquid spread quickly beneath me.

How ironic. The proud heir of a pure blood werewolf line, brought to this end.

I was only twenty. I didn’t want to die.

Over and over, I cried out their names—Father, Mother, Antony.

But every time I called, more icy air tore into my lungs.

Somewhere in the haze, I caught the sound of sobbing. The pain dulled my thoughts, but my wolf snarled from the depths of my soul: It’s Bleacher and Sibyl.

The sobs gave way to the rumble of falling stone, and my heart clenched.

They were just awakening their wolf blood. I couldn’t bear to imagine their small hands crushed under this avalanche.

“Don’t die, please don’t die!”

“Miss Natalie! We were wrong—it’s our fault. We should never have snuck here for herbs.”

The cavern groaned, snow and rock shifting above us. Collapse was imminent.

I forced a shallow breath, biting back the agony, and whispered, “Pups, I’m fine. Go—fetch the adults from the village.”

“When you get home, bring Miss Natalie a cup of hot cocoa. I’m just a little cold, that’s all.”

Even my wolf clung to that illusion, craving the warmth, the comfort of a drink I would never taste again.

Blood leaked through my palms, sticky against ice. My hair clung in frozen strands.

Stubborn as ever, Bleacher refused to move.

But his five-year-old sister Sibyl shrieked at him with surprising force:

“We’re too small! We need grown wolves from the pack!”

Her voice shredded in the wind, but it yanked me back from the edge of unconsciousness.

My sight blurred, light and shadow bleeding together. Water dripped somewhere above, echoing in my chest.

I had no strength left—not even to shift into wolf form.

“Antony.”

The moment his name left my lips, hope surged.

I no longer felt the pain. I shouted:

“Sibyl, find Antony! He’s the strongest Alpha—he’s my mate. He’ll save us!”

Bleacher’s eyes lit with recognition. “I know him! He’s strong—we’ll get him!”

Relief swept over me. If Antony came, I would not die.

In that half-light, I swore I felt his kiss—hot, damp, real.

I opened my eyes and saw him, and I leapt forward, tears choking my voice.

“You came! You really came to save me—I was so afraid!”

But my hands passed through him like mist.

Ghostly figures drifted between us, their steps, their breath, slicing through my body as if I wasn’t there at all.

My chest hollowed, the only thing left my broken whisper: “Antony… Antony…”

I called his name until my throat was raw, reaching for a warmth I could never hold.

I longed for his scent, his presence, any trace of him—yet I felt nothing.

Was I already dead?

I stumbled after him franticly, just as a warrior rushed to his side with a rescue slip.

The paper trembled in Antony’s hand.

My name was scrawled across it: Natalie, 24, teacher at the pack’s middle school.

His fingers brushed the edge—

But Beta Andre barreled in, face pale. “Alpha! Sherry’s been caught in a snow slide. Her leg is badly crushed—she may not make it!”

Antony barely spared the page a glance. He snatched it away, voice clipped and final:

“I’ll send another warrior. You—go save Sherry. Don’t forget, she came here for you.”

My breath hitched. Sherry’s name stabbed into me like a blade.

Rage ripped through me, driving me forward until I stood directly in front of him.

“If you go to her, I’ll never forgive you!”

My voice cracked as I shouted again, “Antony, can’t you hear me? I’m your mate!”

“Don’t you feel me drowning in danger?” My plea twisted into a scream, both accusation and despair.

But no matter how I howled, all I met was silence. The crushing weight of defeat grew heavier with every unanswered cry.