The Luna Who Saved Her Alpha

Eileen's POV

I tried to move my arms. Couldn't. They were bound behind me, rope cutting into my wrists so tight I'd lost feeling in my fingers hours ago. Or maybe it was minutes. Time had stopped making sense somewhere between the third broken rib and when they'd started tearing at my clothes.

"Hold up."

The voice cut through the fog in my brain. One of them—the big one with the scar across his knuckles—had stopped mid-motion, his meaty hand frozen on the collar of my dress.

"What?" Another one growled. I couldn't see him clearly through my good eye, but I recognized the voice. He was the one who'd hit me first, back in the parking lot outside the pharmacy.

"Look at this." Scarred Knuckles grabbed my shoulder—roughly, making me gasp—and yanked down the torn fabric of my dress. Cool air hit my bare skin.

"Holy shit." He stumbled backward like I'd burned him. "She's got the fucking Keaton pack mark."

The other one—the hitter—shoved forward to look. I felt his breath on my neck, hot and reeking of cigarettes. Then he went still.

"Boss didn't say nothing about her being Keaton's."

"What do we do?" Scarred Knuckles asked, and I heard the fear in his voice. Everyone feared Silas Keaton. Everyone except me, apparently. I'd been too stupid to be afraid of the right things.

"I don't know, man. If Keaton finds out—"

"He won't."

The new voice sliced through the warehouse like a knife. High heels clicked against concrete, steady and confident. I knew those footsteps. I'd heard them a thousand times, usually accompanied by soft laughter and gentle advice.

Violet.

I forced my head up, blinking through the blood crusting my eyelashes. Violet stood in the doorway, backlit by the streetlight outside. She looked perfect, as always. Hair smooth, makeup flawless, wearing a cream-colored coat that probably cost more than most people's rent.

Behind her, another figure. Taller. Broader. My heart, already broken, shattered into smaller pieces.

Derek.

"Don't stop on my account," Violet said, walking toward me. Her heels echoed in the empty space. "Keaton's going to be dead soon anyway. That crippled Alpha won't last long."

The words hit me harder than any fist had. "What... what did you say?"

My voice came out wrong—hoarse and broken, barely above a whisper. But Violet heard me. She smiled.

"Oh, Eileen." She crouched down in front of me, so close I could smell her perfume. Chanel No. 5. I'd given her that bottle for her birthday last year. "You really are as stupid as I always thought."

Derek moved into my line of sight, pulling out a silver cigarette case. He lit one slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world. Maybe he did. I certainly didn't.

"Tell her," Violet said, still smiling that perfect smile. "She deserves to know, don't you think?"

Derek took a long drag, blew the smoke toward the ceiling. "We're going to kill your mate, Eileen. That wheelchair-bound excuse for an Alpha. Honestly, he's an embarrassment to the whole pack structure."

My chest constricted. Not from the broken ribs, but from something deeper. "Silas..."

"Don't worry," Violet cooed, reaching out to touch my face. I flinched, but couldn't move away. "It'll be quick. Well, quicker than this, anyway." She gestured vaguely at my battered body. "We needed you to get close to him first. To make him trust you. And you did such a good job."

"You really thought Derek loved you?" Violet continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "That he wanted you? God, Eileen, you made it so easy."