Alpha's STOLEN Mate (by Abigail Hayes) novel Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Elowen

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I stared at the mountain of security protocols bleeding across my desk, each page a fresh reminder of how thoroughly my sanctuary had been violated. The familiar weight of leadership crushed down on my shoulders like a goddamn anvil, heavier now than it had ever been.

Martial law. In my own fucking home.

The words tasted like poison, but I couldn’t deny the brutal necessity. After Kaius’s little reconnaissance mission into our territory, I’d spent every sleepless hour transforming our peaceful haven into an impenetrable fortress. Nobody crossed our barriers without explicit permission from me or Scarlett. Our patrol schedules had tripled into something resembling military occupation, and every pack member now carried emergency crystals that could summon help faster than a heartbeat.

I hate that bastard for forcing me to turn paradise into a prison.

The worst part? Despite my mate being the root cause of this nightmare, traitorous thoughts still invaded my mind like parasites. Had he faced more assassination attempts? Was he bleeding out somewhere while his enemies celebrated? What had Frost’s transformation cost

him?

Stop it, you pathetic fool.

I severed those thoughts like infected limbs. At least his enemies were keeping him busy enough to buy me breathing room.

A tentative knock shattered my brooding. Lyra appeared in my doorway, professional composure masking bone–deep exhaustion that no amount of makeup could hide.

“Come in,” I commanded, gesturing toward the chair like summoning a soldier for debriefing. “How did today’s training session go?”

Lyra moved with the careful precision of someone who’d learned that sudden movements could trigger violence. At twenty–five, she should have been radiating youth and possibility. Instead, faint scars traced her jawline like a roadmap of brutality, disappearing beneath her collar into territories I didn’t want to imagine.

Too many of us are walking crime scenes.

Her dark hair was pulled back with military severity, emphasizing green eyes that had witnessed horrors but somehow retained their capacity for compassion. Every movement screamed efficiency wrapped around carefully hidden trauma—the ghost of the shattered woman who’d crawled into our territory six months ago, more corpse than wolf.

That memory still triggered homicidal rage in my chest. When our patrol found her, she’d been barely conscious, drenched in blood and fighting infections that should have killed her. It took weeks before she could whisper her story through broken sobs.

Her pack had been obliterated in one of the endless territorial wars plaguing our region. As a gifted healer, she should have been treasured, protected, worshipped for her abilities. Instead, she’d been turned into a weapon of war and a reward for violence.

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14:38 Tue, Jan 13

Chapter 40

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The details she’d finally shared painted a picture of systematic horror that made my wolf howl for vengeance. By day, they’d forced her to heal their warriors for the next battle. By night, she became their entertainment–forced to submit to the same monsters whose wounds

she’d closed with her own hands.

Animals. Every fucking one of them deserved to burn.

She’d escaped through desperate genius that could have killed her. During one healing session, she’d deliberately left an internal wound partially untreated on her primary tormentor. When he’d raped her that night, the exertion ruptured his injury internally. In the chaos of

his death throes, she’d vanished into darkness.

“Alpha?” Lyra’s voice dragged me back from my rage spiral. “You seemed… elsewhere.”

“Just thinking about survival,” I said, forcing focus back to the present. “How far we’ve all come from the ashes.”

Her smile transformed her scarred features into something radiant–exactly why I’d made her our medical expansion leader. Despite being systematically destroyed, she’d retained her healing gift and protective instincts. She was the leader our growing family of broken souls desperately needed.

“Excellent news,” she announced, producing a meticulously organized folder. “Our medical team candidates are documented here–training schedules, progress reports, the works. We’re moving faster than I dared dream. Within a week, we’ll triple our current capacity.”

I examined her careful documentation, each page reflecting organizational skills that would shame military strategists. The trauma that should have shattered her had instead forged something stronger, more determined to prevent others from sharing her fate.

“Fucking magnificent work,” I said with genuine admiration. “You’ve exceeded every expectation.”

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure, but she didn’t rise to leave. Instead, her fingers began that familiar twisting dance that meant incoming