After My Alpha Branded His Mistress the True Luna

Three days before the Grand Pack Alliance Ceremony, I stood at the back of the Ironveil banquet hall and watched my fated mate dedicate his life's work to another woman.

The hall was packed. Three allied Alphas sat at the head table with their Lunas, their Beta commanders flanking them like sentries. The chandeliers threw warm light across polished wood and crystal glasses. Everyone was dressed for celebration. I wore a high-collared navy dress that hid the mark on my neck.

Ryland stood on the stage in a charcoal suit, looking every inch the Alpha he was born to be. His dark hair was swept back. His jaw was sharp. His presence filled the room the way it always did, that Alpha aura pressing outward like a physical force. I used to love watching him command a room. I used to think the Moon Goddess knew exactly what she was doing when she paired us.

"Tonight," Ryland said, his voice carrying easily over the crowd, "we celebrate more than an alliance. We celebrate the foundation that made this alliance possible."

I pressed my thumb to the mark on my neck without meaning to. It was a habit I'd picked up over the past year. The mark burned sometimes. Not painfully. Just... present. A reminder that the bond was still there, even when everything else felt like it was dissolving.

"Ironveil's healing trade has become the envy of the Northeast," Ryland continued. "Our remedies are sought after by packs from the coast to the mountains. And none of that would have been possible without one person."

I held my breath.

"Brooke Wagner," he said. "My true Luna. My muse. My chosen partner in building this legacy."

The applause started immediately. It rolled through the hall like thunder. I stood very still.

Brooke rose from her seat at the head table, one hand pressed to her chest in a gesture of surprised gratitude. She wore a cream silk gown that caught the light beautifully. And at her throat, glinting under the chandeliers, was the Luna's heirloom moonstone pendant.

I had never been given that pendant.

Brooke climbed the steps to the stage. Ryland took her hand and pulled her close, his arm around her waist. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. The crowd loved it. I heard someone near me whisper, "They're perfect together."

The mark on my neck flared hot. Not the warmth of connection. The burn of something breaking.

I turned and walked out before anyone could see my face.

No one followed me. No one called my name. I don't think anyone even noticed I'd been there.

I drove back to the pack house in silence. My hands were steady on the wheel. My breathing was even. I felt nothing, which was probably a mercy.

When I pulled into the circular drive, the pack house loomed against the night sky like it always did—stone and timber, three stories, ivy climbing the east wall. I'd lived here for four years. I'd compounded remedies in the Healer wing. I'd slept in the Luna's quarters, though Ryland had stopped coming to bed months ago. I'd given this place everything my bloodline had to offer.

I walked through the main entrance and headed toward the Healer wing. I needed to check on a batch I'd started that morning. Timing mattered with botanical compounds. You couldn't rush them. You couldn't neglect them. You had to be present.

As I turned down the east hallway, I noticed something wrong.

The brass nameplate on my compounding quarters door was gone.

I stopped walking.

In its place was a new placard, polished and gleaming. It read: "Wagner Wellness Initiative."

I stared at it for a long time. My wolf stirred low in my chest, a growl building that I didn't let out. I pressed my thumb to the mark on my neck again. It still burned.

I didn't go inside. I turned around and walked back to my room.

I didn't sleep that night.

The next morning, I returned to the compounding quarters. I had a time-sensitive tincture that needed to be strained and bottled. If I didn't finish it today, the whole batch would be ruined.

I opened the door and found Brooke sitting at my distillation bench.

She looked up and smiled. "Oh, Evangeline! Good morning."

She was surrounded by my tools. My antique glass beakers. My copper distillation coils. My carefully labeled jars of rare botanical extracts, some of which had taken me months to source. And in front of her, open on the bench, was my ancestral compounding journal.

The Hart family journal. Centuries old. Passed down through my bloodline. The only copy in existence.

Brooke had her phone out. She'd been photographing the pages.

"I hope you don't mind," she said brightly. "Cameron gave me access to the Healer wing. He thought it would be good for me to familiarize myself with the formulas. You know, for the expansion."

She gestured to a piece of paper on the desk. I picked it up.

It was a formal letter of authorization, signed by Former Alpha Cameron Stone. It granted Brooke Wagner full access to "all Luna-designated pack resources, including the Healer wing and its contents."

I set the letter down carefully.

"I just need to retrieve my tincture," I said.

My voice was calm. Steady. I walked past her to the back counter where I'd left the glass jar steeping. I strained it through cheesecloth into a clean bottle, sealed it, and labeled it with the date.

Brooke watched me the whole time. The moonstone pendant at her throat caught the morning light streaming through the window.

"You're so talented, Evangeline," she said softly. "I really admire your work."

I capped the bottle. I noted which pages of the journal she'd been photographing—three formulas from the wolfsbane-neutralizing section, including the rare extract that required specific temperature control during preparation.

Then I walked out.

I didn't say a word.

I closed the door behind me and stood in the hallway for a moment, the glass bottle cool in my hands.

My wolf was growling again. Low and constant. I pressed my thumb to the mark on my neck.

It still burned.