After My Alpha Branded His Mistress the True Luna

I started keeping a record.

Not because I thought it would change anything. Not because I believed documentation would restore what had been taken. But because I was a Healer, and Healers catalog damage before they treat it. That's what we do. We observe. We note. We prepare.

I used the back cover of a secondary notebook, the one I kept for supply inventory. The cipher was simple—botanical shorthand mixed with date stamps. Nothing anyone would recognize unless they knew what they were looking at.

Day one: Brass nameplate removed from compounding quarters. Replaced with "Wagner Wellness Initiative" placard. No formal notification.

Day two: Brooke Wagner granted full Luna-designated resource access via Former Alpha Cameron Stone's written authorization. Ancestral Hart journal photographed without consent. Three wolfsbane-neutralizing formulas documented by unauthorized party.

Day three: Pack Healer Maren redirected morning report to Brooke rather than to me. Omega Healer Josie avoided eye contact in east corridor.

I wrote it all down in careful, even script. My hand didn't shake. My wolf growled low in my chest, but I didn't let it surface. There was no point.

The mark on my neck burned constantly now.

On the fourth night, I was walking back from the Healer wing—late, because I'd been double-checking a batch of fever-reducing tincture that one of the younger Healers had prepared incorrectly—when I passed the formal dining hall.

The lights were on inside.

I slowed without meaning to. Through the tall windows, I could see the long table set with the Stone family's formal china. Candles. Wine glasses. The kind of dinner that required an invitation.

Ryland sat at the head of the table in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Cameron was to his right, gesturing with his wine glass as he spoke. And across from them, in the seat that had been mine at every family dinner for four years, sat Brooke.

She wore a soft pink sweater. Her hair was loose. She looked warm and comfortable and entirely at home.

As I watched, Ryland lifted his glass. Cameron did the same. Then Cameron reached across the table and clasped Brooke's hand in both of his.

It was unmistakable. A patriarchal blessing. The kind of gesture that said: You belong here. You are ours.

I had never received that gesture.

Brooke's face lit up. She said something I couldn't hear through the glass. Ryland laughed. Cameron smiled—really smiled, the kind of expression I'd only seen him wear at pack victories.

I didn't stop walking.

I kept my pace steady and even. I turned the corner into the east wing and climbed the stairs to my room. I closed the door. I sat on the edge of my bed.

My wolf was snarling now. Not at them. At me. For staying. For enduring. For continuing to function in a house that had already decided I didn't exist.

I pressed my thumb to the mark on my neck. It burned so hot I thought it might scar.

But I didn't cry.

I opened my notebook and added a new entry.

Day four: Private Stone family dinner. Brooke Wagner present. Evangeline Hart not invited. Cameron Stone offered patriarchal hand-clasp to Brooke. Formal acceptance into Stone family observed.

I closed the notebook. I set it on the nightstand. I lay down fully clothed and stared at the ceiling until the sky outside turned gray.

The next morning, I went to the Healer wing to check on the corrected fever tincture.

Maren was there, restocking the supply cabinet. She was one of the Healers I'd personally trained three years ago. She'd come to Ironveil as an Omega with no formal compounding education, and I'd spent months teaching her the fundamentals. She was good now. Careful. Precise.

She looked up when I entered. "Oh. Good morning."

Her tone was polite. Distant. The way you'd greet a visiting pack member you didn't know well.

"Good morning," I said. "I wanted to check the fever tincture batch. Is it ready for bottling?"

"I'm not sure," Maren said. She set down the jar she was holding and glanced toward the door. "I think Brooke wanted to review it first."

I went very still.

"Brooke," I repeated.

"Yes." Maren's voice was careful. "She's overseeing the Healer wing now. Didn't you know?"

I didn't answer.

Maren shifted her weight. "I can ask her when she gets here if you want. She usually comes by around nine."

"That's fine," I said quietly. "I'll check it myself."

I walked past her to the distillation bench. The fever tincture was there, properly strained and cooled. I examined the color and clarity. It was correct now. I made a note in the batch log.

Behind me, I heard the door open.

"Maren!" Brooke's voice was bright and warm. "Good morning. I brought those lavender cuttings you wanted."

"Oh, thank you!" Maren's tone shifted immediately—lighter, more animated. "I was just about to ask you about the fever tincture. Is it ready to bottle?"

"Let me see."

I heard Brooke's footsteps cross the room. I didn't turn around. I kept writing in the batch log.

Brooke came up beside me. She smelled like vanilla and something floral. Not her natural scent. Perfume.

"It looks good," she said, peering at the tincture. Then she glanced at me. "Oh, Evangeline. I didn't realize you were here."

"I was checking the batch," I said.

"That's so sweet of you." Brooke smiled. "But you don't have to. I've got it covered."

She reached past me and picked up the jar. She held it up to the light, tilting it slightly. "Maren, this is perfect. Go ahead and bottle it. Label it for the northern storage."

"Yes, Luna," Maren said.

Luna.

I closed the batch log. I set the pen down carefully.

Brooke was still holding the jar, still smiling at Maren. The moonstone pendant glinted at her throat.

I walked out.

In the hallway, I passed Josie, the other Omega Healer I'd trained. She was carrying a basket of dried herbs. When she saw me, her eyes flicked away. She didn't slow down. She didn't greet me.

She walked straight past me and into the compounding quarters.

"Brooke," I heard her say, "I have a question about the yarrow preparation—"

The door closed.

I stood in the empty hallway.

My wolf was silent now. Not calm. Just... exhausted.

I pressed my thumb to the mark on my neck. It didn't burn anymore. It just ached. A deep, bone-level ache that had nothing to do with the bond and everything to do with the fact that I was still standing in this house, still breathing this air, still pretending any of it mattered.

I walked back to my room.

I opened my notebook.

Day five: Maren redirected Healer wing authority to Brooke. Addressed Brooke as "Luna" in my presence. Josie avoided acknowledgment entirely. Pack social structure fully reoriented. No formal announcement required.

I closed the notebook.

I didn't write anything else.

I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the wall until the light changed and the house grew quiet and I could no longer hear the sound of Brooke's laughter drifting up from the compounding quarters below.