After My Alpha Chose His Political Luna Over Me

The white dress fit perfectly. I smoothed my hands down the silk, watching it catch the morning light streaming through the dressing room windows of the Knight pack house. Three years. Three years since I'd given Wyatt my core wolf essence, since I'd felt that piece of myself tear away to keep him breathing. Three years of his promises, his coffee brewed just how I liked it, his fingers laced through mine on cold New York mornings.

Today, he'd make me his Luna.

The door opened without a knock. Wyatt filled the frame, but something was wrong. His jaw was set in that way it got when his father summoned him to the Alpha's office. His eyes—those amber eyes that used to soften when they found me—were flat. Cold.

"Camille." My name sounded like a business transaction. "We need to talk."

I turned from the mirror, my chest tightening. Not the empty space where my wolf essence used to pulse, but something deeper. "What's wrong?"

"You need to step down." The words came out clipped, rehearsed. "Cancel the bond. I'm marrying Adelyn Pierce today instead."

The room tilted. I gripped the vanity edge, silk wrinkling under my fingers. "What?"

"Your background—" He wouldn't meet my eyes. "A rogue healer with no pack ties. It's too unstable. The Pierces can offer political alliances we need. You understand."

I didn't understand. I understood nothing except the way his shoulders were already turning toward the door, like I was a task to check off his list. "Wyatt, I gave you—"

"I know what you gave me." His voice cracked, just once, before hardening again. "This is how pack leadership works. Duty over—" He stopped. "Get changed. You can watch from the back if you want."

He left. The door clicked shut with a sound like bones breaking.

I watched from the back. Of course I did. Where else could I go in this white dress that suddenly felt like a shroud? The ceremony hall blazed with flowers—the same ones I'd chosen, white roses and lavender. Adelyn Pierce stood at the altar in a different white dress, designer, her dark hair swept up to expose her neck. Perfect. Polished. Everything a Luna should be.

Wyatt marked her. I saw his teeth break her skin, saw her gasp that was half pleasure, half triumph. The pack erupted in howls. I tasted copper and realized I'd bitten through my lip.

I turned to slip out. Almost made it.

"Wait." Adelyn's voice rang clear across the hall. Heads swiveled. She smiled, radiant in her new bond, and gestured toward me. "I want to thank someone special. Camille Wood, our little healer. Thank you for keeping my husband warm these past few years. Your service to this pack won't be forgotten."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Not kind laughter.

"Of course," Adelyn continued, her smile sharp as glass, "we'll need to make some adjustments. Camille, you'll be reassigned to Omega duties. Kitchen work, I think. We can't have confusion about rank, can we?"

The Alpha—Marcus Knight, Wyatt's father—nodded his approval. Wyatt said nothing. He stood there, Adelyn's blood on his lips, and said nothing.

I left. No one stopped me.

Five years. Five years of scrubbing floors in the pack house kitchens while wolves I'd once healed stepped over me. Five years of "accidentally" kicked buckets, of dirty water soaking through my clothes, of whispers that followed me like smoke.

The cough started while I was on my knees, scrubbing at a stain that wouldn't come out. It seized my lungs, violent and wrong. I pressed my hand to my mouth. When I pulled it away, my palm was black with blood.

The pack clinic was empty at midnight. I knew where they kept the diagnostic equipment. The scanner hummed against my chest, and the screen told me what I already knew in my bones.

My wolf spirit was dying. Two weeks, maybe less. The core essence I'd given Wyatt had been the heart of it, and without it, I was burning out like a candle with no wick.

I touched the hollow space in my chest where my wolf used to sing. Nothing. Just the echo of something that used to be whole.

Two weeks. I could survive two weeks. I'd survived five years. What was two more weeks of keeping my head down, of being invisible, of waiting for the end in silence?

I deleted the scan results and walked back to my closet-sized room in the servants' quarters. Outside, the New York City lights blazed against the night sky, indifferent and cold.