After My Alpha Named His Mistress as Luna, I Left

The clinking of silverware stopped. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the Shadowvale pack dining hall. I sat at the head of the long oak table, my hands tightly folded in my lap. The roasted venison on my plate had long grown cold.

The scent hit me before the heavy double doors even swung open. Dark cedar and heavy rain. Elliot.

My heart did its usual, stupid flutter—a biological reaction to my fated mate—but the feeling died the second he walked into the room. He wasn't alone.

Isabel Reyes clung to his arm. She wore a smug, radiant smile and a crimson silk dress that clung tightly to her curves. She smelled like overly sweet vanilla, a cloying scent that masked the natural, earthy smells of our pack.

Instantly, the mate mark on my neck began to burn. It was a sharp, stinging warning from the Moon Goddess. A reminder of the bond that Elliot treated like a leash.

Elliot didn't even look at me. He stopped at the head of the table, facing his Beta, Marcus, and the rest of the ranked wolves who were seated for the formal dinner. He stood tall, his broad shoulders squared, radiating the dominant aura of an Alpha.

"Listen up," Elliot's voice boomed. It was rich, deep, and commanding. "Isabel is carrying my pup."

A collective gasp swept through the dining hall. My breath caught in my throat. It felt like someone had driven a silver blade straight through my ribs.

"From this day forward," Elliot continued, his large hand resting gently on Isabel's flat stomach, "she will be treated as my intended Luna. She has my full protection. Anyone who disrespects her, disrespects me."

I sat frozen in my chair. The mark on my neck seared like a branding iron, the physical pain mirroring the deep soul-level agony of his betrayal. I looked around the long table, desperate for someone to object.

Marcus stared intensely down at his plate, his jaw clenched tight. The Gamma cleared his throat and looked away toward the window. Not a single wolf met my eyes. I was their marked Luna, bound by fate and blood, but in this room, I was entirely invisible.

"Elliot..." I whispered. My voice was barely a rasp, but in a room full of werewolf hearing, it was as loud as a shout.

He finally shifted his gaze to me. His dark eyes were cold, completely devoid of the fated warmth they were supposed to hold. "You will make room for her, Paige. That is an order."

The humiliation of the dinner was only the beginning of the nightmare. Two days later, my true breaking point arrived in the sterile, white walls of the pack's medical wing.

"She's bleeding!" Elliot roared, bursting through the clinic doors with Isabel cradled in his arms. "Do something!"

Isabel whimpered loudly, clutching her stomach with dramatic flair. "It hurts, Elliot. The baby... please save our baby."

The pack healer, Sarah, rushed over from the counter. She quickly checked Isabel's vitals, her hands trembling under Elliot's intense glare. "Alpha, her blood pressure is dropping. She claims she's having severe cramping. If this is a high-risk complication, she needs a transfusion to stabilize, but her blood type is extremely rare. We don't have enough of it in the bank."

Elliot spun around. He had summoned me here moments before, and now I stood near the doorway, my arms crossed defensively over my chest. He locked eyes with me. He knew. We shared the exact same rare blood type.

"Draw it from Paige," he ordered flatly.

I took a step back, shaking my head. "Elliot, no. I'm already weak from the last full moon patrol. I haven't recovered. I can't give that much blood."

His eyes flashed a dangerous, glowing gold. The air in the room instantly grew heavy, pressing down on my chest and stealing my oxygen. He unleashed his full Alpha tone.

*“Sit in the chair and give her your blood, Paige.”*

The command hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't just a sound; it was a crushing weight that forced my chin down and made my knees buckle. My inner wolf whimpered, forced into biological submission by the very mate who was supposed to protect us. My legs moved against my will. I dragged myself to the leather donor chair and rolled up my sleeve, my body shaking with helpless rage.

Sarah looked at me with wide, terrified eyes. She didn't say a word as she tied the tourniquet and slid the thick needle into my vein. The dark red blood began to flow through the clear plastic tube.

Minutes dragged into an eternity. The first bag filled. Then Sarah, hands shaking, switched it for a second one.

"Alpha, this is too much," Sarah whispered, her voice cracking. "Luna Paige's body can't handle this volume. She's going to crash."

"Keep going!" Elliot snarled without looking back. He was kneeling beside Isabel's bed, holding her hand and kissing her forehead.

My vision blurred. The bright lights of the clinic turned into gray smears. A cold sweat broke out over my skin, and the room began to spin. I tried to speak, to beg him to stop, but my tongue felt like lead. The heart monitor beside me started to beep frantically.

"She's going into hypovolemic shock!" Sarah cried out, frantically pulling the needle from my arm.

That was the last thing I heard before the gray swallowed me whole.

I woke up hours later to the sharp smell of rubbing alcohol. The clinic was quiet, the overhead lights dimmed to a soft glow. I was alone in a recovery bed, a thick blanket tucked around me and an IV dripping fluids into my bruised arm.

Sarah was nowhere to be seen, but when I shifted my head, I heard the crinkle of paper. A fresh medical chart was tucked carefully under my pillow. I pulled it out with trembling fingers. It detailed exactly how much blood was forced from me. A silent record. A quiet rebellion from a healer too afraid to speak, but too guilty to forget.

My head pounded fiercely. I closed my eyes, trying to reach deep inside myself for my wolf, needing her strength to heal the lingering ache in my bones.

Suddenly, a voice bled into my mind. It was a careless slip of the pack mind-link, left open just a fraction by an Alpha who felt too secure in his power.

*“You’re safe now, baby. I’ve got you. You and our little pup. I won't let anything happen to you.”*

Elliot’s voice. Soft. Cooing. Intimate.

The sound of it didn't just break my heart. It shattered the dam I had built in my mind for years.

A visceral memory ripped through me, so sharp I gasped out loud. Rain lashing against a shattered windshield. The metallic smell of my own blood. The dark highway just outside Shadowvale territory, swarming with rogue wolves.

I had been trapped in the crushed metal of my car. I was pregnant. I was bleeding out on the wet seats.

*“Elliot!”* I had screamed through the mind-link that night, sobbing as the unbearable pain tore through my abdomen. *“Elliot, please! The baby!”*

But there had only been a wall of static. He had blocked me. He was running in his wolf form under the full moon with Isabel, ignoring his mate while our pup died in the dark. I miscarried alone, screaming his name into a void.

Lying in the clinic bed now, listening to him whisper sweet, protective promises to Isabel's supposed child, the last remaining thread holding my soul together snapped.

My inner wolf, who had spent nine years pacing, whimpering, and begging for our mate's affection, simply stopped. She didn't howl. She didn't cry. She just curled into a tight, cold ball deep inside my soul and closed her eyes.

*Silence.*

Total, deafening silence. For the first time since I was thirteen years old, I couldn't feel her presence. She was gone, retreating into a coma to survive the pain.

I reached up and touched the mate mark on my neck. It was still there, raised and scarred, but the phantom warmth of the bond was dead. My tears dried up on my cheeks. The suffocating, desperate grip of the mate bond loosened, replaced by something cold, sharp, and hard.

My heart turned to solid ice.

I didn't want him to love me anymore. I didn't want his groveling, or his apologies, or his fated connection. I just wanted out.