After My Alpha Rejected Me for a Fake Luna

The heavy iron door of my cell groaned open, the sound scraping against my raw nerves like a serrated blade. I huddled deeper into the corner, pressing my spine against the damp stone, praying the shadows would swallow me whole. My ankle throbbed with a dull, sickening rhythm, swollen to twice its size, but the physical pain was a distant echo compared to the terror seizing my chest.

Isaac stood in the doorway. The harsh hallway light silhouetted his broad frame, casting a long, predatory shadow that stretched across the floor until it touched my bare feet. He didn't look like the boy who used to sneak me extra desserts from the pack kitchens. He didn't even look like the man who had rejected me hours ago. He looked like a stranger possessed by a cold, clinical madness.

"Get up," he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Isaac, please," I croaked, my throat dry as sandpaper. "My leg... I can't walk."

He didn't argue. He crossed the small cell in two strides, his hand clamping around my upper arm. He hauled me to my feet with effortless, brutal strength. I cried out as my injured foot dragged uselessly against the stone, sending white-hot spikes of agony up my shin.

"Pain is a teacher, Luna," he muttered, dragging me into the corridor. "You've been coddled. You've been allowed to be weak. That ends tonight."

He pulled me through the labyrinthine hallways of the pack house, ignoring the stares of the few servants still awake. They averted their eyes, terrified of their Alpha's simmering rage. We burst out the back doors into the biting chill of the night air. The training grounds lay before us, a circle of packed dirt illuminated by blinding floodlights that buzzed like angry hornets.

In the center of the ring stood a wooden whipping post equipped with iron shackles. My stomach dropped.

"Isaac, no," I begged, digging my heels into the dirt. "Don't do this. I didn't hurt Alison. I swear on the Moon Goddess!"

He shoved me forward, forcing my wrists into the cold iron cuffs. The metal clicked shut, locking my arms above my head, leaving me exposed and helpless.

"You didn't use magic," Isaac said, stepping back to admire his work. He pulled a tripod from the shadows and set his smartphone upon it, angling the camera directly at my face. "I realized something, Luna. You're not a witch. You're just a coward. Your fear of men... it's pathetic. It’s what made you run to the rogues. It’s what killed my son."

He tapped the screen. A red light blinked on.

"We're live," he announced, his voice booming for the benefit of the pack members watching from their screens. "Tonight, the Dark Claw Pack witnesses the rehabilitation of a traitor. We are going to cure your phobia, Luna. We are going to burn the weakness out of you."

He whistled sharply.

From the darkness beyond the lights, five figures emerged. My breath hitched, trapping a scream in my throat. They were Gammas—huge, muscular warriors known for their aggression. They were shirtless, their skin glistening with sweat, their eyes locked on me with predatory intent.

"Exposure therapy," Isaac sneered, crossing his arms. "Boys, release your auras. Don't touch her... yet. Just let her smell you."

The command hit them like a whip. The five men stepped into the circle, surrounding me. The air instantly grew heavy, suffocating. They pushed their Alpha command down, not enough to force submission, but enough to terrify. The scent hit me next—a wave of musk, testosterone, and raw, unfiltered aggression. It was the scent of the rogue attack. It was the scent of my nightmares.

"No!" I screamed, squeezing my eyes shut. "Get away!"

"Open your eyes!" Isaac roared from behind the camera. "Look at them! They are your pack mates!"

One of the Gammas, a man with a scar running down his chest, stepped closer. He leaned in, his breath hot against my neck, growling low in his throat. The vibration rattled through my bones.

Panic, absolute and blinding, shattered my mind. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it would burst. The world tilted. I couldn't breathe. The air was too thick, too full of *them*.

"Please," I whimpered, my body convulsing in the chains. "Isaac, help me!"

"Endure it!" Isaac shouted, his face twisted in a mask of cruel righteousness. "Stop crying and be a wolf!"

The warriors circled closer, a wall of looming flesh and growls. The sensory overload was too much. My vision tunneled into a pinprick of darkness. The scream that tore from my throat wasn't human; it was the sound of a soul fracturing. Then, the darkness swallowed me whole.

***

**[Perspective Shift: Alpha Sylas Hunt]**

hundreds of miles away, in the high-tech office of the Northern Frost Pack, a glass of whiskey shattered against the wall.

I stared at the tablet on my desk, my hands gripping the mahogany edge until the wood splintered under my fingers. On the screen, the livestream from the Dark Claw Pack played on—a horror show of cruelty masked as discipline.

I saw her. Luna. My mate.

I had stayed away for years, respecting the bond she had with Isaac, hoping he would protect the fragile flower that was destined for me. But as I watched her hang limp in those chains, surrounded by growling mongrels, something inside me snapped. I felt her terror vibrate through the dormant bond like a physical blow. I felt her mind fracture.

"Isaac Gibson," I growled, my voice a low rumble of impending death. "You just signed your own death warrant."

I snatched my phone, dialing a number I had saved for this exact nightmare.

"Garrett," I barked the moment the line connected, not bothering with pleasantries. "Check your messages. I'm sending you a link. Get your warriors to the chopper. I'm already in the air."

"Sylas?" The older Alpha's voice was confused, then suddenly cold as he must have opened the link. "My god... Luna."

"We burn it down," I said, my vision turning red with the urge to kill. "We burn it all down."