After My Mate Crowned His Mistress Luna, I Fled

The kitchen doors loomed before me, my only escape from this nightmare. I pushed against them, heart hammering in my chest, only to freeze at the sound of Peyton's voice behind me.

"Going somewhere, little omega?"

I turned slowly, pressing my back against the cool metal of the refrigerator. Peyton stood there in all her glory, the Moonstone Necklace gleaming at her throat, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders. Beside her, Ryan—one of Zane's most loyal warriors—blocked the doorway with his broad frame.

"I was just..." My voice faltered as Peyton's eyes narrowed.

"Just stealing food?" She stepped closer, her crimson dress brushing against my white one. "Like the pathetic little scavenger you are?"

Ryan snickered behind her. "Caught red-handed, Peyton."

I swallowed hard, trying to find some courage in the depths of my soul. "I'm not stealing anything."

Peyton's laugh was like shattered glass. "Oh, but you are." She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. "You're stealing from the pack that's been generous enough to keep you around despite your... inadequacies."

Before I could protest, she dragged me back through the swinging doors, into the main hall where the party continued in full swing. The music seemed to falter as she pulled me to the center of the room.

"Look who I found sneaking around the kitchen!" Peyton's voice carried over the crowd. "Our little charity case was stealing food!"

All eyes turned to me—dozens of pack members, their expressions ranging from amusement to disgust. And there, at the far end of the hall, sat Zane on his ornate throne-like chair, one leg draped over the armrest, a wine glass dangling from his fingers.

"Zane," I whispered, my eyes locking with his. For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker there—regret? Doubt? But then his gaze hardened, and he looked away.

"Alpha," Peyton purred, releasing me to saunter toward him. "What should we do with our little thief?"

Zane's voice was cold, detached. "Do as you see fit, Peyton. It's your night."

* * *

"Kneel."

The word hit me like a physical blow. Peyton stood over me, her dominant aura pressing down until my knees buckled beneath me.

"I said kneel, Amelie." Her voice dripped with satisfaction as I collapsed to the floor.

The cold marble bit into my skin as she circled me like a predator. The pack formed a circle around us, their faces blurring together in a sea of cruel amusement.

"You know what happens to thieves in our pack," Peyton said, her voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "They must be taught their place."

She snapped her fingers, and Ryan appeared with a plate—not of food, but of scraps. Bones with bits of gristle still attached, crusts of bread, and what looked like leftovers from yesterday's hunt.

"Since you're so hungry," Peyton's smile was venomous, "here's your meal."

She dumped the contents onto the floor in front of me. The smell hit my nostrils—rotting meat and stale bread.

"Eat."

I stared at the filth before me, tears burning behind my eyes. "Please," I whispered, looking up at Zane again. "Zane, please."

But he just raised his wine glass in a mock toast, his eyes never meeting mine as he took a slow sip.

"You heard me," Peyton growled, her aura pressing harder until I could barely breathe. "Eat like the dog you are."

My hands trembled as I reached for a piece of bone. The rough surface scraped against my palm as I brought it to my lips.

* * *

The room spun around me as I slumped forward, my body going limp. I'd been holding my breath, forcing my heart rate to slow dangerously low—a trick I'd learned years ago when I needed to escape unwanted attention.

"Is she fainting?" Someone gasped.

"She's so weak," another voice sneered. "Always making a scene."

Through slitted eyes, I watched as Peyton rolled her eyes in disgust. "Someone get her out of here before she ruins the carpet."

Hands lifted me—not gently—and carried me toward the exit. I kept my body loose, my breathing shallow until they dropped me unceremoniously in the hallway.

"Pathetic," one of them muttered before returning to the party.

The moment they were gone, I scrambled to my feet and raced toward my quarters. My hands shook as I pulled out the small bag I'd hidden beneath my mattress—a go-bag I'd been secretly assembling for months, filled with cash, fake ID, and clothes.

From beneath my bed, I retrieved a small vial of crushed wolfsbane mixed with sage—a concoction that would mask my scent completely. I'd stolen it from the pack healer's stores, knowing someday I might need to disappear.

I doused myself with the mixture, gagging at the bitter smell, then stuffed more into my pockets. My car was parked just beyond the tree line—not the pack's vehicle, but one I'd purchased secretly with money earned from selling handmade jewelry in town.

As I slipped out the back entrance of the pack house, the sounds of celebration continued behind me. No one noticed as I disappeared into the darkness, no one called my name.

No one cared that I was gone.