After My Mate Humiliated Me for His Packmate

Camden decided we needed a pack run.

He announced it over breakfast, casual as anything, while I was still clearing plates from the table. Garrett Cole had arrived the night before with two warriors—Finn and Marcus—who were supposed to be here for "extended retreat support," whatever that meant. I had not been consulted about their arrival. I found out when I heard boots on the porch at ten PM.

"Mountain trails today," Camden said, draining his coffee. "Good terrain. We'll run the ridge loop."

Rory, sitting in the chair that used to be mine at breakfast, grinned. "Finally. I've been going stir-crazy."

I set the plates in the sink and turned. "I thought this was a bonding retreat."

Camden looked at me with that patient expression I was starting to recognize too well. "Pack bonds are bonds too, Maze. A Luna strengthens all connections, not just her own."

Garrett nodded from across the table. He was a good Beta—loyal, steady, the kind of wolf who would follow orders even when they made no sense. He would not question why the Alpha's mate was being lectured at her own breakfast table.

I dried my hands on a towel. "When do we leave?"

"An hour," Camden said. He was already standing, already moving toward the door with Rory at his shoulder.

I watched them go. My wolf pressed hard against my ribs, restless and sharp-edged.

I went upstairs and changed into running clothes. I braided my hair tight. I laced my boots with deliberate care, each pull of the laces a small act of control in a world that was slipping sideways.

When I came back down, they were all waiting by the door. Camden in front, Rory beside him. Garrett and the two warriors flanking them like an honor guard.

I was the last one out.

---

We shifted at the tree line.

My wolf surged forward, grateful for the release. She was a grey she-wolf, smaller than Camden's but fast, built for endurance. Sylvia used to say I had a runner's wolf—lean and long-legged, made for distance.

Camden's wolf was massive, dark brown with a thick ruff. He shook out his coat and started up the trail without looking back. Rory shifted beside him—a mid-sized brown wolf, unremarkable except for the way she immediately fell into step at his right flank.

The formation should have been Alpha in front, Luna at his side, Beta and warriors behind.

Instead, Rory ran beside Camden. Garrett fell in behind them. Finn and Marcus took the flanks.

And I ran alone at the edge.

My wolf snarled low in her throat, but I pushed her quiet. A real Luna makes room. A real Luna understands pack dynamics.

I told myself that with every stride.

The trail climbed steep through the pines. Snow crunched under our paws. The air was sharp and clean, and for a few minutes, I let myself fall into the rhythm of the run—the burn in my legs, the cold bite of wind, the way my wolf stretched out and found her stride.

Then I caught it.

Camden's scent, drifting back on the wind. Pine and leather, the same scent that used to make me feel safe during winter patrols.

But now there was something else underneath. Something sour. Faint, but unmistakable.

My wolf's ears flattened. She slowed half a step, nostrils flaring.

I could not identify it. But I could not ignore it either.

Ahead, Camden and Rory ran side by side, their strides perfectly matched. They moved like wolves who had run together a thousand times. Maybe they had.

I dropped back another few paces.

The trail opened onto a ridge. The view was stunning—endless pines, the mountains rising sharp and white against a sky so blue it hurt. I should have felt something. Awe, maybe. Peace.

Instead, I felt the weight of running alone while my mate ran beside someone else.

We circled back through a lower trail. The pack stayed in formation—Camden and Rory in front, the others behind, me at the periphery like a straggler they had forgotten to wait for.

When we finally returned to the cabin and shifted back, Camden was laughing at something Rory had said. Garrett clapped him on the shoulder. The warriors headed inside, talking about food.

No one looked at me.

I stood at the tree line in my human skin, breathing hard, and pressed two fingers to the mark-spot on my neck.

The bond hummed there still. But the hum was thin now. Stretched. Wrong.

I went inside alone.

---

I could not sleep.

It was the fourth night. The cabin was dark and quiet. Camden had gone to bed an hour ago, his arm slung across my waist in a possessive weight that used to comfort me and now just felt heavy.

I slipped out from under it and padded into the hallway in bare feet.

I was headed for the kitchen. Maybe tea. Maybe just the act of moving through space that was mine, even if it did not feel like mine anymore.

I stopped halfway down the hall.

Voices.

Not voices. A mind-link, bleeding through the cabin walls, careless and unguarded.

Camden's voice, rough and low. "—can't believe she actually bought the litter-mate excuse. She's so fucking naive."

Rory's laugh, sharp and cruel. "She wants to believe you. That's the difference between a real Luna and a girl playing dress-up."

"When are you going to make the challenge official?"

"Soon. I've been working the elders. They already think she's too soft. Once I establish the scent familiarity bond narrative, they'll back me. She won't even see it coming."

"And the contract?"

"Doesn't matter. I'll have her removed before she can invoke it. You just keep her distracted."

Camden laughed. The sound was ugly. Unrecognizable. "That's not hard. She's so desperate to be a good Luna she'll ignore anything."

I stood in the dark hallway, perfectly still.

My wolf did not whimper. She did not pace. She went absolutely silent, the way a wolf does before a kill.

Something inside me did not shatter.

It crystallized.

I turned and walked back to the bedroom. I did not make a sound. I moved like a ghost through my own life.

I knelt beside my travel bag and found the hidden inner pocket. My fingers closed around the moonstone pendant—Sylvia's pendant, passed down through the Harper bloodline, cool and smooth against my palm.

I sat on the edge of the bed in the dark.

Camden was still asleep, his breathing deep and even. He looked peaceful. Innocent.

I pressed the pendant against my collarbone and reached for Sylvia's journal.

I had carried it everywhere since I was sixteen. A habit from childhood. Sylvia used to read to me from it before bed—stories about the Moon Goddess, about Luna gifts, about the old laws that governed pack justice when Alphas failed.

I found the pages I needed.

The truth-compelling rite.

Its requirements: a Luna of bloodline descent, a moonstone relic, and the presence of at least three witnesses under the Goddess's moon.

Its mechanics: the invocation forced every wolf present to speak their truest intention aloud, their most selfish desire, their deepest cruelty. No lies. No evasion. Only truth.

Its cost: the rite could only be invoked once in a Luna's lifetime. And the Goddess's judgment, once delivered, could not be undone.

I read until the words were solid in my memory.

Then I closed the journal and set it on the nightstand.

I lay back down beside Camden. I did not touch him. I stared at the ceiling and listened to him breathe.

And I began to plan.