Alpha's Rejected Luna Mate

In the third year of being mated to Ricardo, the Alpha of the neighboring Shadowmoon Pack, I waited eagerly for him to fulfill his promise of marking me as his Luna. But he had long forgotten that promise, his attention entirely consumed by his first mate, Mallory, who had just returned from abroad. When I mind-linked him to ask if we were still going to cement our bond, he scoffed, his alpha tone dripping with condescension, “Aurora, will it kill you not to be my Luna?”

Ha, of course not. Because I could easily walk away and bond with someone else. So why was he crying and begging me to come back?

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Amid the noise on the other end of the mind-link, I recognized Mallory’s voice. I could tell it was her. Yet, even so, I asked, “Ricardo, are we still going to complete the marking ceremony?”

Immediately, there was a burst of laughter, followed by Ricardo’s taunting voice, his alpha tone sharp and dismissive: “Aurora, will it kill you not to be my Luna?” Even though I had anticipated this, my heart still ached, and the mate bond between us flared with a painful, searing heat.

I moistened my dry lips and said, “Alright, let’s end this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Aurora. Mallory is your cousin. You didn’t even come to her welcome-back gathering, and now you’re acting out with me!”

“Didn’t you go?” I paused briefly, then steeled myself. “I’m serious.”

“Fine. Just don’t regret it,” he snapped, his voice cold and final.

After severing the mind-link, I turned and walked back into the living room of my family’s packhouse, looking at the man sitting across from me. “Beta Morrison,” I said formally, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. “I accept your proposal to become your mate.”

Stephen Morrison, the Beta of my pack, stood, his tall, muscular frame exuding calm strength. His dark eyes softened as he nodded. “Wonderful, Aurora. Please get ready; we’ll head to the pack’s sacred grounds for the marking ceremony now.”

“Sure,” I replied, though my mind was still in a fog.

Even as we left the sacred grounds, I felt as though I were walking through a dream. Holding the newly forged mate bond in my heart, I finally felt a sense of reality. Is this... really what it’s like to be mated?

“Sorry, I have some pack duties to attend to,” Stephen said, his voice gentle but firm. “I’ll pick you up later, and our families will have dinner together tonight to celebrate.”

I nodded, still dazed, not yet processing the fact that I was now his mate. Stephen seemed to catch my thoughts and said, “Aurora, becoming your mate isn’t a game. I hope my Luna doesn’t have another wolf on her mind.”

“I understand, Beta Morrison. Don’t worry,” I replied, forcing a small smile.

Yes, Stephen was my parents’ choice for a mate. Three years ago, when I first bonded with Ricardo, my mother, the Luna of our pack, warned me that we weren’t suited for each other. Though we both belonged to prominent packs, Ricardo was too unpredictable and wild. My mother never considered him right for me. But back then, I was infatuated with him. How could I heed my parents?

It was then my mother made a bet with me. If Ricardo didn’t mark me as his Luna within three years, I would accept her choice of mate. Looking back now, I see how naive I was. I thought the mate bond would see us through. Only today do I realize how wrong I was.

Instead of heading home, I visited a salon I hadn’t been to in ages. Sitting before the mirror, the stylist asked about the hairstyle I wanted. Looking at my long, brown hair, I said, “Let’s go with big waves.”

The stylist brought over some style books, and we decided on a classic wave. I used to enjoy styling my hair, dyeing and perming it, but I stopped after bonding with Ricardo. All because he once said, “Aurora, straight brown hair is the loveliest.” Thinking about it now, I see how silly I was. I should have known then who he meant by “straight brown hair,” but I was blinded by what I thought was love.

The perm took a while, and I idly scrolled through my phone. Mallory, who hadn’t posted in years, surprisingly updated her status. It was a selfie with the caption, “No place like home after all the wandering.” Ricardo was the first to comment, saying, “Mallory, welcome back.”

I clicked on the photo for a closer look. I saw another hand over Mallory’s, and I recognized it as Ricardo’s because he was still wearing the mating bracelet we had exchanged. Seeing this, I turned off my phone and removed the bracelet from my wrist. That bracelet had marked an important moment for us—it was after our first major fight.

That day, Ricardo had fallen ill, and I rushed to his packhouse to take care of him. Since his grandfather passed, Ricardo’s relationship with his family had soured, leading him to live alone, and I worried about him. Upon hearing he was sick, I hurried over.

Ricardo had a high fever and rambled a lot, among which I heard Mallory’s name. In that instant, a mix of feelings engulfed me. Later, when his fever broke, I couldn’t resist questioning him, leading to our first argument. We didn’t speak for a week afterward.

A week later, Ricardo came to me with this pair of bracelets seeking reconciliation. Already eager to see him, I accepted readily. Over these two years, I never removed this bracelet, but I hadn’t realized how much it had marked my wrist until now.

I glanced down at it, then tossed the bracelet into a nearby trash can.

“Miss, your bracelet...” the stylist began, her voice hesitant.

“I don’t want it,” I said firmly, my tone leaving no room for argument.