He Traded a True Luna for a Fake

Leona Carpenter stepped across the threshold of the Alpha’s estate—what was supposed to be her and Michael Hansen’s shared den. Her chest felt heavy as she scanned the hollow, empty rooms. She already knew she’d be the only wolf walking through that door tonight.

Her gaze snagged on the bold ceremonial mating wreath nailed to the entry door. Without a single flicker of hesitation or regret, Leona’s claws unsheathed, and she stepped forward, wrenching it down and shredding the woven vines.

Every surface in the house was strung with vibrant autumn decor meant to bless their union, and every piece just rubbed her raw, feral anger in deeper. She methodically tore it all down, one by one, until her eyes finally landed on the framed mating ceremony photo of her and Michael.

Leona stared at it in silence. The raw ache in her gaze faded, her inner wolf retreating and leaving nothing but cold, predatory indifference in its place. She grabbed a pair of silver shears and drove the blade straight through the middle of their grinning faces, letting the glass shatter like their so-called bond.

Once every trace of their impending mating was erased, Leona sank alone onto the couch and sat there in the dark from dusk till dawn. Just as exhaustion was starting to blur her vision and make her heightened senses spin, she finally heard a key turn in the lock.

Once upon a time, her wolf would’ve leaped right out of her chest, tail wagging, to greet her Alpha. This time? She stayed right where she was, calm as stone, ignoring his presence.

Michael walked in without a shred of guilt on his face, though the nauseatingly sweet scent of Aila’s vanilla and hospital antiseptics clung heavily to his clothes. He dropped tiredly onto the opposite end of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose, and let his Alpha aura bleed into the room. "Go get me a cup of coffee," he commanded.

Leona let out a dry, guttural laugh. "Michael. The mating is off. We’re done."

Her words came out hard, unshakable—there was no mistaking the absolute finality in them.

Michael’s dark eyes locked with hers, unreadable as ever, like he was turning some pack strategy over in his head.

Leona’s lips tugged into a sardonic, fanged smirk. "Why the confused look? You already made your choice, didn’t you? When you left me stranded at the altar to answer Aila’s whimpering?"

Michael grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table, fished one out with that familiar, practiced motion, lit it to mask the tension in his scent, and took a long, deep drag. After a minute of dead silence, he spoke in a cool, infuriatingly even tone. "Severing this tie is better for both our wolves. You’ve always been aggressively territorial over Aila, way too deep for that to ever change. Staying bonded would only hurt her more."

Leona stared at him, and this time she laughed out loud, a wild, untethered sound with no holding back. "I honestly have to wonder—would you skin your own wolf alive if Aila Ellis asked you to?"

Michael stubbed his cigarette out hard in the ashtray, a flash of Alpha impatience glinting in his eyes as he bared his teeth slightly. "For three years, I tried to force my wolf to move on from her. But you can’t fight a fated pull. I hope you can forgive me. Just don’t bear your fangs at Aila—she didn’t do anything wrong."

That’s when Leona completely lost it, cackling like she’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

Three years of sleeping in his den, three years of day in and day out spilling her own blood to protect his territory. She’d poured every piece of herself into fixing his broken pack, stupidly believing loyalty could tame a male, that her warmth could eventually thaw the ice around his heart.

For him, she’d given up so much—even turned her back on her own powerful bloodline. And after all that? All she got was this bullshit excuse: you can’t control a fated pull.

Michael watched her like she’d gone completely feral, a brief flicker of something that looked almost like pain crossing his face. "This card has a hundred grand on it. Enough for you to live comfortably as a lone wolf back in the countryside."

So that was it. Three years of giving him her absolute submission and loyalty, and he priced it at a hundred thousand dollars.

But what did he know? To Leona Carpenter, a lousy hundred grand meant nothing.

"Michael, my wolf submitted to you for you—nothing else. I don’t give a single crap about the Hansen pack's fortune, or that stupid, coveted title of Luna!" Leona’s face was set like stone, her gaze holding nothing but cold indifference and unshakable resolve.

"I don’t want your pathetic apology, and I don’t want your money! Get that through your thick skull: My wolf rejects yours. We will never, ever get back together." With that, she stood, held her head high, and walked straight for the door with lethal purpose.

Michael watched her walk out, taking in that determined, dominant stride of hers, and for a split second his chest tightened so sharply it knocked the breath right out of his lungs. Before he even knew what he was doing, his inner wolf whined, and his hand lifted half an inch, instinctively reaching for her.