His Luna Was Never the Other Woman

I didn't respond.

She leaned in even closer to him, her arm grazing his as if it was completely natural, then glanced sideways at me with a subtle, almost playful look.

"Salvar," she said lightly, "aren't you going to introduce her? She's…"

Salvar's expression stiffened instantly.

It was clear he hadn't expected this.

His eyes flickered toward me, a brief flash of unease, almost panic, before he forced himself to stay composed. Beneath the table his hand went still on the silver lighter he'd been turning. Something in his scent shifted too, the cold iron threading through the black cedar going sharp for half a breath.

For a second, I almost laughed.

"Selene Ashford," I said before he could speak, my tone calm and even. "I serve as a den liaison at Alpha Nightbane's front den. The hall was full, so we're just sharing a table."

His head snapped toward me.

That flicker of panic disappeared just as quickly as it came, replaced by visible relief. He let out a breath, then nodded quickly. The lighter resumed its slow rotation.

"Yeah, that's right," he said. "This is Selene. One of my pack."

Adressa smiled slowly.

The kind of smile a wolf gives when it already has its prey pinned beneath its paw.

"Miss Ashford must be very capable, then," she said, tilting her head slightly. "I've never seen Salvar sit at the same table with any she-wolf besides me."

Her tone was light, but every word carried weight. Under the white jasmine of her scent ran something faintly too-sweet, like petals already beginning to turn, and my wolf stirred low in my chest, uneasy, a growl I swallowed before it could surface.

Then she placed her crystal communicator casually beside her wine glass, nudging it forward just enough to be seen. It looked accidental.

But it wasn't.

I caught a glimpse of the screen.

Her image.

It matched Salvar's.

A bonded pair.

Even their colors today were coordinated. Same tones, same palette, down to the smallest details like the moonstone cuffs at their wrists. Everything was deliberate, curated, costly. The kind of matched presentation that in this world meant more than romance. It meant claim. It meant territory.

Under the warm lamplight of the den hall, they looked perfect.

Like a portrait of an Alpha and his Luna.

I lowered my gaze, set my chopsticks down carefully, and stood up.

I didn't want to stay.

Before I could take a step, Adressa reached out and grabbed my wrist.

Her fingers were slender, her nails long and perfectly manicured.

They dug into my skin just enough to hurt, just enough to leave a mark, but hidden from Salvar's line of sight.

"Miss Ashford," she said softly, her voice laced with feigned concern, "you're leaving already? Did I say something wrong?"

Her eyes shimmered, almost as if she were genuinely apologetic.

"Let me apologize, okay?"

I didn't have the patience for this.

Didn't have the energy to play along with someone pretending to be all sweetness and innocence.

I pulled my hand back sharply, breaking free from her grip.

Just as I lowered my eyes to check my wrist, I saw it: thin red marks where her nails had dug in, one of them already starting to bead with blood.

Before I could even process it, everything happened in an instant.

Adressa suddenly lifted her own hand and swung it outward.

A loud smack echoed through the den hall.

A little pup standing nearby was struck across the face.

His cry broke out immediately, sharp and piercing as he clutched his cheek, tears spilling down as he began sobbing uncontrollably. Two fingers hooked into the hem of his sweater, twisting the fabric tight, and he couldn't look up.

The entire room went quiet for a split second. The low music between songs. The clink of silverware stopping at three separate tables. A stillness that in any pack-favored hall meant someone of rank was watching.

Adressa's expression changed just as quickly.

Her face turned pale, her eyes widening in exaggerated shock.

"Oh no!" she gasped, covering her mouth. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Salvar was already on his feet.

He rushed over, apologizing repeatedly to the pup's parents, his tone urgent and sincere. Without hesitation he pulled out his communicator and transferred moon-credits, trying to smooth things over as quickly as possible. The Alpha handling lesser wolves. Keeping the peace in a public hall where the Nightbane name floated above every exchange like woodsmoke.

But then the little pup suddenly pointed straight at me.

"It was her!" he cried between sobs. "She grabbed that lady's hand and made her hit me! She should say sorry!"

Every gaze in the den hall shifted.

All at once.

Adressa turned to me slowly, her eyes filling with hurt, her expression trembling just enough to look real. Her fingers drifted to the pearl at her throat again, holding it like a she-wolf afraid of being struck next.

"Miss Ashford…" she said softly, her voice fragile, "I don't know what I did to upset you."

She lowered her gaze slightly, like she was holding back tears.

"If you have a problem with me, please… just take it out on me. Don't drag innocent ones into this…"

Whispers began to spread.

Low voices. Judging. Speculating.

I could feel it.

The weight of every stare pressing against my back. In a place like this, where half the room owed something to the Nightbane name, the murmur of the pack wasn't just opinion. It was verdict.

Salvar turned toward me, his expression darkening instantly. The air around him thickened, his Alpha aura pressing down over the table like a sudden drop in temperature, and somewhere beneath my skin my wolf flattened low without my willing it.

"What are you standing there for?" he snapped, his voice sharp and cold. "Apologize. Now."

His tone left no room for argument.

"Stop making a scene."

Like I was the problem.

Like I was the one who had embarrassed him.

Like I was the one who didn't belong.