Moonfeast Reckoning The Alpha’s Bond Rejection

Ronan pressed a small, delicately carved peachwood talisman into Selene's palm.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, gazing up at him with a softness that could melt steel.

Anyone watching would've sworn these two shared more than a simple pack connection.

Ronan bit his lip, reluctance written across his face as he finally pulled away. Passing by me, he lowered his voice in explanation:

"Alpha Kael, this is my fault. I let Lady Selene take the patrol relic before the harness was properly checked, and then the accident happened."

"Please don't misunderstand—I carved that peachwood talisman myself. I'm hoping it'll ward off any lingering dark spirits for her."

The harness wasn't properly checked?

But the trade den had sent word for me to collect it.

And that harness failure last time—was that also due to careless inspection?

"Kael, I've been meaning to talk to you about the trade den situation."

Selene's voice pulled me back to the present.

We were alone in the healer's chamber now. A smile spread across her face as she carefully set the talisman aside, then reached for my hand.

"Ronan just completed his training trials, and it happened to be his birth-moon. It was just a gift. Don't tell me my powerful Alpha mate is jealous?"

She said it like it was nothing—like she'd given away some worthless trinket.

I shifted, avoiding her touch.

"So this is what you're drawn to?"

The air went still.

Selene's expression flickered. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I didn't tell you because I was worried you'd overthink it. Ronan and I are innocent. We—"

"I don't care."

I cut her off, my tone detached.

"I haven't caught you sharing a den with him, I'll admit that. But I don't tolerate even a trace of another wolf's scent on what's mine, Selene. Whatever ideas you're entertaining—drop them. I have no interest in making this ugly."

Selene looked up at me, disbelief clouding her features.

"You don't believe me?"

I gazed down at her, my eyes flat and unreadable.

Silence was answer enough.

She opened her mouth to say more, but the communication stone on the bedside table hummed with an incoming message.

The scent signature attached—Ronan—burned into my senses.

Selene hesitated, then answered. Ronan's pitiful voice immediately drifted through:

"Lady Selene, is Alpha Kael giving you a hard time? Even if he's angry, please don't fight with him, okay?"

"I ordered some healing broth from the Fortune Den kitchens for you. I didn't want Alpha Kael to get the wrong idea, so I won't deliver it myself."

Two sentences. He'd managed to play the devoted pup while subtly reminding her just how close they really were.

I didn't move.

Selene glanced at my face and ended the connection.

A cold laugh echoed in my chest. I had no patience left for this charade. I turned and walked toward the chamber door.

"Kael!"

Selene called after me, frantic.

"You're really angry?"

"I promise I'll stay away from him. No more contact, ever. Please don't be so cold to me?"

"My leg hurts..."

I paused, turning my head just slightly. My voice could've frozen the air.

"If your leg hurts, call a healer. I have pack matters to attend to. Rest well."

Outside the healing den, the cold wind hit my face, finally tamping down the fury coiling in my chest.

I pulled out my communication stone and reached my assistant.

"Rowan Frostclaw. Dig into Ronan Duskvein. I suspect he had something to do with my harness failure last time."

After that last maintenance visit, my patrol harness had given out mid-run through the territory. I'd veered into a rocky outcrop to avoid a fatal crash down the cliffside.

That evening, Lyra Gildenshade—keeper of a high-status relic atelier that crafted moon-silver timepieces and scent-lock charms—arrived at my private den on Selene's orders. She presented dozens of ceremonial pieces for my selection.

"Lady Selene certainly knows how to care for her mate," Lyra remarked, admiration in her voice. "Such devotion. It's enviable, really."

I glanced over the moon-silver pieces, feeling nothing but bitter irony.

"You're reading it wrong. The night a wolf commits scent-treason, he tells his mate 'I love you' over and over—trying to drown out his own guilt."

"She-wolves are no different."