My Alpha Chose His Luna Over Me

Three days after the rejection, Vienna threw a banquet.

Not just any banquet. A formal installation ceremony. The kind reserved for new Lunas who'd earned their place through fated mate bonds and pack service. The invitations went out on cream-colored card stock with gold lettering. The great hall was decorated with winter roses—white and red, arranged in cascading sprays down the center tables. Candles everywhere. Music drifting from the gallery.

I was required to attend.

Beta Marcus delivered the order himself, standing in the doorway of the servant quarters with his eyes on the floor. "Alpha's command," he said quietly. "All pack members present."

I nodded. He left.

I dressed in the plainest thing I owned—a grey wool dress, long sleeves, high neck. I braided my hair back tight. I looked in the small mirror above the washbasin and saw a stranger. Pale. Hollow-eyed. The mark on my neck was still there, but it looked wrong now. Faded. Like an old scar.

I pressed my hand to my sternum. The cold was still there. The rot was still spreading. My wolf was silent.

I walked to the great hall.

---

The hall was full. Every ranked wolf in Silverfang, dressed in their formal best. The Gammas in their ceremonial leathers. The Deltas in pressed shirts. The Omegas serving from the kitchens, their eyes down, their movements quick and practiced.

Vienna sat at the head table in the Luna's chair. My chair. She wore a gown the color of fresh cream, her dark hair swept up, her throat bare except for a delicate gold chain. She looked radiant. Ellis sat beside her, his hand resting on the table near hers—not touching, but close enough that the message was clear.

Finnley sat on Vienna's other side. He was dressed in a small formal jacket I'd never seen before. Vienna must have had it made for him. He looked proud. Excited. He didn't look at me when I entered.

I took a seat at the far end of the lower tables. Near the Omegas. No one spoke to me. A few wolves glanced my way, then quickly looked elsewhere.

The feast began.

Servers moved through the hall with platters of roasted venison, root vegetables glazed with honey, fresh bread still steaming from the ovens. There was mulled wine, spiced and sweet, served in pewter cups. The scent was overwhelming. Rich. Heavy. My stomach turned, but I forced myself to take a plate.

I ate because not eating would draw attention. I lifted the fork. I chewed. I swallowed. The bread was soft. The gravy was thick and savory. The wine was warm going down.

Halfway through the meal, my hands started to tremble.

I set the fork down. I gripped the edge of the table. The trembling spread up my arms, into my shoulders. My vision doubled—two tables, two candles, two Viennas smiling at the head of the hall.

My wolf surged up inside me with a convulsive snarl.

Not a shift. Not a protest. A reaction. Violent. Desperate. She was fighting something.

I gasped. The sound was too loud. Several wolves turned to look.

My body convulsed. My spine arched. I tried to hold still, tried to breathe through it, but my muscles locked. My hands slipped off the table. I doubled over, my forehead nearly hitting the plate.

Someone said my name. I couldn't tell who.

Then Ellis's voice cut through the hall. Sharp. Cold. Wrapped in Alpha tone.

"Emily."

I looked up. The hall was silent now. Every wolf had turned to face me. Ellis stood at the head table, his jaw tight, his eyes hard.

"You will not disrupt this ceremony," he said. The Alpha tone pressed down on me like a weight. My wolf whimpered—a thin, broken sound I felt more than heard. "You will kneel. You will apologize to your Luna. And you will leave quietly."

The hall held its breath.

I gripped the table edge. My vision was still doubled. My body was still convulsing. The wolfsbane—because that's what it was, I knew it now, I could taste it under the gravy and the wine—was tearing through my already-weakened wolf like acid.

But I didn't kneel.

I forced myself upright. Slowly. My legs shook. My hands were white-knuckled on the table. The Alpha tone pressed harder—I could feel it in my chest, in my throat, trying to force me down the way it forced every other wolf in the room to lower their eyes.

I looked at Ellis.

Not a glare. Not defiance. Just—looking. Seeing him fully for the first time since the rejection. The man I'd loved. The man I'd nearly died for. The man who'd chosen a lie over a bond.

I held his gaze for three long seconds.

Then I turned. I walked toward the hall doors. My steps were measured. Straight. I didn't run. I didn't stumble. I kept my hand pressed to my chest and I walked.

Behind me, the silence was louder than any condemnation.

I pushed through the doors. The cold night air hit me like a fist. I made it five steps into the snow before my body gave out.

I collapsed onto my hands and knees and vomited.

The wolfsbane came up in bitter, burning waves. My wolf spasmed inside me, thrashing against the poison, trying to purge it. I retched until there was nothing left, until I was shaking and empty and gasping in the snow.

Footsteps behind me.

I turned my head. Healer Calla knelt in the snow beside me, her med kit already open. She didn't ask questions. She pulled a small vial from the kit, uncorked it, and pressed it to my lips.

"Drink," she said quietly.

I drank. The antidote was bitter, but it worked fast. The convulsions eased. My vision cleared. My wolf stopped thrashing and went still—not silent, but exhausted.

Calla corked the vial. She looked at me with that same expression she'd worn the night Finnley was born. Troubled. Determined.

"Wolfsbane," she said. "Trace amounts. In the food. Calibrated to be undetectable by scent but devastating to a weakened wolf." She paused. "This wasn't an accident, Emily."

I stared at her. My breath came in short, shallow gasps. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." She pulled a small notebook from her kit and made a notation in tight, precise script. "I've been tracking this. The symptoms. The timing. This is the third exposure I've documented since the rejection." She looked up. "Someone is poisoning you."

I pressed my hand to my chest. The cold was still there. The rot was still spreading. But underneath it—underneath the poison and the severed bond and the exhaustion—something else stirred.

Not my wolf. Not yet.

Something deeper.

I stood. Slowly. Calla rose with me, her hand hovering near my elbow in case I fell.

I didn't fall.

I looked back at the great hall. Through the tall windows, I could see the banquet continuing. Vienna at the head table, smiling. Ellis beside her. Finnley laughing at something she'd said.

I turned away.

"Thank you," I said to Calla.

She nodded. "I'll keep the record."

I walked back to the servant quarters. I didn't go back inside the hall. I didn't kneel. I didn't apologize.

I carried nothing but the knowledge that someone wanted me dead.

And the certainty—cold and clear and absolute—that I would not give them the satisfaction.