My Alpha Mate Forgot Me for His True Luna

The servant's quarters became my prison and my purgatory.

They gave me an omega's uniform—scratchy grey fabric that hung loose on my frame because I'd stopped eating properly. The rejection had done something to my metabolism, made everything taste like ash. But Arabella didn't care about that.

She cared about making me suffer.

Every morning, she'd arrive with a list of tasks. Scrub the marble floors in the grand hall. Polish the silverware until it gleamed. Serve meals to visiting dignitaries while they pretended I didn't exist.

And always, always, she'd find something wrong.

"You missed a spot," she'd say, her voice dripping with false sweetness. Then she'd dump an entire tray of food on the floor I'd just cleaned. "Start over."

The pack members watched with a mixture of pity and contempt. Some turned away. Others smiled.

But I kept my head down and did the work. Because I was waiting. Watching. Learning the pack's rhythms and routines.

Tonight was the Spring Equinox banquet—a massive affair with visiting Alphas from three territories. I was assigned to serve the head table.

Where Thomas and Arabella sat like king and queen.

I moved through the crowd with a tray of champagne flutes, invisible in my omega uniform. The grand hall sparkled with candlelight and expensive jewelry. Laughter echoed off the marble walls.

At the head table, Arabella held court, her hand possessively on Thomas's arm. She was telling some story about their upcoming mating ceremony, her voice bright and animated.

But Thomas wasn't listening.

I noticed it immediately—the way his jaw clenched. The white-knuckle grip on his wine glass. The slight tremor in his left hand that he tried to hide by pressing it against his thigh.

My healer instincts kicked in automatically, cataloging symptoms even as I hated myself for caring.

Tremors. Muscle tension. Dilated pupils.

Arabella leaned in to whisper something in his ear, her fingers trailing down his arm in what should have been an intimate gesture.

Thomas convulsed.

It was brief—maybe three seconds—but violent. His entire body went rigid, back arching, eyes rolling back. The wine glass shattered in his grip, red liquid and blood mixing on the white tablecloth.

Then it was over. He slumped forward, gasping, while Arabella shrieked and jumped back.

"Thomas!" She grabbed his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

He shoved her away with more force than necessary. "Don't touch me."

The hall had gone silent. Every eye fixed on the Alpha heir who'd just had a seizure in public.

Gabriel appeared at Thomas's side immediately. "Alpha, let me help you to your chambers—"

"I'm fine." Thomas stood, swaying slightly. His eyes swept the room, landing on me for a brief moment. Something flickered in those steel-grey depths—pain, maybe, or fear—before his expression hardened. "The banquet continues."

He strode from the hall, Gabriel trailing behind him. Arabella followed after a moment, her face twisted with fury and embarrassment.

The guests resumed their conversations, but I stood frozen with my tray of champagne.

Because I'd seen something in that seizure. Something that made my healer's mind race with terrible possibilities.

When Arabella touched him, his eyes had changed color. Just for a second. Steel-grey flickering to warm amber before the convulsion hit.

Two wolves. Two essences. Fighting for dominance in a single vessel.

That shouldn't be possible. Unless—

No. It couldn't be.

But the more I thought about it, the more the pieces started falling into place. The memory loss. The personality shift. The way Thomas sometimes moved like Wade, spoke like Wade, before catching himself.

What if Wade's essence hadn't just been stolen?

What if it was still there, trapped inside Thomas's body, fighting to resurface?

I needed to know. Needed to understand what had been done to the man I loved.

Three days later, they came for me again.

Gabriel appeared at my door just before dawn, his expression grim. "Alpha Thomas requires your healing services."

My heart stuttered. "Why?"

"The seizures are getting worse. The pack doctors can't stabilize him." He paused. "He doesn't want you there. But he needs you."

Good. Let him suffer the indignity of needing the mate he rejected.

They led me to the Alpha's private chambers—a sprawling suite I'd never been allowed to enter during our supposed mating. Thomas lay on a massive bed, his skin pale and clammy, tremors wracking his frame every few seconds.

Arabella sat beside him, holding his hand. When she saw me, her eyes narrowed. "Make it quick."

I approached the bed slowly, my healer senses already reaching out. The energy around Thomas was chaotic—two distinct signatures tangled together like fighting snakes.

"Everyone out," I said quietly.

Arabella bristled. "Excuse me?"

"I need silence to work. No distractions." I met her gaze steadily. "Unless you want him to die?"

She stood with a huff, gesturing for the guards to follow. "Five minutes."

The door closed behind them.

I moved quickly. Placed my hands on Thomas's temples, channeling just enough healing energy to ease the worst of his pain. His breathing steadied. The tremors slowed.

But I wasn't here to heal him.

I closed my eyes, extending my consciousness outward. My healing aura filled the room like invisible fog, carrying a subtle sedative effect I'd learned to control over years of practice.

The guards outside the door would be feeling drowsy right about now. Not asleep, but sluggish. Inattentive.

I had maybe two minutes.

Across the room, I spotted what I was looking for—a wall safe behind a portrait of the Moonstone Pack's founding Alpha. My fingers found the keypad, and I tried the most obvious combination first.

Thomas's birthday.

Click.

The safe swung open, revealing stacks of documents and a leather-bound journal. I grabbed the thickest file folder, my hands shaking, and stuffed it under my omega uniform.

Thomas groaned on the bed. I returned to his side quickly, removing my hands from his temples.

His eyes fluttered open—amber, not grey—and for a moment, I saw Wade looking back at me.

"Carmen?" His voice was weak, confused. "What's happening to me?"

My throat tightened. "I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out."

Then the steel-grey returned, and Thomas's expression hardened. "Get out."

I left quickly, the stolen files burning against my skin.

That night, I waited until the pack house fell silent before pulling out the documents.

The first page made my blood run cold.

*Project Essence Transfer: Subject TP (Thomas Parker) and Subject WA (Wade Andrews).*

*Objective: Experimental extraction and implantation of complete wolf essence and memory matrix from Subject WA into Subject TP following Subject TP's catastrophic essence rejection event.*

My hands shook so badly I could barely turn the pages.

There were medical diagrams. Ritual descriptions. Notes about "forbidden magic" and "dark moon ceremonies." Photos of Wade—my Wade—strapped to a table, unconscious, while robed figures performed some kind of extraction.

And then, buried deep in the file, a status report dated three months ago:

*Subject WA Status: Vegetative state maintained. Wolf essence completely extracted. Subject kept alive via artificial means in Sub-Level 3 Laboratory to anchor transferred essence in Subject TP. Termination not recommended until transfer stability confirmed.*

The file slipped from my numb fingers.

Wade was alive.

Not dead. Not gone. Alive.

Kept in some hidden laboratory like a lab rat, his essence stolen, his wolf ripped away, his body used as an anchor for Thomas's stolen power.

I pressed my fist against my mouth to keep from screaming.

The next page showed blueprints—a labyrinth of tunnels beneath the pack house, leading to a hidden sub-level. And there, marked with a red X: *Subject WA holding chamber.*

I memorized every line, every turn, every security checkpoint.

Then I burned the pages in the small sink, watching the evidence turn to ash.

Because tomorrow night, I was going to find Wade.

And I was going to bring him home.