My Alpha Poisoned Me for His New Luna

The bond broke at 10:14 on a Tuesday night.

I felt it the instant Donovan's hand closed around Makenna's waist in the center of the great hall. Her scent—synthetic jasmine layered thick over something thin and sour—clung to his collar, his wrists, the hollow of his throat. It wasn't faint. It wasn't accidental. It was everywhere.

The Ironvale Pack filled the stone hall, shoulder to shoulder, glasses raised. Makenna stood beside Donovan in a dress the color of fresh cream, the heavy gold Luna pendant already resting against her collarbone. She smiled at me. Just once. Sharp and sweet.

Donovan's voice cut through the noise.

"Leanna Bradley. Step forward."

I did. My legs moved on their own. Three years of wolfsbane had taught my body to obey before my mind could catch up. I stopped two feet from the dais. The crowd went quiet.

Donovan's amber eyes swept over me—no recognition, no hesitation, nothing. He looked at me the way you'd look at a chair you were about to replace.

"I, Donovan Vance, Alpha of the Ironvale Pack," he said, his voice flat and formal, "reject you, Leanna Bradley, as my mate and Luna of this pack."

The words landed like a fist to the sternum.

The mark on my collarbone—the one that had never fully formed, the one I'd hidden under high collars for three years—flared white-hot. I gasped. My hand flew to my chest. The heat turned to ice in the span of a breath, spreading through my ribs like frost crawling across glass.

My knees buckled.

I hit the stone floor hard. The impact rattled through my bones. My vision blurred at the edges. I could hear my own breathing—short, shallow, ragged—but I couldn't feel my legs.

Somewhere inside me, my wolf whimpered. She'd been silent for so long I'd almost forgotten her voice. Now she clawed at the walls of my mind, frantic and weak, trying to hold onto something that was already gone.

The bond tore.

It didn't snap cleanly. It ripped, slow and jagged, like silver wire dragged through flesh. I felt every inch of it. The hollow ache where his presence used to hum. The empty space where his heartbeat had echoed faintly in the back of my skull. Gone. All of it. Gone.

I looked up.

Donovan had already turned away. He raised his glass. The pack followed. Crystal clinked against crystal. Makenna's laugh rang out, bright and breathy, and the hall erupted in cheers.

No one looked at me.

I pressed my palm flat against the cold stone and pushed myself to my hands and knees. My arms shook. My chest felt like it had caved in. I dragged in a breath, then another, and forced myself to stand.

The crowd parted as I walked toward the door. Not out of respect. Out of discomfort. I kept my chin up. I kept my spine straight. I made it to the hallway before my vision went white at the edges.

I stumbled into my quarters and locked the door behind me.

The room was small. A bed. A chair. A single window that looked out over the training yard. I'd lived here for three years and never hung a picture. Never bought a rug. It had always felt temporary. Like I was waiting for something to change.

I sank onto the bed and pressed my hand to my collarbone. The mark was cold now. Smooth. Empty.

Then the pain started.

It came in waves. Deep, rolling cramps that seized my abdomen and twisted. I doubled over, gasping. My skin burned. My veins throbbed. I looked down at my forearms and froze.

Black lines traced beneath my skin. Thin at first, then branching, spreading like cracks in ice. They crawled up toward my elbows, dark and swollen.

Wolfsbane.

Three years of daily suppressants, building up in my blood. The bond had held it in check—barely. Now the bond was gone, and my body had nothing left to anchor it.

I tried to stand. My legs gave out. I hit the floor on my side, my cheek pressed against the rough wood. My vision swam. My heart hammered against my ribs, too fast, too hard.

I clawed at the pack mind-link.

It took everything I had to pry it open. The connection was weak, fraying at the edges, but I forced my way through.

*Donovan. Please. I need the healer.*

Silence.

Then—laughter. Distant. Muffled. The clink of glasses. Makenna's voice, soft and sweet in the background.

*"She's faking, love. She always does this. Sever it. Teach her to stop playing games."*

Donovan's voice came through the link, sharp and cold.

*"Enough, Leanna. I'm done with your manipulations."*

The link snapped shut.

The connection died so fast it left a ringing in my skull. I gasped. My fingers dug into the floorboards. The black veins spread further, creeping past my elbows now, branching toward my shoulders.

I tried to scream. Nothing came out.

My body convulsed. My back arched. My lungs burned. The room tilted, and the edges of my vision went black.

Somewhere far away, I heard a door splinter.

Hands—warm, steady—slid under my shoulders and knees. I was lifted. The scent of crushed pine and cold steel wrapped around me.

"I've got you."

The voice was low. Familiar. Safe.

I tried to open my eyes. I couldn't.

The last thing I felt was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek as he carried me into the night.