My Alpha Rejected Me for His Chosen Luna

The Omega quarters were cold and dim, a far cry from the warmth of the Alpha's wing where I'd grown up. I lay on the narrow bed, my mangled leg throbbing with each heartbeat. Fever burned through me, making the room swim in and out of focus.

"Water," I whispered, my throat raw and parched.

The door creaked open, and a slender figure slipped inside. Noelle's familiar scent—lavender and sunshine—cut through the musty air.

"Shh," she said, closing the door quietly behind her. "I stole these from the kitchen."

She pressed a cool glass against my lips, and I drank greedily. Then she pulled out a small bottle from her pocket.

"Pain relievers," she explained, helping me sit up. "Dr. Hayes gave them to me for my headaches. I saved them for you."

The pills were bitter on my tongue, but the relief they promised was worth any taste.

"Thank you," I managed, clutching her hand. "You're the only one who still cares."

Noelle's eyes filled with tears. "I'd do anything for you, Elena. You're all I have left."

She brushed my damp hair from my forehead, her fingers gentle. "Let me braid your hair. It always makes you feel better."

I nodded weakly, and she worked methodically, weaving my tangled strands into a familiar pattern. The rhythmic motion soothed me, reminding me of happier times.

"When you get better," Noelle said softly, "we'll run away together. Just you and me. We'll find a new pack, one that doesn't care about status or bloodlines."

"Run away?" The idea seemed impossible, yet hope flickered in my chest.

"Yes." Her voice grew stronger. "I've been saving money. Not much, but enough to get us started somewhere new. Once your leg heals—"

"If it heals," I interrupted bitterly.

"It will," she insisted, tying off the braid with a ribbon she'd hidden in her sleeve. "You're stronger than they know, Elena. Stronger than anyone knows."

For that moment, wrapped in Noelle's arms with her dreams of escape, I believed her.

---

A week passed in a haze of pain and fever. My leg showed no signs of healing properly—the wound was clean but remained angry and red. I'd begun to accept that I might never run again when the alarm bells rang.

Noelle had collapsed in the dining hall.

The news reached me through whispers—foam at the mouth, convulsions, skin turning ashen. I threw off my blankets despite the stabbing pain in my leg and dragged myself to the floor.

"Please," I begged a passing Delta, "help me to the infirmary."

The warrior looked reluctant but couldn't refuse a direct plea. He half-carried me through the corridors, my weight leaning heavily on my good leg.

The infirmary was chaos when we arrived. Pack members crowded the doorway, their faces masks of horror and curiosity. Through their legs, I glimpsed Noelle on a bed, her small body convulsing violently.

"Let me through!" I screamed, pushing forward.

Dr. Hayes met me at the entrance, her face grim. "Elena, you shouldn't be here—"

"Where's Noelle?" I demanded, trying to push past her.

"In the back room," she said, blocking my path. "We're doing everything we can."

A familiar scent cut through the antiseptic smell—pine and wintergreen, tinged with something acrid. Tiffany stood in the corner, tears streaming down her perfect face.

"She was eating berries from the forest edge," Tiffany sobbed. "I tried to stop her, but she said they looked so pretty..."

As she spoke, I caught it—the faint scent of wolfsbane clinging to her fingertips.

"Noelle wouldn't eat wild berries," I said, my voice shaking. "She knows better."

Tiffany's eyes met mine, and for a split second, her mask slipped. Behind the tears lurked satisfaction.

"Dr. Hayes," she said, turning away from me, "is there anything more we can do?"

The doctor's face tightened. "We need to transfer her to a human hospital for dialysis. The toxins are spreading too quickly."

"Then do it!" I cried. "Take her now!"

"There are forms," Dr. Hayes explained, her voice heavy with implication. "Authorizations. Insurance information."

Tiffany stepped forward, a clipboard in her hand. "I've already filled out most of it," she said, her voice breaking convincingly. "Just needs her guardian's signature."

"Elena," Dr. Hayes said gently, "as Noelle's closest relative—"

"I'll sign anything," I interrupted, tears blurring my vision. "Just save her."

Tiffany thrust the clipboard toward me, pointing to a line at the bottom of a densely worded document. "Here," she said, pressing a pen into my hand.

I scanned the page, but the words swam before my eyes. Legal terminology, medical jargon—all I could see was Noelle's pale face as she convulsed.

"What exactly am I signing?" I asked, my hand trembling.

"Just the transfer authorization," Tiffany said quickly. "And acknowledgment that you understand the risks."

Something in her tone made my wolf stir uneasily, but Noelle's life hung in the balance. I signed my name with a shaking hand.

Only later would I discover what I'd really signed—not a transfer authorization, but a "Do Not Resuscitate" order and a confession that I had administered the wolfsbane as a mercy killing.

As Tiffany took back the clipboard, her fingers brushed mine. For just a moment, I felt the rough edge of a different document beneath the medical form.

"Thank you, Elena," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "You've been so helpful."