My Mate Cast Me Out for His Mistress’s Lies

I can't breathe in here anymore.

The workshop walls press in on me, Emberly's half-finished clay form leering from the modeling stand like a monument to my humiliation. My fingers are still caked with dried clay, my back aches from hours hunched over that cursed sculpture, and the mate bond in my chest feels like a festering wound that won't heal.

I need to run.

The forest calls to me as I slip out the back entrance of the packhouse, my wolf already pushing against my skin, desperate for release. The moment I'm far enough from prying eyes, I let her take over. The shift ripples through me—bones cracking and reforming, fur sprouting along my arms and legs. The pain is familiar, almost comforting compared to the agony in my heart.

My wolf bursts free, and we run.

The wind tears through our fur as we race deeper into Silvermoon territory, past the training grounds, past the northern border markers, into the thick pine forest where the shadows grow long and the air smells of earth and moss. Here, I can almost forget. Almost pretend I'm not a Luna whose mate despises her, not a woman forced to immortalize her replacement in clay.

We run until our lungs burn, until the packhouse is miles behind us, until—

A growl splits the air.

My wolf skids to a halt, ears flattening as six massive shapes emerge from the tree line. Rogues. Their scent hits me like rotting meat—unwashed, feral, wrong. The largest one, a scarred gray male with a chunk missing from his ear, steps forward with a snarl that shows too many teeth.

"Well, well." His voice is rough, almost human despite his wolf form. "The precious Luna, all alone in the woods. How convenient."

My hackles rise as I back up slowly, calculating escape routes. But they're already fanning out, surrounding me in a practiced formation. These aren't random rogues—they're coordinated. Hunting.

"The Luna needs to learn her place," Scarface sneers, and then they attack.

I fight like hell. My wolf is strong—Luna blood runs fierce—and I manage to sink my teeth into one rogue's shoulder, taste his blood on my tongue before another slams into my side. Claws rake across my ribs, tearing through fur and flesh. I yelp, twisting to snap at my attacker, but there are too many.

A massive paw catches me across the face, and stars explode behind my eyes. I hit the ground hard, dirt filling my mouth as I try to scramble up. Pain lances through my shoulder—dislocated, my wolf whimpers—and then they're on me again.

Claws. Teeth. The metallic taste of my own blood.

"That's enough." Scarface's command stops the assault. I'm left panting in the dirt, my right shoulder screaming, deep gashes burning across my ribs. "She's learned her lesson. Let's go."

They melt back into the shadows as quickly as they appeared, leaving me broken and bleeding in the pine needles.

I don't know how long I lie there. Long enough for the blood to start drying, for the pain to sharpen from shock into pure agony. My wolf whines, struggling to shift back, but I force us to hold the form—it's the only thing keeping me mobile enough to drag myself home.

The journey back is a nightmare of pain and determination. Every step sends fire through my dislocated shoulder, every breath pulls at the claw marks across my ribs. But I keep moving, one paw in front of the other, until finally—finally—the packhouse lights appear through the trees.

I shift back at the tree line, crying out as the transformation jolts my injuries. My human form is worse—blood streaming down my side, my right arm hanging at a sickening angle, bruises already blooming across my face.

The back door is unlocked. I stumble through it, leaving bloody handprints on the wall as I make my way toward the main hall. I need the healer. I need—

Screaming.

I round the corner into the entrance hall and freeze.

Emberly is sprawled on the marble floor in a pool of what looks like blood, her hands clutching her stomach as she wails. Pack members crowd around her, their faces white with shock. And Alexander—Alexander is kneeling beside her, his face twisted in anguish.

Then he sees me.

His eyes go wide, taking in my bloodied state, and for one heartbeat I think he might actually care. But then Emberly's trembling finger points directly at me.

"She—she attacked me!" Emberly's voice breaks on a sob. "In the forest—the Luna—she was so jealous, she—" Her whole body shudders. "My baby. Oh goddess, my baby!"

"No." The word comes out as barely a whisper. "No, I was attacked. Rogues—"

But Alexander is already rising, his face transforming into something I've never seen before. Pure, incandescent rage.

"You murdered my child." His voice is so low, so deadly, that every wolf in the hall instinctively backs away. His Alpha aura explodes outward, crushing down on me until my knees buckle. "You murdered my heir."

"Alexander, please—" I can barely speak through the pressure of his command. "I didn't—"

"SILENCE!" His roar shakes the chandelier. "You jealous, barren wretch. You couldn't give me children, so you destroyed the one I could have?"

I'm on my knees now, my dislocated shoulder screaming, blood pooling beneath me on the pristine marble. Through the haze of pain and his crushing aura, I see Emberly watching me. And just for a second—just one brief, terrible second—she smiles.