My Mate Chose His Ex Over His Luna

The reassignments started small.

Two days after Bianca's return, Jonas called a morning briefing in his office. I arrived early with the summit coordination binder I'd been maintaining for three months—seating charts, dietary restrictions for the Council delegates, security rotations. I'd color-coded the tabs.

Jonas barely glanced at me when I walked in. He was standing by the window with Bianca beside him, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. She wore one of my old cardigans, the soft gray one I'd left in the Luna suite when he'd ordered me out. It hung loose on her smaller frame.

"Seraphina," Jonas said without turning around. "Bianca's offered to take over the summit logistics. She has experience with Council protocol from her time in Europe."

I stood there holding the binder. "The delegates arrive this afternoon. Everything's already arranged."

"Then it'll be easy for her to pick up." He finally looked at me, his expression flat and administrative, like I was a junior pack member questioning an assignment. "Bianca needs something to focus on. It'll help her reintegrate."

Bianca turned toward me with those wide, apologetic eyes. "Only if you don't mind, Luna. I just want to be useful. I know I've caused so much trouble already."

Her voice was so soft. So careful. The kind of voice that made you feel cruel for saying no.

I set the binder on Jonas's desk. "Of course," I said. "Whatever helps."

Jonas nodded once, already turning back to the window. Dismissed.

I left the office and walked straight to the eastern perimeter, where the forest was thick enough that no one would see me press my forehead against a tree trunk and breathe until the tightness in my chest loosened.

That afternoon, I learned about the anniversary hunt from Eli, one of the junior warriors.

He caught me in the hallway outside the kitchens, his face uncertain. "Luna, should I still prep the western trail for tomorrow's run, or—"

"What run?"

Eli blinked. "The anniversary hunt. Alpha Jonas marked it on the patrol schedule three weeks ago. I just assumed—" He stopped, reading my face. "You didn't know."

I kept my voice level. "Plans change during summit week. Don't worry about it."

He nodded slowly, but his eyes lingered on me a beat too long before he walked away.

I found Jonas in the training yard an hour later. He was running drills with the Deltas, his shirt damp with sweat, his commands sharp and clear. I waited at the edge of the yard until he noticed me.

He jogged over, wiping his face with a towel. "What is it?"

"The anniversary hunt," I said quietly. "Were you going to tell me it was cancelled?"

He frowned, like he was trying to remember what I was talking about. Then his expression cleared. "Oh. Right. I moved it. Bianca's still adjusting, and I didn't want to leave her alone in the pack house with strangers arriving. We can reschedule after the summit."

"You scheduled it three weeks ago."

"Things change, Seraphina." His tone was patient, almost condescending. "You understand that."

Behind him, a few of the Deltas had stopped mid-drill to watch. I felt their eyes on my back.

"Of course," I said.

Jonas nodded and turned back to the yard without another word.

I walked back to the pack house alone. No one called after me.

That evening, Bianca found me in the kitchen.

I was prepping vegetables for the delegates' welcome dinner, my hands moving on autopilot. The kitchen had always been my refuge—the one place where my work was visible, tangible, something I could point to and say *I did this.*

Bianca slipped in quietly, carrying a ceramic bowl. Steam rose from the surface. She set it on the counter beside me and smiled, hesitant and hopeful.

"I made you some broth," she said. "You've been working so hard, Luna. I thought you could use something warm."

I looked down at the bowl. It smelled like chicken and herbs, rich and comforting.

"You didn't have to do that," I said.

Her smile widened just a fraction. "I want to. Please. Let me do something useful. I know I've caused you so much pain already, and I—" Her voice caught. She pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes welling. "I just want to make it right."

She looked so small standing there. So earnest.

I picked up the bowl and took a sip. The broth was warm and savory, exactly what I needed.

"Thank you," I said.

Bianca's whole face lit up. "I can make your meals from now on. If you'd like. Just until you're feeling stronger."

I hesitated. But she was watching me with such raw, fragile hope, and I was so tired.

"That would be kind," I said.

She nodded quickly and slipped back out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the bowl.

I finished it standing at the counter, then went back to chopping vegetables.

Two days later, I woke up wrong.

The fatigue was heavier than it should have been—bone-deep, dragging. My senses felt muffled, like I was hearing the world through water. I stood in front of the mirror in the guest room and stared at my own face. My skin looked pale. Dull.

I pressed a hand to my chest. The small furious thing that had stirred the night Bianca returned—the flicker of heat I'd felt beneath my sternum—was quieter now. Almost silent.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my ledger. My hand shook slightly as I wrote:

*Day 4 since reassignments. Fatigue worsening. Senses duller. Something is wrong with my body and I don't know what.*

I stared at the words for a long time.

Then I closed the ledger, hid it back in my bag, and went downstairs to eat the breakfast Bianca had left warming on the stove.

In the pack meeting that afternoon, Jonas didn't address me once. Not to ask my opinion. Not to confirm a detail. Not even to acknowledge I was in the room.

When I stood to leave, one of the younger wolves—a girl named Mara who used to ask me for advice about her training—looked at me, then quickly looked away.

I walked back to the guest room and lay down in the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling.

Downstairs, I could hear Jonas laughing. Bianca's voice, soft and musical, answering him.

I closed my eyes and pressed my palm flat against my chest, searching for that flicker of heat.

Nothing.

Just cold. Just silence.

And somewhere deep inside, buried under the wolfsbane I didn't know I was swallowing, something that should have been waking up went still.