Once a Rejected Luna, Now a Rising Queen

The moment the private pack doctor arrived, Alpha Draven stalked toward him. His shoulder slammed into mine without a glance, the force sending me stumbling back.

I caught my breath, straightened my spine, and turned to leave.

Outside the packhouse, Alpha Draven's Beta waited, his posture stiff, eyes downcast. He’d been standing guard for a long time.

I quickened my pace, needing space—air.

But before I reached him, two hands, strong as iron, grabbed my arms and yanked me back.

“Alpha Draven requests your presence,” Draven's loyal warrior growled, his voice as emotionless as stone.

I didn’t resist. There was no point.

In the study, Alpha Draven stood by the hearth, casually buttoning his dark shirt, the moonlight catching on the Alpha insignia sewn into the collar. His movements were controlled, cold.

As I stepped inside, he tipped his chin once. Another warrior stepped behind me, gripping my shoulders and forcing me down into a medical chair that had clearly been prepared ahead of time, as if it had been prepared exactly for me.

“Freya’s suffering from severe anemia,” Draven said calmly, motioning to the doctor. “She needs a transfusion. You’re a match.”

I lifted my head, my voice barely steady. “Draven, I just came out of heat sickness. My body—my wolf—isn’t even fully healed yet.”

“Six hundred milliliters,” he ordered flatly, eyes on the doctor. “Begin.”

The thick, silver-tipped needle pierced my vein with brutal precision. I clenched my jaw until I tasted blood. But that pain was nothing compared to the one in my chest.

Through the cracked door, I heard the low murmur of the pack physician.

“Alpha, she recently miscarried. Her hemoglobin is critically low. This could push her into shock—”

“Spare me,” Draven cut him off, unmoved. “Freya carries my heir. She cannot wait.”

Blood siphoned from my arm in thick streams, the bag gradually filling. My vision swam.

Draven stepped in front of me and, in a gesture so unlike him, gently wiped the cold sweat from my brow. His handkerchief was warm, he scented faintly of cedar and wolf musk.

“If it hurts, scream,” he murmured. “Just bear with it. This is for the future of the pack. Think of it like you are also saving our child.”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see him.

Our child?

Would he still call it ours when the pup is born and he marks Freya instead?

A scream pierced the silence from the upper floor. It was Freya’s voice—sharp, trembling.

Draven’s face automatically darkened.

He turned back to the doctor and barked, “Another four hundred.”

The doctor paled. “That could kill her!”

“She’s already fading—”

“Freya is my Luna-to-be. She comes first,” Alpha Draven snapped, already moving toward the door.

I could barely speak, but I forced the words out. “Draw it.”

The physician froze.

“It’s settled,” I whispered. “Once this is done, let me go.”

Alpha Draven turned slowly. His eyes, golden and narrowed, burned into mine. Then he strode over and gripped my chin hard enough to bruise.

“You’d run away over this?” he sneered.

Freya’s whimper echoed again and, without another word, he shoved me away and disappeared.

Without his support, I slumped to the cold marbled floor like a discarded doll.

Blackness swallowed me whole, the doctor’s shouts dimming as the world slipped away.

--

I woke to antiseptic air and harsh fluorescent light. The sterile scent of the pack infirmary stung my nose.

Draven sat nearby, tapping on his laptop. The moment he noticed I was awake, he closed it and grabbed the bowl on the tray table.

He offered me a spoonful of porridge—mechanical, detached.

“I can feed myself,” I murmured.

But swallowing felt like dragging razors down my throat. I winced with every bite.

The Alpha watched, his brow creased like I was a failing calculation he couldn’t fix.

When I reached for the next spoon, he caught my wrist, firm but not unkind.

“The doctor said you need more blood later,” he said. “Back at the packhouse—it was rushed. We didn’t mean to take so much. You can—”

“There's no need for that,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m not dying.”

His eyes flickered, confused by the lack of submission.

Silence settled between us like fog.

Then he spoke again, his voice shifting. “Your phone’s been going off all day.”

I reached for it. Dozens of missed calls. Messages. Notifications.

Draven’s gaze darkened as he leaned in.

“Who’s been trying to reach you?”

“A friend.” I didn’t elaborate.

Suddenly, his tie hit the floor. He leaned in closer, his presence overwhelming.

“Ella, what the hell are you doing? First, you try to run, and now this silent act? You still think you’re some delicate she-wolf we all have to coddle?”

He scoffed. “If you weren’t born a Luna, stop pretending to be one!”

“Look outside,” he hissed. “Wives who can’t bear pups—they get rejected. You’re lucky I didn’t do the same.”

His breath was hot, his fury close. Once, those words would have shattered me. I would’ve wept and begged and told him I was sorry.

Now?

I only felt the numbing void where love used to be.

Why were we still holding onto this bond when it had already broken?

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He straightened like a puppet on strings and strode to the hallway.

Then his laughter filtered in—low, soft, tender.

For her.

The door clicked shut.

A moment later, my phone rang.

I answered.

“Ella?” a deep, anxious voice whispered.

“Why did you go back? Don’t tell me... You still can’t let him go?”