Once a Rejected Luna, Now a Rising Queen

I winced as I saw how Freya playfully nudged Draven’s shoulder, her laughter delicate and falsely sweet—an act she wore like perfume.

The scent of lavender clung to her skin, unnaturally strong, masking something beneath. A human nose might not notice, but mine—sharpened by instinct and years of restraint—caught the bitter trace of wolfsbane hidden in her cologne.

Alpha Draven chuckled, the sound strained, almost mechanical. Then, as though remembering I still existed, he turned to me. “Ella,” he said, his voice dipping into a lower, colder register, “what were you doing barging into my study just now?”

“Retrieving my safe deposit box,” I replied calmly, holding it up. It was a small black case reinforced with silver trim—nothing remarkable. But inside it were the last pieces of the life I had shared with him: our marriage certificate, our household registry, the remnants of a bond that once meant something.

He frowned. His brows tightened the way they always did when his pride was wounded.

“What did you put in there?” he demanded. “You’ve been acting strange lately. Did you buy something behind my back?”

Before I could speak, he strode over and snatched the box from my hands. His hands were warm, but no longer familiar.

He stared at the combination lock, clueless.

That made me pause.

He couldn’t even remember the numbers we had whispered to each other under moonlight the night he claimed me—the night my wolf had stirred beneath my skin for the first time in years.

I met his gaze. “Our wedding anniversary,” I said softly.

His hands stilled.

That date had passed two weeks ago, unnoticed by him but etched in my bones like a scar. He tried again, inputting the wrong date—Freya’s birthday. My stomach turned. His jaw clenched. After another failed attempt, he threw the box back at me.

“I don’t care what you bought. Throw it out,” he snapped. “You don’t deserve to spend my money.”

No, I thought, I don’t deserve to be treated like this by a man who once swore he’d protect me through every full moon.

I wanted to tell him that, but I said nothing; instead, l clutched the box tightly to my chest as I retreated to the guest room. Behind me, Freya suddenly moaned dramatically and whimpered that she felt faint.

As if on cue, Draven rushed to her side, scooping her into his arms and carrying her upstairs.

The echo of her giggles faded, replaced by the heavy silence of the packhouse. Downstairs, I overheard him instruct the housekeeper, “Prepare something rich in iron tonight. The ones Madam used to like.”

Madam.

I wasn’t sure whether he meant me or her. The word had lost all meaning.

When I opened the guest room door, my breath caught.

My suitcase had been ransacked, clothes torn, and my journals ripped to shreds. Some of the pages were wet with something red, not blood, but something else. Perfume. It was Freya’s scent.

She’d marked my belongings like a wolf marking her territory.

I gathered what I could, placing the last of my documents inside the safe deposit box. My wolf stirred in my chest, restless, but too weak to rise.

Not yet.

As I zipped up my coat, the door creaked open. Freya leaned against the frame, her arms folded, her pregnant belly prominent under a sheer silk robe.

“Well, well,” she smirked. “Still pretending to be calm, even though I’ve pissed all over your place in this pack. Honestly, Rayven, you’re impressive.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my skin.

She giggled.

“You know, Alpha Draven didn’t take you to the hospital last month when your father was dying after the rogue attacked your parents…”

Her lips curled wickedly. “Because I had a beauty appointment. He said my face was more important than that old man’s last breath.”

She waved her phone at me. A picture flashed—her and Draven wrapped together in furs, snow in the background. I slapped it out of her hand.

She gasped and shoved me. My body slammed into a bookshelf with a thud. Glass shattered beneath me, and pain spiked through my spine.

And then it started.

The ground trembled. The air thickened. Dust rained from the ceiling like ash.

“An… earthquake?” Freya shrieked, her bravado crumbling.

No. Not an earthquake.

A shift. A Moonfall's shift.

My pulse quickened. The ground was alive with something older than tectonics—magic, and it was primal and untamed.

Smoke unfurled like a living beast from the hallway. A fire sparked in the distance—an overloaded circuit or something darker. The scent of scorched fur and silver filled the air.

I tried to stand but collapsed, my weakened body giving in. Sharp pain lanced through my ribs. My wolf howled in the back of my mind, powerless.

“Ella!”

His voice. I heard Draven’s voice over the chaos.

“Alpha Draven, it’s not safe!” the housekeeper cried.

“Move!” he roared.

Footsteps thundered. Then I saw him, silhouetted against smoke and fire. He looked around, eyes frantic. He found Freya first, curled in a corner, sobbing.

She reached for him. “Draven! I’m scared!”

Without hesitation, he picked her up and turned to leave.

His gaze fell on me, sprawled and broken, glass glinting beneath my fingers.

Our eyes locked.

For a moment, I saw the man I once loved—the Alpha I once trusted.

But then he turned.

And left me.

The fire devoured everything.

The quake stopped, but the damage had already been done.

They searched the ashes. No one found me. No scent trail, no body.

Because I was already gone.

--

At the airport, I mailed off the last of my papers—my inheritance, the sealed documents, and something else… a blood-marked piece of fur that had once belonged to me and Draven.

A final rejection of the bond.

As I waited to board my flight under a new name, my phone vibrated.

It was Draven.

I pulled out the SIM card. Crushed it beneath my boot heel. Tossed it in the nearest trash.

The mate bond is now severed.

From this day forward, Draven Blackthorn, Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack, you and I are nothing.

Not mates.

Not partners.

Not even enemies.

Just strangers in the same cursed world.