Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

Six months earlier

The morning light filtered through the pack house windows as I arranged fresh flowers in the main hall. My fingers trembled slightly, a weakness I'd been noticing more frequently these past weeks. I brushed it off as fatigue from my endless attempts to be the perfect Luna—to somehow make up for what I lacked.

"These look beautiful, Luna Isabella," Seraphina Moonwood commented, the elderly pack member's eyes crinkling with kindness. "You always bring such warmth to our home."

I smiled, grateful for her rare acknowledgment. "Thank you, Elder Seraphina. I just want to make sure everything is—"

The room suddenly tilted. The vase slipped from my grasp, shattering against the marble floor as darkness edged my vision. I heard Seraphina's alarmed cry before the world went black.

I awoke to the earthy scent of healing herbs and the concerned face of Dr. Elias Vance hovering above me. His examining room was mercifully private, away from curious pack eyes.

"Luna Isabella," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of bad news. "I need you to listen carefully."

My fingers instinctively found my mating mark, seeking comfort from the bond that had grown increasingly cold. "Is it... because I'm wolfless?"

Elias sighed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Yes and no. You have what we call Lunar Atrophy—a rare condition that affects maybe one in ten thousand werewolves. It's blocking your wolf from emerging and... it's draining your human form as well."

The clinical words hung in the air between us. "Draining?"

"Your body is fighting a war it can't win," he explained gently. "Without treatment and support, particularly from your mate, the condition will progress. You have maybe eight months, possibly a year."

A year. The words echoed in my mind like a death knell.

"There are treatments," Elias continued, pulling herbs from his cabinet. "But Luna, you need to tell Alpha Ryan. The mate bond is your strongest lifeline. His energy, his support could literally extend your life."

I pictured Ryan's face—how it had hardened over the years, how his eyes slid past mine at pack gatherings, how he flinched when I reached for him. The wolfless Luna, the broken mate, now dying too? It would only confirm what I feared he already believed—that I was defective, unworthy.

"No," I whispered, my voice surprisingly steady. "No one can know. Especially not Ryan."

"Luna, please—"

"Swear it to me, Elias." I gripped his wrist with what little strength I had. "Swear on your healer's oath."

His face fell, but he nodded reluctantly. "I'll prepare what herbs I can. They'll help with the symptoms, but they're not a cure."

"Thank you," I said, already planning how to hide this new burden.

Four months later, I knelt in my garden at dawn, coughing violently into a handkerchief. When I pulled it away, crimson spots stained the white fabric. The herbs were helping less each day.

Still, I forced myself to stand. Ryan had organized a pack run tonight—a rare event where he acknowledged my presence, even if only as a formality. I couldn't miss it, couldn't give him another reason to regret our bond.

I tucked the stained cloth into my pocket and headed to the kitchen. The pack house was stirring to life, and I needed to prepare breakfast before anyone noticed my absence. Each step required calculation now, each smile a mask over growing pain.

"You shouldn't be up," Elias's voice startled me as I reached the kitchen doorway.

"I'm fine," I lied, straightening my shoulders.

"The pack run tonight—"

"I'll be there," I cut him off, my tone leaving no room for argument.

His eyes filled with sadness. "At least take these." He pressed a small pouch of herbs into my palm. "They'll give you strength for a few hours."

I nodded gratefully, already planning how to brew them without anyone noticing. As Elias turned to leave, he paused.

"He deserves to know, Luna."

I looked away, focusing on the morning light streaming through the windows. "Maybe. But I deserve a mate who would care if he knew."

As I began preparing Ryan's favorite breakfast—one he would likely eat in his office, away from me—I touched my mating mark again. It felt cooler than before, the connection thinner somehow.

Perhaps our anniversary would be different. Perhaps in two months, I would find the courage to tell him everything. Perhaps the mate who had once loved me would return, just long enough to help me fight for my life.

Perhaps.

But as another coughing fit seized me, forcing me to grip the counter for support, I couldn't silence the whisper in my heart that said I was already fighting this battle alone.