Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

The mountain air bit into my skin as Michael's SUV came to an abrupt halt. I hadn't been told where we were going, but as the familiar silhouette of Mount Rainier loomed against the twilight sky, my heart plummeted. Not here. Anywhere but here.

"Get out," Michael commanded, his voice devoid of the tenderness it once held when we'd visited this sacred place together.

Lyra whimpered inside me. *Our mating grounds. Why would he bring us here?*

I couldn't answer her. My wolf was growing weaker by the day, our connection fraying like an old rope stretched beyond its limits.

Michael yanked me from the vehicle, his grip brutal on my arm. The pack warriors who had accompanied us formed a loose circle as he dragged me toward the ancient stone altar where, just two years ago, we had pledged ourselves to each other under the watchful eye of the Moon Goddess.

"Kneel," he ordered, using his Alpha tone.

My body responded automatically, my knees hitting the cold, hard ground. Above us, the moon hung full and luminous, bearing silent witness to this desecration.

"This is where it began," Michael said, addressing his warriors rather than me. "And this is where we cleanse our pack of her betrayal."

He stepped back, nodding to the warriors. "Begin."

The first knife whistled past my ear, close enough that I felt the air displace. The second grazed my shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood. I kept my eyes fixed on the moon, refusing to flinch or cry out.

"Your aim is pathetic," Michael snarled at his men. "She's right there. Make her feel it."

Another knife sliced across my upper arm. Then another caught the edge of my already scarred hand—the hand that still bore the marks from saving his father. The irony wasn't lost on me.

A dark shadow swooped down, and I felt the sharp pain as a raven's beak tore at the exposed scar tissue on my neck. More followed, drawn by the scent of blood, their black wings beating around me in a macabre dance.

"The ravens know a corpse when they see one," Michael said coldly. "Even if it's still breathing."

I remained silent, letting the pain wash over me. Physical torment was nothing compared to the agony of the broken mate bond that throbbed constantly in my chest.

*We endure,* Lyra whispered, her voice fainter than ever. *For the truth. For his bloodline.*

For the secret I would take to my grave.

---

The main hall of the pack house had been transformed for the evening's ceremony. Where once I had stood as Luna, tonight I knelt as an outcast, my head bowed as Michael approached with the Omega collar.

"No longer Luna, you are now the lowest rank," he proclaimed, his voice echoing through the hushed space. The leather collar felt rough against my skin as he fastened it tightly—too tightly—around my neck.

Amanda glided forward, resplendent in my former Luna gown, the silver fabric flowing around her pregnant form. My Luna pendant gleamed at her throat, catching the light with every movement. Her smile was radiant with triumph as she took her place beside Michael.

"Doesn't she make a pathetic sight?" Amanda's voice carried just enough for the front rows to hear. "Hard to believe she once thought herself worthy of standing where I do."

Michael's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining in a deliberate display. "The Moon Goddess corrects all mistakes," he replied. "And provides true mates to those worthy of them."

The words cut deeper than any knife.

---

My hands trembled as I lifted the heavy cast-iron pot from the stove. The kitchen was sweltering, the steam rising from multiple pots making it difficult to see. My scarred hands, still raw from the knife wounds and the glass I'd been forced to pick up with my bare fingers yesterday, struggled to maintain their grip.

"Hurry up with that stew, omega," the head cook barked. "The Alpha's table doesn't wait."

I bit my lip and nodded, carrying the pot toward the dining hall. Each step sent jolts of pain through my injured body, but I forced myself forward. Three steps into the dining hall, I felt Amanda's eyes on me, her lips curled in a satisfied smirk.

"Our former Luna makes an excellent servant," she commented loudly as I set the pot down on the sideboard. "Don't you think so, Michael?"

Michael didn't look at me, his attention fixed on the documents before him. "As long as she knows her place."

Eleanor Sterling, Michael's mother, sat rigidly at his other side. Her cold eyes swept over me with undisguised contempt.

"A true Luna would have saved the Alpha first," she said pointedly. "Not some common warrior."

My hands jerked at her words, and the serving plate I was reaching for slipped from my grasp, shattering on the floor with a crash that seemed to echo through the suddenly silent room.

Michael's head snapped up, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Clean it up," he ordered. "With your hands."

I knelt among the shards, feeling them bite into my palms as I gathered the broken pieces. Blood mingled with the porcelain fragments, and I wondered how much more I could possibly bleed before there was nothing left of me at all.

Through the haze of pain, I caught Amanda's whisper to Michael: "I've heard that a Luna's death can sometimes trigger the early birth of an Alpha heir. Perhaps the Moon Goddess is preparing us for a joyous arrival."

I looked up just in time to see Michael's eyes flicker to my face—and for the first time in months, I saw something there besides hatred. Something that looked almost like fear.