Rejected from Alpha to Mate

Sharp branches clawed at my face as I stumbled through the dense forest, my paws bleeding and raw against the unforgiving ground. Each labored breath burned in my lungs, but I couldn't stop—wouldn't stop. Behind me lay five years of humiliation and rejection; ahead lay uncertainty, but also freedom.

My wolf, Ruby, whimpered in my mind. *We need to rest, Isabella. Please.*

I ignored her pleas, pushing my exhausted body forward. The coppery scent of blood—my blood—trailed behind me, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before Cameron sent trackers after his runaway Luna. Not out of love, but out of pride and possession.

Twice I had to flatten myself against the forest floor as rogue scouting parties passed nearby. My heart hammered so loudly I was certain they would hear it, but somehow, the Moon Goddess granted me mercy. They passed by, oblivious to the rejected Luna hiding in their midst.

By dawn, I had crossed into neutral coastal territory. The dense forest gave way to windswept dunes, and the roar of the ocean called to me like a lullaby. No pack could claim me here. No Alpha commands could reach me.

My legs finally gave out as I reached the deserted beach. I collapsed onto the cool sand, my wolf form dissolving as consciousness slipped away from me.

When I awoke, the sun was high overhead, its heat beating down on my naked, bruised body. I curled into myself, the reality of what I'd done crashing over me like the waves on the shore. I had rejected my Alpha. I had broken a mate bond—even an incomplete one. I was alone.

A sob tore from my throat, then another, until I was weeping so hard I could barely breathe. I cried for the little girl who had watched her parents die, for the orphan who had never belonged, for the mate who had never been wanted. I cried until my throat was raw and my eyes swollen, until there was nothing left inside me but a hollow ache.

*We need to eat,* Ruby reminded me gently. *We need shelter.*

Survival. One step at a time.

I forced myself to stand on shaky legs, wrapping my arms around my naked body. The beach offered little in the way of food or shelter, but I wasn't going back. I would rather die here, free, than live another day under Cameron's cruel indifference.

The tide pools revealed small fish trapped by the receding water. I caught them with trembling hands, my stomach turning at the thought of raw fish but my hunger overriding my disgust. Along the edge of the beach, where sand met scrubland, I found bushes heavy with small, dark berries. I recognized them from the pack healer's garden—not poisonous, at least.

As the sun began to set, the wind picked up, cutting through my bare skin like knives. I needed shelter. Gathering driftwood from along the shore, I constructed a crude lean-to, weaving seaweed between the branches to create some semblance of a wall against the wind. It was pathetic compared to the grand pack house I'd fled, but it was mine.

That night, I curled into a tight ball beneath my makeshift shelter, shivering as the temperature dropped. The distant howls of wolves—pack wolves or rogues, I couldn't tell—made me flinch, but I steeled my resolve. I would rather freeze to death than go crawling back to Cameron.

*We'll survive this,* I promised Ruby, though I wasn't sure if I believed it myself. *We'll find a way.*

Somehow, I drifted into a fitful sleep, dreaming of silver eyes and broken promises.

The sunrise woke me, golden light spilling across the beach. I crawled from my shelter, muscles screaming in protest, to watch the dawn paint the sky in shades of pink and gold. For a moment, just a moment, I felt something like peace.

Then I heard footsteps crunching on the sand.

I whirled around, heart in my throat, expecting to see Cameron's trackers—or worse, rogues. Instead, a tall figure stood silhouetted against the rising sun, his familiar scent carried to me on the breeze.

Jake Mitchell. The Beta of the Moonveil Pack.

He approached slowly, as one might approach a wounded animal. His eyes widened as they took in my bruised face, my torn Luna pendant lying in the sand beside me, the pitiful shelter I'd constructed.

"Luna Isabella?" he asked softly, his voice carrying none of the command that I'd grown to fear from dominant wolves. He shrugged off his waterproof cloak and held it out to me, revealing a steaming cup in his other hand. The scent of pine-infused tea wafted toward me.

"I'm not a Luna anymore," I whispered, my voice cracking from disuse and tears. "I'm nothing."

But I took the cloak, wrapping it around my shoulders, and wondered why this wolf—this stranger—showed more kindness in one gesture than my mate had in five years.