Rejected Luna's New Dawn

The evening air carried the sweet scent of moonflowers as I hurried through the pack grounds, my heart light with anticipation. Tonight marked our tenth mating anniversary, and I'd spent the entire day overseeing preparations for the Feast of the Moon celebration. The pack members had shooed me away early, insisting they could handle the final arrangements without their Luna's supervision.

"Go surprise your Alpha," Beta Sarah had urged with a knowing smile. "Ten years deserves something special."

I clutched the small wrapped package in my hand—a hand-carved wooden frame containing a sketch I'd made of Ryan and me from our marking ceremony. My artistic talents were something I rarely shared with anyone but him.

*He's going to love it,* I thought, touching the Luna necklace at my throat, tracing its intricate moon pattern—a nervous habit I'd developed over the years.

As I approached our private quarters in the pack house, a sharp, unsettling sensation rippled through my chest. My wolf, Lyra, suddenly howled within me, her silver presence agitated and restless.

*Something's wrong,* she whimpered, clawing at my consciousness.

"What is it?" I whispered, stopping in my tracks.

*Follow. Now.*

Lyra had never steered me wrong before. I changed direction, letting her guide me through the moonlit grounds toward the garage at the edge of the property. The building was partially open, a sliver of light spilling onto the gravel outside.

I approached quietly, my Luna senses heightened by Lyra's distress. A foreign scent hit me—female, unfamiliar, and laced with something that made my stomach clench. Beneath it was the unmistakable scent of my mate.

My footsteps slowed as I reached the side entrance. Through the gap in the door, I saw them.

Ryan—my Alpha, my mate, my everything for the past decade—had a woman pressed against the hood of his car. His face was buried in her neck, nuzzling and scenting her in the intimate way reserved only for mates. His hands gripped her waist possessively as she arched into him, her fingers tangled in his dark hair.

The package slipped from my fingers, landing silently on the grass.

A white-hot agony ripped through our mate bond, so intense I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. My knees threatened to buckle as Lyra howled in anguish, the sound echoing through every corner of my soul.

*No, no, no...*

I backed away, unable to process what I was seeing. The woman turned slightly, her profile illuminated by the garage light—high cheekbones, full lips curved in pleasure. A stranger. A she-wolf I'd never seen before.

Somehow, I managed to retreat without being noticed, my body moving on autopilot while my mind fractured into a thousand painful shards. I retrieved my fallen gift, clutching it to my chest as if it could shield me from the truth.

Lyra's rage and grief threatened to overwhelm me, pushing me toward shifting. I fought it down, forcing deep breaths as I stumbled back toward the pack house.

*Control. I need control.*

I couldn't let anyone see me like this—broken, betrayed. I was still Luna. I had responsibilities. Dignity.

The main entrance loomed before me, and I paused to compose myself, wiping away tears I hadn't realized were falling. With trembling hands, I tucked the package into my jacket pocket and squared my shoulders.

I stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the pack house now feeling alien and cold. I'd barely made it three steps when a sharp voice cut through my haze.

"There you are. I've been waiting."

Former Luna Margaret Mitchell stood at the base of the grand staircase, her posture rigid and her eyes calculating. Even after passing the Luna title to me years ago, she still carried herself with the authority of her former position.

"Margaret," I acknowledged, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I didn't expect to see you this evening."

She approached with measured steps, her gaze clinical as it swept over me. "We need to discuss something of importance. For the pack's future."

Something in her tone sent a chill down my spine. I noticed she was holding a folder of documents.

"The council and I have made a decision," she continued, her voice devoid of warmth. "There's a three-year-old pup who needs to be formally adopted into the Alpha line. You will take him in and raise him as the future heir."

The bluntness of her statement momentarily distracted me from my raw grief. "What? Whose child?"

"That's irrelevant," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "What matters is that this pack needs an heir, and you—" her eyes flicked to my abdomen, where the scars of my sacrifice lay hidden, "—cannot provide one."

Her words cut deeper than any claw. Three years ago, I had thrown myself between Ryan and a rogue's attack, saving his life but losing our unborn pup and any chance of bearing children again. And now, with the scent of another woman still burning in my nostrils, Margaret's cruelty felt like a calculated second blow.

Lyra snarled within me, but the pain in our mate bond had weakened us both. I stood frozen, trapped between the betrayal behind me and the humiliation before me, as Margaret extended the folder with cold determination in her eyes.