Rejecting the Alpha

I didn't sleep. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that red stamp—BIOHAZARD/REJECT—burning into my retinas like a brand. My wolf, usually so quiet she was almost nonexistent, prowled restlessly at the edges of my consciousness. She had no name yet, had barely spoken to me in all these years, but now she radiated unease. Something was wrong. We both felt it.

By dawn, I'd made my decision.

Gamma Morrison didn't bother looking up when I entered his study. He was reviewing documents, a cup of coffee steaming at his elbow, every inch the composed pack official. Luna Morrison sat in her usual chair, spine rigid, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

"I'll do it," I said.

Now he looked up. Surprise flickered across his face before settling back into that mask of cold authority. "You'll sign the territory deed."

"Yes." I kept my voice steady, my hands loose at my sides even though everything in me wanted to clench into fists. "But not yet."

Luna Morrison's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I'll sign over the territory and step aside for Juliet." Each word tasted like ash. "But only after Killian completes the formal Mate Ceremony with me."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.

"You can't be serious," Gamma Morrison said finally. "Why would we—"

"Because I'm not stupid." I met his gaze, channeling every ounce of the strategic mind my grandfather had taught me to cultivate. "If I just hand over the deed now, before any formal bond is established, the Council can contest the transfer. Grandfather's will specified the territory passes to my mate's pack upon my mating. If there's no ceremony, no official record, they'll argue I gave it away under duress. The Black Moon Pack could lose everything in litigation."

I watched the calculation move behind his eyes. He was a political animal—he understood leverage, understood legal loopholes.

"But if Killian completes the ceremony with me first," I continued, "then the transfer is legitimate. Afterward, he can reject me, Juliet can take my place, and the territory is secure. Everyone gets what they want. I just—" I let my voice crack, just slightly. Let them think I was broken enough to beg. "I just need this one thing. To stand at that altar, to have the dignity of a real ceremony before... before it all ends."

Luna Morrison studied me with open contempt. "You want your dignity? After bringing this shame on our family?"

"I want the contract to be ironclad," I said flatly. "So no one can come after any of us later. Isn't that what you taught me? Always think three steps ahead?"

Gamma Morrison leaned back in his chair. I could see him running through the scenarios, weighing risks. The territory was valuable—rich hunting grounds, strategic location. Losing it to a Council challenge would be catastrophic.

"Fine," he said finally. "I'll contact the Black Moon Pack. The ceremony will proceed as scheduled in three weeks. You'll stand at that altar, complete the formalities, and the moment it's done, you'll sign the deed. Then Killian can complete the rejection, and Juliet will assume the Luna position."

"And you'll have your dignity," Luna Morrison added, her tone making it clear what she thought that was worth.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Serena's wooden charm was a solid weight in my pocket.

Three weeks. I had three weeks to figure out what was really happening.

---

The messages to Serena started that afternoon. Simple texts at first—*Hey, can we talk? Need your advice*—then more urgent as hours passed with no response. By evening, my wolf was pacing frantically, projecting images I didn't understand: cold earth, the iron smell of blood, moonlight on still water.

"Stop," I whispered to her. "You're not helping."

But she wouldn't quiet. For years she'd been dormant, barely present, and now she was screaming warnings I couldn't decipher.

On the second day, I called the Moonveil Pack's main line. A border guard answered, his voice gruff and tired.

"I'm looking for Serena Hart," I said. "The healer's daughter. It's urgent."

A pause. Too long. "Miss Hart is unavailable."

"Unavailable how? Is she on a trip? Can you—"

"There's been rogue trouble near our borders," he cut in. "Several pack members are... indisposed. I can take a message."

Rogue trouble. My wolf snarled, claws scraping against the inside of my skull. *Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.*

"Just tell her Amelia called. Please. It's important."

He agreed, but his tone said he wouldn't bother.

I spent the next three days trying every contact I had in Moonveil. No one would talk to me. Serena's phone went straight to voicemail. Her mother, the head healer, didn't respond to my carefully worded letter sent through inter-pack courier.

It was like she'd vanished.

And my parents kept whispering. Late-night conversations behind closed doors, voices too low to make out. Luna Morrison watched me at meals with something that looked almost like guilt before her expression hardened back into contempt. Gamma Morrison avoided looking at me entirely.

On the fifth night, I made my decision.

---

The lockpick set had been my grandfather's. He'd taught me to use it when I was twelve, during one of his visits. "Sometimes, Amelia," he'd said, "the truth is locked away. You need to know how to find it."

I knelt before Gamma Morrison's filing cabinet at two in the morning, my hands steady despite my racing heart. The lock was old but well-maintained. It took me four minutes.

The files inside were meticulously organized—pack alliances, territory surveys, financial records. I rifled through them with practiced efficiency, looking for anything about the Black Moon Pack, anything about—

There. A sealed envelope marked *CONFIDENTIAL: BLACK MOON CORRESPONDENCE*.

My hands shook as I broke the wax seal.

The letter inside was brief, written in strong, angular script on the Black Moon Alpha's personal stationery:

*Morrison— The witness from Moonveil has been handled. Ensure your daughter asks no questions. The alliance proceeds as discussed. Destroy this correspondence. —Adrian Ellis*

Attached was a single page. An official death notification from the Moonveil Pack.

*Serena Hart. Age 22. Cause of death: Rogue ambush. Date: [two weeks prior]*

The world stopped.

I read it again. And again. The words didn't change.

*Serena Hart.*

*Rogue ambush.*

*Two weeks prior.*

My wolf howled, a sound of pure anguish that echoed through my mind. The wooden charm in my pocket suddenly felt like it was burning.

Serena was dead.

And they'd known. My parents had known. The Black Moon Pack had known.

*The witness from Moonveil has been handled.*

Witness to what?

I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound trying to claw its way out of my throat. Not grief. Not yet. I couldn't afford grief.

I photographed both documents with trembling hands, returned them to the file, relocked the cabinet. Walked back to my room on legs that didn't feel like mine.

In the darkness, I finally let myself pull out Serena's wooden wolf charm. Ran my thumb over the careful grooves she'd carved.

"I don't know what you saw," I whispered to her memory. "But I'm going to find out. I promise."

My wolf settled, her rage crystalizing into something colder. Sharper.

Three weeks until the ceremony.

Three weeks to learn the truth.

And then Killian Ellis would answer for whatever he'd done.