Rejecting the Unfaithful Alpha

Dawn crept through the windows of the pack house, casting long shadows across the floor. I hadn't slept. How could I? Luna's absence left a gaping void in my chest that no amount of time could fill. Her scent still lingered on my clothes—milk, honey, and wildflowers—growing fainter with each passing hour. I clutched her wooden wolf carving in my palm, the edges worn smooth from her tiny fingers.

Lyra, my wolf, remained eerily silent within me. Since Luna's last breath, she'd retreated deep into my consciousness, her grief too profound for howls.

I knew what I had to do.

The pack vault was located in the east wing, a heavily reinforced room guarded day and night. I approached with measured steps, my face carefully blank despite the storm raging inside me. The morning shift quartermaster, Daniel, stood at attention, his eyes widening slightly at my approach.

"Former Luna," he murmured, the title piercing me like a physical blow.

"I need access to my family's inheritance," I stated, my voice steadier than I felt. "The funds my parents left when they passed."

Daniel's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders tensing. "I... I can't authorize that, ma'am."

"It's my birthright," I insisted, stepping closer. "Pack law protects individual family holdings, even for Deltas."

"Alpha Blackwood issued a decree three days ago." Daniel's voice dropped to a whisper. "All Mitchell family assets have been... reallocated to the pack's general fund."

The timing wasn't lost on me. Three days ago—the same day Ethan had purchased Victoria's diamond bracelet.

"Show me," I demanded.

Daniel hesitated before unlocking the heavy door. The vault smelled of metal and old paper, rows of safety deposit boxes lining the walls. He led me to the corner where the smaller Delta family boxes were kept. My hands trembled as he opened the Mitchell box.

Empty.

The modest savings that could have given Luna a chance—gone.

"I'm sorry," Daniel murmured, genuine regret in his eyes. "If there's anything else..."

I turned away, unable to bear his pity. "There's nothing."

The corridor outside the vault stretched before me like a prison hallway. Pack members scurried about their morning duties, their eyes darting away when they spotted me. I recognized Emma, a young Omega who had often helped with Luna's bedtime routine.

"Emma," I called, my voice cracking. "Please, I need help."

She froze, conflict flashing across her face. "Former Luna," she whispered, the title a barrier between us. Her eyes darted nervously toward the Alpha's quarters before she hurried away.

I tried again with Marcus, a Delta warrior who had trained alongside me years ago. "Marcus, please. Just a moment of your time."

"I can't be seen talking to you," he muttered, barely slowing his pace. "Alpha's orders."

One by one, they all turned away—faces I'd known for years, wolves I'd considered pack family. Each rejection chipped away at my already shattered heart. By midday, I'd become a ghost in my own home, invisible yet somehow still too visible.

Night fell, bringing with it a suffocating stillness. I couldn't stay within these walls another moment, not with Luna's empty bed and Ethan's betrayal pressing in from all sides. Wrapping myself in a plain cloak, I slipped out to the outer wall, the boundary between pack territory and the wilderness beyond.

The cool night air carried unfamiliar scents—wild and free. I inhaled deeply, allowing myself to imagine, just for a moment, what it might feel like to run without the weight of pack bonds.

A rustle in the undergrowth startled me. I tensed, ready to retreat, when a figure materialized from the shadows—a lean, scarred rogue with wary eyes.

"Sarah Mitchell?" he whispered, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

I nodded, heart racing.

He pressed something into my palm—a small, folded piece of parchment—before melting back into the darkness. "From Rodriguez," were his only words.

Under the faint moonlight, I carefully unfolded the note. A series of symbols and markings covered the page—Michelle's signature cipher, one we'd developed during joint training exercises years ago. The message was clear beneath the code:

"I know what happened. Help is coming. Be ready when the moon wanes."

I clutched the paper to my chest, feeling the first spark of something I'd thought lost forever.

Hope.