Sacrificed To The Beast: The Wolfless Mate

Elara Thorne POV:

The collision sent me stumbling back a step. A strong hand shot out, gripping my arm to steady me. The touch was firm, impersonal, but it was enough to stop my drunken sway.

I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my vision. A man stood before me, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in the formal attire of a visiting Alpha. His hair was the color of dark honey, and his eyes, a startling amber, were narrowed in annoyance. He looked vaguely familiar, probably one of the many pack leaders my father had invited.

"Watch where you're going," he grunted, his voice a low rumble. He released my arm as if he’d touched something distasteful.

"Sorry," I mumbled, the single word thick on my tongue. The alcohol was making my head spin, and the man's powerful presence was dizzying. He smelled of pine and winter frost, a clean, sharp scent that cut through the cloying sweetness of the wedding flowers.

He gave me one last dismissive glance, his eyes sweeping over my plain dress and disheveled state before he turned away, clearly eager to rejoin the celebration. I didn't care. All I wanted was to escape.

I pushed my way through the laughing, dancing crowd, ignoring the curious looks sent my way. The fresh night air was a relief against my flushed skin as I finally burst out onto a deserted stone terrace. I leaned against the cold balustrade, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

The music and laughter from inside felt like a world away. Here, under the cold light of the moon, the grief I’d been drowning in wine came rushing back, sharp and suffocating. My mother was dead. My father was celebrating. And that woman, Marley, was now Luna, wearing a smile that promised a future of misery for me.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I gripped the stone, my knuckles white, as my stomach churned. The wine wasn't numbing the pain; it was just making it harder to control.

"There you are."

The voice was not Marley’s. It was my mother’s sister, my Aunt Clara, her face etched with a familiar mixture of pity and disapproval. She was a stout woman, her Luna days long behind her, but she still carried herself with an air of authority.

"You shouldn't be out here sulking, Elara," she said, her tone clipped. "You're making a scene."

"I'm not making a scene," I retorted, my voice raw. "I'm just… getting some air."

She sighed, a long, weary sound. "Your father is happy. Can't you just be happy for him?"

The question was so absurd, so utterly tone-deaf, that a bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Happy? He's marrying that woman on the anniversary of Mom's death. How can I be happy about that?"

Clara’s lips thinned into a tight line. "Your mother is gone, Elara. Life moves on. Alaric is the Alpha; he needs a Luna by his side. Marley is young, beautiful, and comes from a strong pack. It's a good match."

"It's a betrayal," I whispered, the words tasting like ash.

"It's politics," she corrected sharply. "Something you wouldn't understand. Now, come back inside. People are starting to talk." She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

I yanked my arm away. "No. I'm not going back in there to watch them dance on my mother's grave."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "Don't be so dramatic. You're embarrassing the family. You're embarrassing me."

"The family?" I scoffed, the alcohol making me bold. "What family? The one that forgot its first Luna the moment she was in the ground?"

"That's enough!" The sharp crack of her voice echoed on the terrace. "Your father has been patient with your moods for too long. You are the daughter of an Alpha. Start acting like it."

Her words were meant to sting, to remind me of my duty, my place. But all they did was fuel the fire of my resentment.

"I don't want to be the daughter of an Alpha," I snarled, my voice trembling with a rage that had been simmering for years. "Not his daughter. Not anymore."

A gasp escaped her lips. Her face, which had been tight with anger, was now pale with shock. "How dare you speak of your father, your Alpha, like that?"

Before I could say anything else, a shadow fell over us. I looked up to see my father, Alaric Thorne, standing in the doorway to the terrace. His face was a thunderous mask, his gray eyes like chips of ice. Marley was at his side, her expression a perfect picture of concerned innocence.

"What is going on out here?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. It was the voice he used on the training grounds, the voice that made grown warriors flinch.

Aunt Clara immediately straightened up, her demeanor shifting from scolding to subservient. "Alaric. Elara was just feeling a bit overwhelmed. I was bringing her back inside."

My father’s cold gaze swept past his sister and landed on me. He took in my tear-streaked face, my defiant posture. "Overwhelmed? Or drunk and disrespectful?"

Marley laid a delicate hand on his arm. "Darling, don't be harsh. She's just upset. It's a difficult day for her, I'm sure." Her voice was syrupy sweet, but her eyes, when they met mine over his shoulder, were glinting with triumph.

That look, that fake sympathy, was what broke me.

"Don't you talk about her!" I screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Marley. "Don't you dare pretend you care!"

"Elara!" my father roared, taking a step forward. The sheer force of his Alpha presence washed over me, a physical pressure that made it hard to breathe.

But I was too far gone to care. "You let her ruin Mom's necklace! You let her destroy the only thing I had left of her!"

My father’s eyes flickered to Marley, a question in them. Marley’s face crumpled beautifully. "I... I only wanted to borrow it," she whispered, a tear tracing a perfect path down her cheek. "It was an accident. I told her I would have it fixed."

Lies. All of it.

"She's lying!" I cried, my voice cracking. "She did it on purpose! She stepped on my hand, she called Mom pathetic!"

My father’s face hardened. He looked from Marley’s artful tears to my wild, alcohol-fueled fury. And in that moment, I knew who he would believe. He always chose the prettier picture, the easier truth.

"You are drunk and hysterical," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "You will not ruin this night for your Luna. You will go to your room. Now."

"No," I said, the word a raw whisper of defiance. "I won't be sent away while you—"

I never finished the sentence.

His hand moved faster than I could track. The sound was a sharp crack that silenced the distant music. A searing, white-hot pain exploded across my cheek, and the force of the blow sent me staggering sideways. I crashed against the stone balustrade, the rough edge scraping my back.

My ears were ringing. My cheek felt like it was on fire, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

I slowly pushed myself up, my stunned gaze fixed on my father. He stood there, his hand still slightly raised, his face an unreadable mask of fury.

He had never hit me before. Ever.

In all my years of being a disappointment, a quiet, wolfless shadow in the corner of his life, he had never once laid a hand on me.

Until now. For her.

"You will learn to respect your Luna," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "And you will learn to respect your Alpha."

He turned his back on me then, putting a protective arm around Marley’s shoulders and guiding her back into the warmth and light of the party. Aunt Clara shot me a look of horrified pity before scurrying after them, leaving me alone in the cold and the dark.

I touched my throbbing cheek, my fingers coming away wet. I didn't feel the pain. I didn't feel the cold stone at my back. I didn't feel anything at all.

It was as if that single, brutal act had cauterized a wound that had been bleeding my entire life. The part of me that had desperately, foolishly, hoped for a shred of his affection had just been struck dead.

I looked at the closed door, at the muffled sounds of celebration within. They had their new family. Their perfect Luna.

And I had nothing.

No, that wasn't true.

I had a new, cold certainty settling in the pit of my stomach. A certainty as hard and unforgiving as the stone beneath my feet.

I would never beg for his love again. I would never cry for my mother in this house again.

And one day, they would all regret this night.