The Alpha Who Lost His Luna

“Clarisse, we’ve arranged a Mateship Ceremony for you,” her mother’s voice resonated in her mind, calm yet urgent. “Your blood is becoming unstable with each passing day. Only an Alpha’s bond can bring balance, keep you safe, and protect what’s inside you.”

Clarisse sat alone in the dimly lit room, her back pressed against the wall, eyes tracing the shadows that stretched across the corners. A suffocating silence lingered between them, thick with the weight of unspoken expectations. She knew her mother would speak again, offering the familiar lifeline she had extended countless times before.

“If you truly don’t wish for this,” her mother continued softly, “I can speak with your father. We can cancel everything. No one will force you into it.”

Clarisse’s lips curved slightly as she responded, her voice steady, resolute, carrying a calm she didn’t quite feel inside. “I’m ready, Mom. I’ll go through with the arranged mateship.”

There was a long pause, punctuated only by the distant rustle of leaves through the mental link. Then, her mother’s voice trembled, disbelief seeping through. “You… you mean it? You’ve agreed?”

“Yes,” Clarisse repeated, her tone unwavering, deliberate. “I’ve agreed. But I’ll need a little time to settle things with the Diamond Pack first. Please start preparations for the ceremony.”

She ended the mind link before asking about the Alpha her parents had chosen. At that moment, it didn’t matter who he was, what he had heard of her delicate condition, or whether he understood the volatile nature of her blood. All she needed was someone willing to mate with her—someone strong enough to endure what her body demanded.

Despite what everyone believed, Clarisse was not dying—at least, not yet. Her Lycan bloodline surged within her, a force too wild for her body to handle alone. Each day, she grew weaker, fighting the storm of strength that threatened to consume her from within.

Her mother had long urged her to find another Alpha, someone who could stabilize her. For years, Clarisse had been with Alpha Paul, a relationship that had promised so much but had left her standing alone in her battles with her blood. Paul refused to mate with her, insisting on a condition that had proven impossible for her to meet.

“I won’t mark you as mine unless you give me an heir,” he had said years ago. “That’s the only agreement between us. Nothing else.”

Clarisse had tried, countless times, but her body had betrayed her. Her blood raged, uncontrolled, each day a battle for survival, each night a struggle to maintain composure. And just a month ago, Paul announced a solution that shattered everything she thought she knew.

A breeder had arrived—a young woman named Lira, orphaned and alone, marked by tragedy. She was here to serve the pack, to fulfill the role of carrying the Alpha’s heir. Clarisse had felt pity for her, sympathy for a life too heavy with sorrow, but she never expected the turn of events that followed.

Earlier that day, before her mother had contacted her, Paul had made a declaration.

“Lira is pregnant,” he had announced, voice full of pride and authority. “She will bear my heir.”

The words struck Clarisse like a thunderclap. Lira had not only been a breeder but had also become intimately involved with Paul. Her mind raced, disbelief mixing with a growing ache in her chest. The man she had loved for eight long years, the one she had trusted with her heart and life, had chosen another.

The mental link with her mother snapped, leaving Clarisse staring into the shadows of her room, her thoughts heavy with the revelation. From downstairs came faint sounds of celebration—the soft clink of glasses, laughter carried up from the packhouse. Paul, her childhood love, the man she had dreamed of forever, was hosting a party for Lira, the woman who now carried his child.

A soft knock broke her reverie, followed by the gentle creak of the door opening. Lira stepped inside, every motion dripping with smug satisfaction. Her hands rested protectively over her slight belly, a silent yet pointed display.

“Clarisse,” Lira said, voice honeyed and sweet, carrying an undertone of malice, “why not join us? We’re celebrating my pregnancy. It would mean a lot to have you there.”

Clarisse’s eyes narrowed, piercing through Lira’s mask of innocence to the cunning beneath. “I have work to finish,” she replied, her voice cold, sharp. “You enjoy your celebration.”

Lira took a step closer, leaning in with a whisper that was meant to wound. “Of course, you wouldn’t want to see it. I’m giving Paul what you never could. Finally, he’ll have the heir he deserves.”

Her words were a knife, twisting deep inside Clarisse, but she forced her jaw tight and met Lira’s gaze without faltering. “Is that what you need to feel powerful? Parading your pregnancy to hurt me? Pathetic.”

Lira’s sweet façade cracked, her eyes narrowing in malice. “Perhaps Paul wouldn’t have needed someone else if you weren’t… incapable, barren.”

Before Clarisse could react fully, the slap landed. Time seemed to slow as Lira’s hand connected with her cheek, leaving a red mark blooming across her skin. Silence followed, the room suspended in shock.

The door flung open suddenly, and Paul entered, eyes blazing with immediate anger. He strode directly toward Lira, who clutched her face, a faint whimper escaping her lips.

“Clarisse!” Paul’s voice snapped like a whip. “What in the world are you doing?”

Clarisse stood tall, her face carefully composed, betraying none of the rage or heartache inside. “Ask her,” she said, voice steady, “ask her what she said to me.”

“I don’t need to ask,” Paul snapped, ice in his tone. His gaze drilled into her, cold and piercing. “I know you. I know your bitterness. You can’t bear that Lira is giving me what you couldn’t.”

Her heart tightened, a painful twist that threatened to shatter her resolve, but she refused to cry. “Then maybe you never really knew me, Paul,” she whispered.

He didn’t reply. His attention had shifted entirely to Lira, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face with gentle familiarity. The scene cut deeper than any words, any betrayal—watching the man she had loved, the one she had once believed would never leave her, give warmth and reassurance to another.

As Paul led Lira away, his voice soft and comforting, Clarisse closed the door behind them. She slid to the floor, pressing her back against it, memories flooding her—laughter shared in the moonlight, promises whispered in shadows, moments that had meant everything. Now, they lay in ruins, scattered by betrayal, heartbreak, and the cold triumph of another.

Clarisse pressed her fingers into the floor, a silent anchor against the storm of her emotions. Her Lycan blood throbbed within her, wild and untamed, but she drew a shuddering breath. She would survive. She had to. The Diamond Pack still needed her, and even in her grief, she knew she could not let Paul’s choice define her. Not yet.