The Alpha's Lost Heir: A Rejected Luna's Revenge

Mara POV:

The glass slipped from Elena's limp fingers, shattering against the stone floor.

The sound was final, a sharp punctuation to the end of an era.

I immediately checked her pulse. It was gone. The Ghost Root had done its work perfectly. To the naked eye, and even to a werewolf's heightened senses, she was dead.

Her chest was still, her skin cooling rapidly beneath my touch.

I swallowed the hard lump in my throat.

"May the Moon Goddess guide your spirit, my Luna," I whispered into the silence.

It was a lie, of course. I knew her spirit wasn't journeying to the ancestors; it was simply trapped in a chemical cage, waiting for freedom.

I stood up and yanked open the door to the hallway.

"Alpha!" I screamed, forcing the panic to shred my voice. "Alpha Jackson! Help!"

It took three minutes.

Three entire minutes for the so-called mate of the Luna to arrive. When he finally appeared, he didn't run. He didn't rush.

He walked.

Jackson stood in the doorway, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. He looked at the bed, staring at the pale, lifeless form of his wife with zero emotion.

"Is it done?" he asked.

No tears. No dropping to his knees in anguish. Just a cold, clinical assessment.

"She is gone, Alpha," I said, my voice trembling with a genuine rage that I carefully masked as grief. "Her heart gave out. The poison... the stress... it was too much for her body to bear."

Candida appeared behind him a moment later. She was wrapped in a silk robe, looking as though she had been inconvenienced by a nap. She peered over Jackson's shoulder with wide, faux-innocent eyes.

"Oh no," she said, her voice dripping with synthetic sorrow. "Poor Elena. Is she really...?"

She didn't bother finishing the sentence. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, sharp and victorious.

"Cover her," Jackson ordered, his voice flat. "I don't want the Pack to see her like this. It projects weakness."

"Weakness?" I snapped, losing control for a split second. "She died of a broken heart, Jackson! She died because you betrayed her!"

Jackson's eyes flashed gold-his wolf rising to the surface in a warning snarl. "Watch your tone, Healer. Or you will join her."

He stepped fully into the room, but he didn't go to the bedside to touch her one last time. Instead, he went to the fireplace.

He picked up a poker and stirred the ashes where Elena had burned the supplements earlier that day.

"We need to move on," he said, staring into the soot. "The Pack needs stability. Candida, go prepare. We will hold the Luna ceremony tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" I gasped, horrified. "Her body isn't even cold!"

"The Pack cannot be without a Luna," Jackson said, turning his back on his dead wife. "It brings bad luck."

He looked at me with dead eyes. "Dispose of the body, Mara. Burn it. Bury it. I don't care. Just make sure it's gone before sunrise. I don't want a shrine for people to weep over."

"You won't even say goodbye?" I asked, tears of fury burning my eyes.

"I said my goodbyes a long time ago," he muttered.

He reached out and took Candida's hand. She beamed at him, practically skipping as they turned and left the room without a backward glance.

I stood alone with Elena. The silence they left behind was deafening.

"I promise you," I whispered to her sleeping form, my voice fierce. "He will pay."

I had to move quickly.

I wrapped Elena in a plain white sheet, shrouding her from the world. I gathered her few remaining belongings-a locket, a small bag of herbs.

Then, my eyes landed on the necklace on the bedside table. The Fated Mate bond necklace Jackson had given her years ago.

I picked it up. The silver felt heavy in my palm, weighed down by years of deceit.

With a sneer, I threw it into the fireplace.

I watched the silver chain turn black and begin to melt, symbolizing the absolute end of the Bloodmoon Pack's true lineage.

I lifted Elena into my arms. She was terrifyingly light, a featherweight burden of tragedy.

I carried her out the back exit, moving toward the shadows of the forest, toward the waiting car that would take us to the extraction point.

Behind me, the lights of the Pack House blazed through the windows. They were celebrating.

Let them celebrate.

They were dancing on an empty grave.