The Alpha’s Rejected Bond The Feast She Gave Away

But I was usually so consumed by pack duties that my paws barely touched the den floor. The household omega handled all the meal preparations—when would I ever have time to organize a Moon-Turn feast for sixty wolves?

I let out a low breath through my nose.

But it was the Winter Solstice. Let it go.

The Feast Steward approached, head bowed respectfully. "All the courses have been laid out, Alpha."

I surveyed the long table. "Please, everyone, begin."

My bond-mother didn't move. No one dared reach for the serving dishes.

I glanced at Howl, my eyes asking silently: Are we eating or not?

He rose with that familiar appeasing smile. "Mother, why don't you try the braised elk heart first..."

She prodded at it with her claws.

"What kind of portion is this? Sliced so thin it wouldn't satisfy a newborn pup."

"Roasted stag? Wasteful. I heard the hunters took down a prime breeding male for this..."

"Pretty arrangement of herbs, I suppose. Can you eat decoration?"

Every single dish failed to meet her standards.

She critiqued for a full thirty minutes before finally deigning to speak.

"Well. I suppose everyone may eat now."

Wolves began to reach for food, but the atmosphere had grown suffocating. The scent of tension hung thick in the air.

I kept my head lowered, spooning bone broth into my mouth without tasting it.

Then her gaze landed on me.

"Selene, your pack must have accumulated quite the territory resources this year?"

I gave a measured reply. "The hunts have been decent."

"What's the point of gathering resources?"

She sighed with theatrical heaviness.

"For a female, bloodline is what matters most. Look at your bond-sister—she holds no rank, but she keeps that den running like a well-oiled machine. And those two pups? Raised beautifully."

Joryn smiled with practiced sweetness. "Mother, please, don't say that. It's simply my duty to the pack..."

"I'm stating facts!"

My bond-mother's voice rose sharply, carrying the edge of a warning growl.

"A female who can't bear pups—what good is all the territory in the world?"

The entire table went silent. I could hear heartbeats quickening around me.

My grip tightened around my spoon until my knuckles went white.

"Mother!"

Howl shot to his feet, his laugh strained. "Let's just eat, shall we? What are you even saying?"

She let out a cold, barking laugh.

"Three years of mating bond and not a whisper of pups. I can't even mention it?"

"I told you from the start—don't bond with some pack-leading female. But did you listen? The neighboring den's daughter, Tessara Valehowl, mated into the eastern territory. She whelped her second litter last winter. Both male pups!"

"We've... been focused on our duties. We're not ready for pups yet."

Howl's voice wavered, his scent souring with anxiety.

"Not ready?"

My bond-mother laughed, the sound sharp and mocking.

"You think I'm a doddering old wolf? She's barren!"

Whispers rippled around the table like wind through dry leaves. Every pair of eyes fixed on my belly, nostrils flaring to catch any hint of fertility in my scent.

I closed my eyes. Drew a slow breath through my nose.

Two winters ago, Howl and I had visited the Healer's Den for testing.

His seed-count was dangerously low—barely twenty percent viability.

The healer had been blunt: natural conception was nearly impossible.

Howl had begged me to keep it quiet.

"I'm a male wolf. I can't lose face like this. The pack would see me as weak."

"If Mother pushes about grandpups, I'll handle it."

I had agreed.

So we told everyone we simply weren't ready for pups yet.

But my bond-mother had decided the fault was mine. And now she was publicly shaming me before the entire gathering.

I looked at Howl.

He kept his head down, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Selene, just... bear with it. Mother's only venting her frustrations."

My brow furrowed.

This was him "handling it"?

My bond-mother picked up a fertility nut from the ceremonial bowl with her claws and held it toward me.

"Selene, eat this seed-blessing."

"Even the flowers in the meadow can reproduce. But apparently, some wolves cannot."

"Tell me—was your scent a little too available when you were young? Ran with too many males and ruined your womb?"

The room went deathly still. I could feel the weight of sixty gazes pressing down on me.

That single accusation ground my dignity and reputation into the dirt beneath the feast table.

And finally, I understood.

From the moment she'd demanded I arrange this Moon-Turn feast, through every passive-aggressive jab since—