The Luna Who Banished Her Alpha Mate

Preston’s voice drifted into my thoughts through the mind link, colored with what sounded like guilt.

“Marcia, Gwen’s raising a child all by herself. She doesn’t have anyone here. I’m the only one she can count on.”

The words struck me like icy water. It was almost laughable—he forgot that I, too, was isolated. I had no one either, except for him. But that didn’t seem to matter.

“I get it already,” I replied, forcing myself to stay level. “She’s clearly had a tough time.”

But the faint sarcasm in my voice must’ve registered because he fired back immediately, his tone sharp and defensive.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Why are you talking like that?”

“I said I understand,” I repeated, the bitterness beginning to seep through my carefully held restraint. “Is that not enough?”

“Why do you have to sound so cold?” he shot back, his patience clearly waning.

Letting out a long sigh, I answered tiredly, “What exactly do you want me to say?”

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until he finally muttered, “Fine. Do whatever you want,” and severed the link abruptly.

The irony clung to me like smoke. If I dared question his frequent visits to Gwen, I was being unreasonable. If I asked him when he’d come home, I was labeled clingy. Now, even when I tried to be understanding, it still rubbed him the wrong way.

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, pushing away the urge to cry over the familiar, exhausting loop. I needed to redirect my energy—find a version of myself that didn’t revolve around him. But was that even possible now that I had silenced my wolf?

As night fell, I remained at the inn, swallowed by memories and regrets. Every choice I had made circled my mind like a predator stalking its prey. I couldn’t bring myself to return to the pack house—not when every corner reminded me of a love that had soured.

Eventually, though, I made my way back. The house was quiet, and Preston was nowhere to be found. I showered, scrubbing away the residue of the day, and curled up in bed, hoping to escape into the numbness of sleep.

Just as I felt myself drifting, the mind link flared open again. Preston’s voice was strained and panicked.

“Marcia… my stomach... it hurts. Bad.”

I barely managed to mumble something in return before sleep overtook me again. Somewhere in the haze of dreaming, I heard him calling my name, but it felt distant, almost like an echo from another life.

A sharp noise woke me—a door creaking open. Preston stood at the foot of the bed, his face twisted in pain.

“Marcia, what happened to you? You used to care when I felt like this,” he said, his voice low and wounded.

His words pulled at memories I had desperately tried to lock away. I remembered one time clearly: he’d had a stomachache, and I had rushed to his office with medicine. It had been pouring, but I didn’t hesitate. I showed up drenched, my clothes clinging to me, water dripping off my hair. His subordinates had laughed at the sight. Not a single one showed concern that the Luna was standing there, soaked and shivering.

Preston had done nothing to stop them. In fact, his only reaction had been annoyance.

“Don’t come to my office again like this,” he had said coldly. “It’s embarrassing.”

That day, it had been Beta Clifton who noticed my shaking hands and chilled skin. Without a word, he handed me a warm cup of chocolate tea—my favorite—and led me to a seat to rest.

Clifton had always been quietly protective, stepping in during moments when Preston failed me. And as I thought more deeply, I realized that Clifton had been assigned to Cold Moon Pack around the same time I had arrived.

We had a shared history, one that went far beyond titles. We were childhood friends, growing up in the same small town. We used to play tag through the forests, racing barefoot through the trees without a care. Later, we both attended the prestigious academy for wolves, where I first saw Alpha Preston. I’d fallen for Preston back then, like a foolish girl caught in a fairytale—long before I knew he was my fated mate.

Pulled from the past, I blinked at the man in front of me.

“Are you doing any better now?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “I think we’re out of medicine. You might want to go pick some up.”

Preston’s expression soured, his agitation mounting. Without warning, he grabbed my wrist, his grip forceful.

“Marcia, how long are we going to keep arguing about Gwen?” he demanded. “I told you, there’s nothing going on between us!”

His voice thundered in the quiet room, but I met his gaze with a calm, indifferent expression.

“Okay,” I said softly, the flatness in my voice clashing with the intensity of his anger.

That only made him angrier. He turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence.

But to me, that silence was a gift. It wrapped around me, peaceful and light. A rare moment of calm in the chaos he always brought with him.

My mind wandered again—to Clifton. He had always been my quiet anchor, my source of strength when I had none left. In the face of Preston’s dismissiveness, Clifton had offered dignity. And without realizing it, I had always leaned a little closer to that quiet, dependable warmth.