The Luna Who Banished Her Alpha Mate

The morning seemed to crawl by at a maddening pace as I waited for my mate’s return. When Preston finally walked through the door, fatigue etched into every line of his face, he didn’t waste a second before launching into an explanation. His voice was hoarse, strained with either worry or weariness—perhaps both.

“Tricia was burning up with fever all night,” he said, dropping his keys on the counter. “Nothing worked—it just wouldn’t go down.”

“Is she alright now?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral, even as the name 'Tricia' hit my ears like a cold gust of wind. It wasn’t just a name—it was a reminder. Tricia was Gwen’s daughter, the child Preston rushed to every time she so much as sneezed.

How ironic, I thought. He showed more devotion to someone else’s child than he ever did to his own mate.

He stopped what he was doing, his expression twisting in irritation. “Are you being sarcastic again?” he asked, his tone clipped. A long sigh escaped him, the weight of it unclear—was it real exhaustion or just for show? “I didn’t sleep at all. I’m beyond tired.”

“Then you should lie down for a while,” I replied, reaching for my bag without looking at him. “I have work to do.”

The responsibilities of being Luna didn’t pause for personal drama.

“Marcia…” he said, grabbing my wrist gently. “What’s going on with you?”

He was trying, or at least pretending to. “We’ll reschedule the anniversary celebration for another time, okay?” he added.

His voice was soft, almost pleading, and I gave him a weak smile—more of a reflex than anything sincere. “I’m not angry,” I murmured, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.

He wrapped his arms around me, and I stood there, unmoving, as his embrace offered no comfort—only more confusion. “There’s going to be a gathering this weekend,” he said into my hair. “A major one. Lots of packs will be attending. Come with me?”

The Cold Moon Pack had significant status in Westbrook Town and beyond. Such events weren’t just social—they were political. Preston, as Alpha, thrived at these gatherings, surrounded by fellow leaders eager to align with him. Once, being his Luna felt like a privilege. Now, I only felt like an accessory.

Despite holding the title, I remained an outsider in the eyes of the elders and warriors. Their cold glances and judgmental whispers never faded. To them, I was a placeholder, tolerated but not respected.

I recalled the countless times I had brought Preston food or medicine—even during his meetings—only to be dismissed or ignored in front of his peers. Never once did he show me the courtesy of public acknowledgment.

The sound of his teeth grinding brought me back to the present. His irritation was bubbling to the surface. “Do whatever you want,” he muttered before heading upstairs.

I chose not to attend the gathering. That decision wasn’t born of defiance—it was exhaustion. But I hadn’t anticipated that he’d take her in my place.

While buried in Luna duties later that day, my phone vibrated over and over. I finally gave in and glanced at it. Notifications from social media flooded the screen. I opened the app and was immediately confronted with image after image from the gathering.

There she was—Gwen—everywhere. Smiling, laughing, her arm looped through Preston’s. She mingled easily with the Alphas, her presence radiating comfort and charm.

I scrolled through them, noting one odd absence: Beta Clifton. He was nowhere to be seen in the photos. Perhaps he had chosen not to attend, refusing once again to support Preston’s reckless choices. I had often scolded Clifton for his indifferent attitude toward his Alpha’s orders, yet his quiet defiance somehow always impressed me.

As I stared at the images, a question formed in my mind, uninvited and painful:

Why wasn’t she chosen as Luna instead of me?

One particular photo arrested my attention. Preston was carrying Gwen in his arms across a stretch of manicured lawn. Her head rested against his chest, her eyes closed in delight. Around them, wolves from different packs clapped and cheered, shouting about how perfect they looked together.

Something in me cracked. I couldn’t stop myself. I found the comment section and typed: Perfect match. A single clapping emoji followed.

Then I closed the app, silenced my phone, and shut off the mindlink. I wanted nothing more than quiet. Just quiet.

By the time I wrapped up my work, night had blanketed the skies. The silence around me was thick, almost comforting. When I finally turned my phone back on, dozens of missed calls and unread messages from Preston filled the screen.