The Luna Who Defied Her Fated Mate’s Cruelty

My head collided with the edge of the desk, the impact sending a sharp pain through my skull and landing me in the hospital. Beckham George, future Alpha of the George Pack, was overwhelmed with guilt, repeatedly apologizing in front of both sets of parents.

“Kiana, I’m truly sorry,” he said, his deep voice heavy with regret. “I acted impulsively. As your mate, I should’ve handled this better.”

I lay in the hospital bed, my vision swimming, unable to speak. My parents, Alpha and Luna of the Mason Pack, glanced at me briefly before siding with him.

“Beckham is right,” my mother, Luna Laylani, said coolly. “Ruby is practically his sister. You’re overreacting.”

“If you hadn’t stepped on Ruby’s poster,” my father, Alpha Mason, added, “Beckham wouldn’t have pushed you in the chaos.”

The words cut deeper than the pain in my head. My wolf stirred within me, a low growl of protest, but I was too weak to respond. The matter was settled just like that—another instance of the pack’s hierarchy silencing my voice.

After my parents left, Beckham took my hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Kiana,” he said, his tone softer now, “Ruby is like a sister to me, nothing more. You’re my mate. You’re the one I care about.”

His sincerity made me doubt myself. Was I being too sensitive? Was I imagining the tension between him and Ruby?

The hospital door swung open suddenly, and Ruby Simmons strode in, her camera already pointed at me. “Kiana!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with concern. “I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay?”

Her presence made my skin crawl. Ruby was the biological daughter of the Simmons Pack Alpha, and her rise to influence within the werewolf community had been meteoric. Her inner wolf was cunning, and I could feel her calculating every move.

“I’m sorry,” Ruby continued, tears welling in her eyes. “If I hadn’t insisted on celebrating my birthday at the pack house, this wouldn’t have happened.”

I hated the way she always filmed everything, especially now, when I looked like a mess. Beckham noticed my discomfort and gestured for her to lower the camera.

“Ruby,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind, “Kiana’s had a rough day. Maybe give her some space.”

Ruby’s tears spilled over, and she sniffled dramatically. “I’m sorry, Kiana. I didn’t realize you disliked me so much. I’ll leave now.”

She spun on her heel and rushed out, Beckham calling after her before quickly following. The room fell silent, and I was alone again.

A nurse entered a moment later. Octavia Reyes, the pack’s healer, looked at me with a puzzled expression as she wiped away my tears. “Weren’t there a lot of people here just now? Why are you alone?”

I didn’t answer. I pulled the blanket over my head and cried until my chest ached.

That Thanksgiving, I spent it in the hospital while the Simmons and Georges attended the city’s largest pack gala, celebrating Ruby’s birthday. Her livestreams showed a day filled with influencers, celebrities, and the elite of the werewolf world. She received countless gifts and well-wishes, her fans even renting billboards to broadcast birthday greetings across the city.

All I got was a message from my adoptive parents, Alpha and Luna Ortiz, who were overseas.

“Kiana, you must be having a wonderful time today, right? If you get a chance, send us a video.”

But faced with the solitude of the hospital room, all I could muster was a weak “Thank you, Alpha, Luna.”

A few days later, I was discharged from the hospital, only to learn from the pack housekeeper that everyone had left for a world tour with Ruby.

Stunned, I texted my biological parents, who took half a day to respond.

“We forgot to mention,” my mother wrote. “Ruby wanted a world tour, so we’re accompanying her.”

I called Beckham, who apologized for not telling me sooner.

“Kiana, we’ll be traveling for about six months,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back lots of gifts.”

“Just hang in there and wait for me.”

His words did little to ease my disappointment. The disdain from the high-ranking pack members only deepened. Once, they’d pretended to be friendly because I was the Alpha’s daughter, but now they openly favored Ruby, their cruelty unrestrained.

They accused me of jealousy, of being a thief, and even of faking my illness for attention. The housekeepers, sensing my parents’ indifference, took a six-month vacation, leaving me to fend for myself.

At first, I cried to Beckham, seeking comfort, but his patience wore thin. “Kiana,” he said during one call, “you’re being dramatic. Stop trying to manipulate me.”

I swallowed the bitterness and stopped reaching out.

Meanwhile, Ruby posted dozens of updates daily, her livestreams filled with laughter and luxury. Her followers grew, and so did her influence.

Two weeks later, the pack healer informed me I had a rare heart condition. Without a transplant, I had only six months to live.

I crouched in the hospital hallway, clutching the diagnosis in my trembling hands, and sobbed until my throat was raw. When I finally calmed down, the first person I called was Beckham.

“Beckham,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m sick. I need you to come back.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a sigh. “Kiana,” he said, his tone laced with skepticism, “aren’t you a bit old to be faking an illness for attention?”

The line went dead, and I was left alone with the echo of his disbelief.