After My Alpha Chose Her, the Lycan King Claimed Me

I run my fingers along the custom mahogany mantle one last time, feeling the smooth grain beneath my palm. Every detail in this room—from the warm honey tones of the wood to the placement of the windows to catch the morning light—I designed specifically for Christian. For us.

The Luna quarters of the Shadowpine Pack house gleam around me, the culmination of eight years of devotion and three months of meticulous renovation work. I arranged the furniture to create intimate conversation spaces. I selected fabrics that would be both elegant and comfortable. I even commissioned that mantle to be carved with subtle wolf motifs that represent our pack's heritage.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Two days. The marking ceremony is in two days, and after eight years as Christian's chosen mate, I'll finally be officially claimed as his Luna. My wolf stirs restlessly inside me, and I push down the familiar anxiety that comes with being a late bloomer. I shifted at twenty-one—five years later than most wolves—and that stigma has followed me like a shadow. But Christian chose me anyway. He saw past my weakness and gave me a chance to prove myself worthy.

I adjust the vase of wildflowers on the side table—Christian's favorite, the purple ones that grow near the eastern border. Everything is perfect. Everything is ready.

The door opens behind me, and I turn with a smile that dies on my lips.

Christian stands in the doorway, but something is wrong. His jaw is set in that hard line that means he's made a decision he knows I won't like. He won't meet my eyes, focusing instead on a point somewhere over my left shoulder.

"We need to talk," he says, his voice carrying that Alpha authority that makes my wolf want to bow her head in submission.

"Is something wrong with the design?" I gesture around the room, my heart starting to pound. "I can change whatever you—"

"The design is fine." He cuts me off, still not looking at me. "But plans have changed. You can't move into the Luna suite."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I actually take a step back, my hand reaching for the mantle to steady myself. "What? Christian, the ceremony is in two days. This is our home. I designed this for—"

"Faye is back."

Two words. Just two words, and my entire world tilts sideways.

"Faye Bradley?" My voice sounds strange to my own ears, high and thin. "Your childhood friend?"

"She's in trouble." Now Christian's voice takes on that protective tone I've heard him use when talking about pack members who need help. "She was cast out as a rogue. She's been living on the streets, Hazel. She has nowhere to go, and she needs the security of the Alpha wing."

"This is the Luna wing," I say, and I hate how my voice shakes. "This is supposed to be our wing. Our home. I spent three months—"

"I know what you spent." His tone sharpens with impatience. "But Faye needs protection right now. She's vulnerable. She doesn't even have a wolf, Hazel. She's completely defenseless."

"And I'm not?" The words burst out before I can stop them. "Christian, we're supposed to complete the mating ceremony in two days. Where am I supposed to—"

"You can stay in your current quarters for now." He waves a hand dismissively, as if eight years of waiting and three months of designing our future home can be brushed aside so easily. "We'll figure out the details later. Right now, Faye needs—"

The door opens again, and she's there.

Faye Bradley looks exactly like I remember from the pack photos Christian keeps in his office—delicate features, wide doe eyes, dark hair falling in soft waves around her face. She's pulling a suitcase behind her, and when she sees the room, her eyes fill with tears.

"Oh, Christian," she breathes, her voice trembling. "It's beautiful. It's perfect."

She walks past me—actually walks past me as if I'm not even there—and runs her hand along the mantle I designed. My mantle. She touches the wildflowers I arranged, and something inside my chest cracks.

"Hazel." Christian's hand is on my elbow, steering me toward the door. "Give Faye some space. She's been through a lot."

"This is my space," I say, but my voice has no strength behind it. My wolf is whimpering, confused and hurt, not understanding why our mate is choosing someone else.

"Don't be petty." Christian's voice drops low, meant only for my ears, but the words cut deeper than any blade. "She needs this more than you do. You're strong enough to handle a little disappointment."

He guides me into the hallway—the hallway I designed, with the sconces I selected and the paint color I agonized over—and closes the door.

I stand there, staring at the wood grain I personally chose, now shut firmly in my face. From inside the room, I hear Faye's delighted laughter and Christian's low murmur of reassurance.

My hand is still outstretched, reaching for a door handle that's no longer mine to turn.

And somewhere deep inside, my wolf begins to howl.