After My Alpha Rejected Me for His Mistress

I didn't sleep.

The rejection scar stayed cold all night. My wolf had finally stopped screaming around three in the morning, but the silence she left behind was worse. It felt like standing in a room where someone had just died.

I sat at the desk until dawn, writing. Not the notebook this time—formal documents. The tribunal request. Every line had to be exact. I'd been drafting it in my head for ten days, but now I had to get it on paper before Kingston realized what I was doing.

The language was specific. Lycan Council law gave a rejected Luna the right to sovereign arbitration if the rejection constituted fraud or theft. I had to prove premeditation. I had the notebook. I had dates. I had his exact words, rehearsed in his office with Anais beside him.

I wrote until my hand cramped. Then I kept writing.

When the sun came up, I packed my bag. Not much. Clothes. The notebook. A few things that were mine before I came here. I left the ceremonial jewelry Kingston had given me on the dresser. I didn't want it.

The Luna's Mantle was still under the bed where I'd kept it for two years. I pulled it out, shook the dust off, and folded it carefully. The silver thread caught the light. I'd stitched every sigil myself. Protection markings along the hem. Pack history woven into the collar. It was supposed to be for my inauguration ceremony.

Kingston had promised me that ceremony every season for five years. He never scheduled it.

I tucked the mantle under my arm and left the room.

---

I was halfway down the corridor when I heard Anais's voice.

She was in my old room—the one I'd had before she took the Luna's quarters. The door was open. I stopped.

Anais stood in the center of the room, holding something up to the window. It took me a second to realize what it was.

The mantle.

She must've come looking for it. Maybe Kingston told her to. Maybe she was just curious. She shook it out, examined the stitching, ran her fingers along the silver thread.

Then she put it on.

The reaction was immediate.

Anais gasped—sharp, shocked—and clawed at the fabric. Red welts spread across her shoulders and neck where the mantle touched her skin. She tore it off with a strangled sound and dropped it on the floor like it had bitten her.

I stood in the doorway and watched.

She was breathing hard, staring at the marks on her own skin. Her fingers hovered over the welts but didn't touch them. She didn't understand. I could see it in her face—the confusion, the faint edge of fear.

I walked into the room.

Anais looked up. For a second, neither of us said anything.

I bent down, picked up the mantle, and folded it. The fabric was warm under my hands. Not burning. Just warm.

"It's keyed to my blood," I said quietly.

Anais blinked. "What?"

"The mantle." I smoothed the folds. "It's a Luna's ceremonial piece. Blood-bound. It only answers to the wolf who made it."

Her hand went to her neck, where the welts were already fading but still visible. "You didn't tell anyone."

"No one asked."

I tucked the mantle under my arm again and turned to leave.

"Natalie."

I stopped. Didn't look back.

Anais's voice was careful. Measured. "Kingston said the ward would transfer. He said it was pack property."

"He was wrong."

"But if it's blood-bound—"

"Then it's mine," I said. "Not his. Not yours. Mine."

I walked out before she could respond.

---

The pack administrative office was on the first floor of the main house. I'd spent five years in that room, managing alliance correspondence, filing territory reports, organizing documents Kingston never looked at. I knew where everything was.

The Lycan Council filing protocols were in the third cabinet, second drawer. I pulled them out and set them on the desk.

The request form was two pages. I filled it out by hand. Name. Pack. Rejection date. Grounds for arbitration.

I checked the box for *fraud*.

In the explanation section, I wrote: *The rejection was executed as a premeditated mechanism to reclassify blood-bound Luna Ward magic as unclaimed pack property without the bonded Luna's consent. I have documentation.*

I signed it. Dated it. Folded it into the Council envelope.

The submission process was simple. I'd done it a hundred times for other pack business. I walked the envelope to the courier station at the edge of the territory and handed it to the on-duty runner.

"Lycan Council. Priority filing."

The runner took it without comment. He didn't ask questions. He just nodded and left.

I watched him disappear into the trees.

It was done.

---

I went back to my room and waited.

The notification would reach the Lycan King's court within the hour. Kingston would get his copy by afternoon. He'd know I'd filed. He'd know I wasn't walking away quietly.

I sat on the bed with the mantle in my lap and traced the silver thread with my fingertips. My wolf was still silent, but I could feel her now—faint, deep, like a heartbeat under water.

She was waiting.

So was I.

---

Kingston's copy of the filing notification arrived at 2:47 that afternoon.

I know because I was standing outside his office when Beta Garrett delivered it. I wasn't eavesdropping this time. I was just passing through. But I heard Kingston's voice through the door—low, controlled, the kind of tone he used when he was angry but didn't want to show it.

"She filed a tribunal request."

Anais's voice, quieter: "Can you refuse it?"

"No."

A long pause.

"If I refuse, it's an admission of fraud," Kingston said. "The Council will investigate anyway. And if they find—"

He stopped.

I didn't wait to hear the rest. I kept walking.

Behind me, the office door stayed closed.

I smiled.