After My Mate Humiliated Me for His Packmate

I spent the afternoon preparing the Luna ceremony dinner.

This was supposed to be sacred. The first formal meal shared between newly bonded mates during their retreat—a tradition older than most packs could trace. Sylvia had walked me through it years ago, her hands steady on mine as we folded napkins into the crescent shape that honored the Goddess. She had told me that this meal was when the bond truly settled, when two wolves became one unit before the Moon.

I roasted duck with wild thyme. I set the table with the white linen cloth I had packed specifically for this. I lit the ceremonial candles—seven of them, one for each phase of the moon cycle—and arranged them in the pattern Sylvia had drawn in her journal. The wine I had chosen was from the Harper pack's own vineyard, bottled the year I was born.

Everything was perfect.

Camden came downstairs just as I was setting the last plate. He stopped at the bottom step and looked at the table. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in his face—recognition, maybe. Appreciation.

Then Rory appeared behind him, still wearing his jacket.

"Wow," she said. "Fancy."

Camden smiled at her. "Maze goes all out."

He pulled out a chair. Not mine. The one to his left—the side where his mark sat beneath my claim.

Rory dropped into it without hesitation.

I stood there holding the wine bottle. My wolf pressed hard against my ribs, confused and alert.

"Cam," I said quietly. "This is the Luna ceremony dinner."

"I know." He pulled out his own chair and sat. "Rory's pack too. She should be part of it."

"It's a bonding tradition. Just mates."

Rory looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes. "Oh, I can go if it's a private thing—"

"Don't be ridiculous," Camden cut in. He reached for the wine bottle in my hand. "Sit down, Maze. You've been on your feet all day."

I sat.

I poured the wine.

I watched Camden refill Rory's glass before mine.

The duck was perfect. The thyme had released its oils just right. The candles burned steady and clean. And none of it mattered, because Rory was talking.

She told a story about a border patrol dispute from two years ago. Then another about a rogue encounter during a training exercise. Then a third about some packmate I had never met who had done something funny at a bonfire I had not attended. Camden laughed at every one. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his whole body angled toward her.

I cut my duck into smaller and smaller pieces.

When there was finally a pause, I set down my fork. "I prepared a Luna blessing for tonight. It's traditional to—"

"Hey, Ror," Camden said, turning to her as if I had not spoken. "What ended up happening with that northern boundary thing? The one Marcus was worried about?"

Rory launched into another story.

I picked up my wine glass. I drank slowly. I did not taste it.

My fingers found the mark-spot on my neck under the table. The bond was still there, humming faintly, but it felt thin now. Stretched.

The candles burned down to stubs. I never said the blessing.

---

Rory did not leave after dinner.

She helped Camden clear the table—something I had not asked her to do, something that should have been our quiet ritual together—and then she settled onto the couch with a book as if she had always lived here.

I washed the dishes alone. Through the kitchen window, I could see the pines black against the snow. The Moon was nearly full. Sylvia used to say that the Goddess saw everything most clearly in the days before the full moon. That nothing could hide.

I pressed my wet hands against the edge of the sink and breathed.

When I came back into the living room, Rory was still there. Camden was building up the fire. She was talking again—something about winter training rotations—and he was nodding, laughing, his whole attention on her.

I climbed the stairs without saying goodnight.

I heard them talking for another hour. Low voices. Rory's laugh, sharp and too familiar. And then, finally, footsteps in the hall.

I lay in the dark and waited.

Camden came in quietly. He undressed and slipped into bed beside me. His hand found my waist.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Fine."

"You seemed off at dinner."

I turned toward him. In the faint moonlight through the window, I could just make out his face.

"That was supposed to be our ceremony, Cam. Just us."

He sighed. Not angry. Just tired. Disappointed.

"Maze. She's my packmate. She's been part of my life since we were kids. A Luna doesn't exclude pack from sacred spaces—she makes room for everyone. That's what leadership is."

My wolf curled tight and small.

"I just thought—"

"I know what you thought." His thumb traced a circle on my hip. "But you're thinking like a daughter, not a Luna. You'll grow into it."

He kissed my forehead and rolled over.

I lay awake long after his breathing evened out.

Through the bedroom door, I could still smell it. Rory's musk, heavier now, layered into the air of the cabin like she had marked it.

I pressed two fingers to my mark-spot and stared at the ceiling.

A real Luna makes room.

I told myself that until the sky began to lighten.

But my wolf would not settle. She paced inside my ribs, restless and wary, and for the first time since Camden had marked me, I did not tell her she was wrong.