After Ninety-Nine Ceremonies, I Rejected My Mate

The Moon Ceremony pavilion glowed with a thousand silver lanterns, each one casting dancing shadows across the gathered wolves of the Black Crest Pack. I stood at the entrance, my white Luna gown pristine despite the earlier events, my spine straight despite the weight crushing my chest.

"Olivia, dear, how... punctual." Eleanor Hayes's voice cut through the murmur of conversation like a blade wrapped in silk. The former Luna sat at the high table, her gray hair crowned with a circlet of moonstones that caught the light with every turn of her head. "Still wearing white, I see. After ninety-nine ceremonies, one might think you'd choose a different color."

The laughter that rippled through the crowd felt like claws against my skin. I forced my lips into a pleasant smile, the same one I'd perfected over seven years.

"White suits hope, doesn't it?" I replied softly, taking my assigned seat—not at the high table where a true Luna would sit, but at a side table with the lesser pack members.

Eleanor's eyes glittered with malice. "Hope? Is that what we're calling desperation these days?" She leaned forward, her voice carrying to every corner of the pavilion. "Tell me, common wolf, do you keep count? Or have you lost track of how many times my son has chosen duty over... whatever it is you offer?"

*Let me rip her throat out,* Luna snarled, pacing restlessly in my mind.

But I couldn't. I wouldn't. My gaze found Ethan across the pavilion, sitting in the Alpha's chair, Victoria positioned at his right hand where I should have been. He watched his mother torment me, his dark eyes unreadable, his silence more damning than any words could be.

"Each ceremony is a blessing," I managed, though the words tasted like broken glass. "The Moon Goddess has her timing."

"The Moon Goddess," Eleanor scoffed, "has made her opinion quite clear. Ninety-nine times clear."

Victoria rose from her seat then, a crystal goblet of ceremonial wine in her hand. She moved with the fluid grace of a predator, her smile sweet as poisoned honey. "Now, Eleanor, we shouldn't be too harsh. After all, Olivia's persistence is... admirable."

She glided toward me, and every instinct screamed danger. But I remained seated, trapped by protocol and the hundred eyes watching this performance.

"A toast," Victoria announced, raising her goblet. "To our patient Olivia, who understands that true love sometimes means accepting your place."

As she leaned forward, her hand tilted. The deep red wine cascaded down, drenching my white gown in a spreading stain that looked like blood in the lantern light. The gasps quickly turned to laughter—cruel, knowing laughter that echoed off the pavilion walls.

"Oh!" Victoria's hand flew to her mouth in exaggerated shock. "How clumsy of me. Your beautiful gown... the one you've worn so many times..."

The wine soaked through to my skin, cold and sticky. I stood slowly, dignity the only armor I had left. Ethan half-rose from his chair, then settled back, his jaw tight but his intervention absent.

"Excuse me," I whispered, fleeing toward the back of the pavilion as the laughter followed me like a pack of hunting wolves.

I pressed myself against the cold stone wall behind the pavilion, my chest heaving as Luna thrashed inside me. The stained gown clung to my skin, the sweet scent of wine mixing with the bitter taste of humiliation.

*Enough,* Luna howled. *This is enough!*

My hands shook as I tried to blot the stain with trembling fingers. Through the wall, I could hear Eleanor's voice carrying on about "breeding" and "suitable matches," each word another nail in the coffin of my dignity.

I needed to prepare for the full-moon hunt—the ceremony's traditional ending. My ritual items were stored in the small preparation chamber nearby. At least there, I could find a moment's peace to steady my racing heart.

The chamber door creaked as I pushed it open. My preparation basket sat on the wooden table, just where I'd placed it this morning. But as I lifted the lid, my heart sank.

The sacred Luna oils, carefully distilled from moonflowers over seven full moons, had been diluted with common water. The silvery sheen was gone, replaced by a cloudy, useless mixture. My ritual candles—hand-dipped in blessed beeswax—had been replaced with cheap, mismatched substitutes that would never hold the sacred flame.

"No," I whispered, my fingers trembling as I sorted through the ruined items. This wasn't accident or neglect. This was deliberate.

The horn sounded outside, calling all wolves to prepare for the hunt. In minutes, I would be expected to join them, to run beneath the full moon with diluted oils and false candles, my stained gown marking me as the pack's fool.

And somewhere in the pavilion, Victoria was smiling, knowing she had sabotaged not just my items, but my very last shred of hope.