Broken by the Alpha, Reborn as Queen
I was the Luna of Silver Lake, yet I spent my mornings cooking eggs for my Alpha mate while his mistress, Keyla, sat in my rightful seat.
I endured the humiliation for the sake of the bond, until the day my mother found Keyla poisoning the pack's water supply.
To hide her crime, Keyla murdered my mother in cold blood.
I screamed for justice, begging Garrison to open his eyes.
But he didn't look at the evidence. He looked at the merger Keyla’s father offered.
"She's hysterical," he told the guards, stepping over my mother's body to protect his mistress.
To seal their alliance, he dragged me to the Great Hall and publicly rejected me, severing our soul-bond to sell me off to a sadistic Alpha for mining rights.
He expected me to beg. He expected the weak, bloodline-cursed Omega to crumble.
Instead, I accepted the rejection with a smile.
That night, I drank a potion to erase my scent and threw myself into the storm, faking my death.
Garrison thinks I’m a corpse at the bottom of a cliff, and rumors say he’s finally drowning in regret.
He has no idea that the pain didn't kill me. It triggered the ancient, legendary blood of the White Wolf.
Now, standing on the ridge with a Rogue mercenary army, I’m no longer the wife who cooks breakfast.
I’m the monster at his gates, and I won't stop until his entire world is ash.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 4
Janette POV
The Great Hall was suffocatingly packed. Every wolf in Silver Lake was there to witness the spectacle: the public execution of a weak Luna's status.
I stood in the center of the circle. Dressed in a simple white shift, stripped of all jewelry, I looked less like a Luna and more like a sacrificial lamb.
Garrison stood on the dais. He looked majestic in his Alpha furs, but shadows clung to his eyes. Maybe a sliver of conscience remained, or maybe he just didn't like the political optics of discarding his Fated Mate.
Keyla stood to the side, clad in a crimson dress that clashed violently with the solemnity of the room. She was practically vibrating with anticipation, her smile predatory.
The Elder struck the ceremonial gong. The sound reverberated through the hall, instantly silencing the murmurs of the pack.
"Janette Meyers Gardner," Garrison’s voice boomed, amplified by the acoustics of the hall. "You have failed to uphold the duties of Luna. Your bloodline is weak. Your family is tainted."
The crowd murmured in agreement. I kept my chin high, refusing to cower. I focused on the burning sensation igniting in my chest. It was getting harder to ignore. My inner wolf was thrashing, not in sorrow, but in pure, unadulterated rage.
"For the survival and prosperity of the Silver Lake Pack," Garrison continued, stepping down from the dais to stand directly before me.
Here it came. The words that would sever our souls.
"I, Garrison Gardner, Alpha of the Silver Lake Pack, reject you, Janette Meyers Gardner, as my mate and Luna."
The pain hit me instantly.
It wasn't a metaphor. It felt as though a physical hook had been driven into my heart and was now being wrenched out through my ribs. I gasped, doubling over, clutching my chest. The bond, that golden thread I had tried so hard to nurture, snapped with a violent, psychic backlash.
My knees hit the stone floor with a sickening thud. I couldn't breathe. It felt like I was bleeding out, though there was no blood to be seen.
Garrison stumbled back, clutching his own chest. He looked pale, his composure cracking for a split second. The bond cut both ways. He was feeling the loss of his other half, the rejection of the Moon Goddess’s gift.
But he recovered quickly, straightening up and masking his agony.
Silence filled the hall. They were waiting for me to beg. To cry. To refuse the rejection, which would leave us in a painful limbo.
I forced myself to stand. My legs shook violently, threatening to give way. Sweat poured down my back.
I looked Garrison dead in the eye.
"I, Janette Meyers Gardner," my voice rasped, then gained steel. "Accept your rejection."
*SNAP.*
The final tether broke. The emptiness that followed was vast and cold, like stepping out of a warm house into a blizzard. But it was also... liberating.
I turned my back on him.
"Wait," Garrison called out. "The guards will escort you to your room. You leave for Alpha Sterling's territory at dawn."
I didn't answer. I walked out of the hall, the crowd parting for me like the Red Sea. I saw Keyla’s smile falter. She had wanted to see me broken. Instead, she saw me standing.
Back in my room, I moved with frantic precision.
I didn't pack clothes. I didn't pack jewelry. I went to the loose floorboard under my bed and pulled out the stash I had hidden since Mom died.
Her grimoire. A map. And a small vial of liquid that smelled like rotten eggs and sulfur.
*Scent-masking potion.* An old, dangerous recipe I had brewed in secret.
I drank it in one agonizing gulp.
It burned like acid going down. I gagged, clutching my throat, tears pricking my eyes. Within seconds, I felt my scent—the smell of vanilla and jasmine that identified me—evaporate. To any wolf, I would smell like nothing. Like a ghost.
I threw open the window. The storm outside was raging, thunder shaking the house to its foundations. Perfect. The rain would wash away my tracks.
I climbed out onto the trellis. The wind whipped my hair into my face, blinding me momentarily.
I hit the ground and ran.
I didn't run toward the main road. I ran toward the Forbidden Forest. The territory of the Rogues.
It was suicide. Or it was freedom.
I ran until my lungs burned. I ran until the lights of the pack house were swallowed by the darkness.
Suddenly, a searing pain shot through my spine. It was a thousand times worse than the Rejection.
I fell into the mud, screaming. My bones were shifting. They were breaking and reforming with audible cracks.
It wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't eighteen. I had already shifted years ago.
But this was different. This wasn't my normal, small brown wolf. This was something ancient. Something massive.
My skin felt like it was tearing apart at the seams.
*Let me out,* a voice roared in the cavern of my mind. Not a whisper. A command.
*
Back at the pack house, Garrison was staring out the window. He rubbed his chest absently. The pain wasn't going away. In fact, it was getting worse—a deep, gnawing wrongness that settled in his marrow.
"She's gone," he whispered to the empty room.
He tried to reach for her scent, to track her within the house. But there was nothing. It was as if she had ceased to exist.
Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in his heart.