Forced to Kneel: My Alpha Sealed My Wolf and Chose Her

I didn't sleep. The dusty floorboards of the abandoned line-shack dug into my spine.

I lay in the dark, tracking the mate bond like a live wire.

It should be screaming guilt.

"Give me something real," I whispered to the empty room.

The bond ignored me. It broadcasted pure, raw confusion.

A hollow static hummed under my ribs.

"You're a coward," I told the bond, hoping he could feel the words. "You did this, and you can't even face it."

It felt exactly like Damian was standing in a room he didn't remember entering.

That hollow emptiness hurt worse than anger. I wanted clean rage. I wanted him to feel the devastation he just caused.

I wanted the bond to burn with his apologies.

Instead, I got this formless fog.

"Why aren't you fighting this?" I asked the silence.

My wolf paced in the back of my mind, agitated but silent.

She didn't have an answer either.

Every hour that ticked by felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest.

I waited for the snap. The sharp, searing pain of a Rejection.

It never came.

By dawn, the entire Pack knew.

Two hundred wolves with excellent noses don't keep secrets. The scent of betrayal had carried on the morning wind.

The Elder Council dragged us both into the assembly hall before the sun even crested the horizon.

The circular room hummed with whispered gossip.

Elder Maren slammed her cane against the stone floor.

The sharp crack silenced the room instantly.

"There's a process for this," Maren snapped.

Her sharp, tired eyes darted between Damian and me.

"If the bond is broken, you Reject her."

She pointed a gnarled finger at Damian.

"Publicly. Clean. Honest."

Damian stood rigid in the center of the floor.

"The Pack deserves to know where their Luna candidate stands," Maren finished.

"I stand right here," I said, my voice ringing out.

Maren ignored me. Her eyes stayed locked on the Alpha.

"Well?" Maren demanded.

Damian's jaw worked, the muscle ticking fast. He stared at the podium, refusing to meet my gaze.

"I'm not rejecting her," he stated flatly.

A short, ugly laugh scraped out of my throat.

The sound echoed in the quiet hall.

"Then what the fuck are you doing, Damian?" I asked.

He flinched.

"Watch your tone, Elara," one of the junior elders warned.

"No," I fired back, keeping my eyes locked on my mate. "He doesn't get to hide behind right now."

I took a step toward Damian.

"You won't Reject me, and you won't throw her out either," I pushed.

"I need time to figure this out," Damian muttered.

"Time for what? To decide which one of us gets the bedroom?"

"That isn't fair."

"Fair?" I asked. "You're just leaving me hanging in front of everyone."

He dragged both hands over his face. He pressed his palms into his eyes like a man fighting a migraine that wouldn't quit.

"I don't even remember how it started," he said.

"Try," I challenged.

"One minute I was in my study, going over the patrol routes."

"And the next?"

"Next thing—" He cut himself off, his throat bobbing.

Even he heard how thin the excuse sounded out loud.

"You expect the Council to believe you blacked out?" I asked.

"It's the truth."

"She's been with this Pack six years," Damian added.

His tone shifted, turning defensive.

"I'm not tossing her on a hunch."

My voice dropped. It stayed perfectly quiet.

"A hunch?"

The silence in the hall thickened.

"I walked in on you, Damian."

"I know what you saw," he argued.

"Do you?"

The bond flared between us.

It wasn't guilt. It wasn't desire.

It was that same foggy confusion, mixed with a sudden, fierce protectiveness.

But he wasn't aiming that protectiveness at me. He couldn't even aim it properly. It was just a blind shield thrown up in the dark.

Maren watched the exchange, her mouth set in a grim line.

"Enough," she commanded.

She leveled a hard look at Damian.

"No Rejection today," she ruled.

Her voice echoed off the stone walls.

"No verdict."

A murmur rippled through the gathered wolves.

"Elara remains the Luna candidate."

Maren struck her cane against the floor again.

"Wren stays in the house. We will revisit this."

I didn't wait for the formal dismissal. I turned and walked out.

Footsteps pounded the rug behind me.

Fingers wrapped around my wrist, halting my momentum.

Instant heat raced up my arm.

The bond sang. It hummed a perfect, sickening melody, pretending nothing was wrong.

It tried to tell me six years of shared life could override what I saw in my own bed.

I stared down at his grip.

"Elara," Damian pleaded.

I slowly met his eyes. The glassy haze from last night was gone, replaced by desperation.

"Release my arm," I warned.

"I need you to trust me," he said.

The words hung in the air.

Something inside me went cold and very calm.

"Trust you?" I asked.

He nodded once.

"I know how it looked," he tried to explain.

"I know how it looked, too."

"It wasn't me in that bed."

"It was your body."

"But not my mind," he insisted.

"You didn't choose her," I replied, my voice devoid of any warmth.

"I didn't," he agreed quickly.

"And you didn't choose me."

His grip loosened slightly. Confusion flashed across his features again.

"You just left me swinging," I continued.

"Elara, please."

"Do you get what that does to a person?" I asked.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He had no answer.

I twisted my arm, breaking his hold.

I didn't look back as I walked away.

I locked the door to the spare guest room and leaned against the wood.

The shake finally took me.

My hands trembled so violently I had to press them flat against my thighs.

"Stop," I ordered my own body.

The tremors ignored me.

Inside my chest, the bond pulsed.

It wasn't the singing warmth from the hallway. It was that wrong, new rhythm.

*Thump-thud. Thump-thud.*

It felt stronger now. Heavier.

Like something was testing the line from the other side, pushing against the mental barrier.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Get out of my head," I hissed.

The rhythm didn't break. It just beat harder.

I pushed off the door and stumbled into the attached bathroom.

I gripped the edges of the porcelain sink.

Dawn light crept through the frosted window, casting gray shadows across my face.

I stared at my own reflection. I looked exhausted. Hollowed out.

Then, I saw it.

The outer edge of my right iris flickered.

It flashed pure, glowing silver for half a second.

Then it vanished.

Before I could even process the color, the bond gave a hard, violent tug.

It wasn't a connection.

It was