My Alpha Forced Me to Serve His Chosen Luna

The white dress felt like a second skin I had never asked for.

I stood in the back corner of the grand hall, pressed between two Omega servers who smelled like soap and nervousness. The fabric scratched at my collarbone. Plain linen. No embroidery. No silver thread. Nothing that would catch the light or draw an eye. That was the point, I realized. I was meant to disappear.

The hall itself was magnificent. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting fractured light across polished marble floors. Long tables stretched in perfect rows, draped in deep burgundy cloth, set with gold-rimmed plates and crystal stemware. At the far end, the dais rose like a stage, framed by the Ironveil banner—silver wolf on crimson field—and flanked by enormous arrangements of white roses and winter branches.

Every allied pack on the Eastern Seaboard had sent their Alphas and Lunas. I recognized the Ashwood delegation by their dark green formal wear, the Nighthollow contingent in midnight blue. Betas and Gammas filled the middle tables. Warriors lined the walls in dress uniforms. The air hummed with low conversation, the clink of glasses, the rustle of expensive fabric.

And I stood with the Omegas, holding a tray of empty champagne flutes I had been handed without explanation.

My wolf was silent. Not sleeping. Watching.

The doors at the front of the hall opened.

Jace walked in first.

He wore a black tuxedo, tailored so precisely it might have been painted on. His dark hair was swept back, his jaw clean-shaven, his posture the kind of effortless command that made people straighten in their seats without realizing they'd moved. Pine and iron rolled off him in waves, that Alpha scent I used to bury my face in, and I watched every head in the room turn toward him like flowers toward the sun.

Then Kinsley stepped through the doorway behind him.

The Luna Mantle draped across her shoulders like it had been made for her.

Silver embroidery gleamed against the crimson fur. She had pinned her blonde hair up in soft curls, leaving her neck bare, and the pale silk gown she wore beneath the mantle shimmered with every step. She looked delicate. Radiant. Like something out of a storybook.

She looked like a Luna.

The hall erupted in polite applause.

I felt my fingers tighten on the tray. The champagne flutes rattled. The Omega beside me—a young man named Evan, I think—glanced at me, then quickly away.

Jace led Kinsley to the center of the dais. He turned to face the crowd, one hand resting lightly at the small of her back, and the applause faded into expectant silence.

"Welcome," he said. His voice carried easily, rich and steady, the kind of voice that didn't need a microphone. "To the 50th Anniversary of the Ironveil Pack. Tonight we honor our history, our alliances, and our future."

Cheers. More applause. Glasses raised.

Jace smiled. "And tonight," he continued, "I want to introduce you to someone who has been the heart of this pack since we were children. Kinsley Webb."

He gestured to her. She dipped her head, modest, perfect, and the crowd murmured approval.

"Kinsley has stood beside me through every challenge," Jace said. "She understands what it means to lead with grace. To put the pack first. To be the steady hand that holds us together."

I watched his face. He wasn't lying. He believed every word.

Kinsley touched his arm, leaning in to whisper something I couldn't hear. He laughed. The sound was warm, easy, the kind of laugh I used to pull from him in the early mornings when we were alone.

Someone at the Ashwood table leaned toward their neighbor. I caught the motion from the corner of my eye. A woman in a dark green gown, her lips moving behind her champagne glass. Her companion glanced toward the back of the hall. Toward me.

Then another pair of eyes. An older Luna from Nighthollow, her expression carefully neutral, but her gaze lingering just a second too long.

Pity.

I saw it flicker across her face like a candle behind glass.

They knew.

Of course they knew. Five years I had been the unmarked mate, the almost-Luna, the woman who stood just outside the frame of every official photograph. Whispers traveled faster than wolves between allied packs. They had all heard the rumors. And now they were watching me stand in a white dress in the Omega corner while another woman wore my mantle.

I didn't cry.

That was the strangest part. I thought I would. I thought something inside me would shatter, the way glass shatters when you drop it, sudden and irreversible.

But nothing broke.

Instead, something hardened.

I stood there, tray in hand, and I watched Jace smile at Kinsley under the chandeliers. I watched the allied Alphas raise their glasses. I watched the Nighthollow Luna whisper to her mate, her eyes sliding toward me one more time before she looked away.

And I catalogued it.

Every face. Every whisper. Every flicker of satisfaction on Jace's face when the Ashwood Alpha clapped him on the shoulder and called Kinsley "a fine choice."

I memorized it the way I used to memorize financial ledgers in my father's study, back when I still thought being good at math was something I should hide because Jace found it "unglamorous."

The banquet stretched on. Courses arrived and disappeared. Speeches were made. Toasts were raised. Somewhere near midnight, the orchestra began to play, and Jace led Kinsley onto the floor for the first dance. Her pale gown swirled. The Luna Mantle stayed draped across her shoulders, heavy and undeniable.

I stayed in my corner.

When the last guests finally began to leave, when the hall started to empty and the Omegas were dismissed to clean, I slipped out through the side door into the cold night air.

The packhouse grounds were quiet. Snow had started to fall, light and soundless, dusting the stone pathways. I walked until I reached the edge of the forest, where the trees stood black against the sky.

I pulled out my phone.

My hands were steady.

I scrolled to a name I hadn't called in months. Louisa Hart. Nighthollow Pack. Venture capitalist. The only she-wolf I knew who had built her own empire without a mate's name attached to it.

I pressed call.

She answered on the second ring. "Gemma?" Her voice was sharp, alert. "It's two in the morning."

"I know," I said.

Silence. Then: "What happened?"

I looked back at the packhouse. Light spilled from the banquet hall windows. Inside, Jace was probably still standing on the dais, accepting congratulations, Kinsley at his side.

"I need a favor," I said.

Louisa didn't ask questions. She never did. "Tell me."

"I need a dress," I said. "Black and gold. Something no one will forget."

Another pause. Shorter this time. When she spoke again, I could hear the smile in her voice.

"Now we're talking."