My Alpha Rejected Me for His Mistress

I attended the pack council meeting on Tuesday morning at nine. I wore the navy dress Declan liked and sat in the Luna's chair with my spine straight and my hands folded on the table. When the Gamma asked about the upcoming Harvest Moon Banquet preparations, I gave him the update I had prepared the night before. My voice was steady. No one looked at me twice.

After the meeting, I returned to my study and locked the door. I opened the secure channel and typed for forty minutes. Idris Crane responded within the hour with a list of documents he needed. I sent them before lunch.

The mark on my neck was still cold. I pressed two fingers to it while I worked, the way I always did now. It helped me remember.

On Wednesday, I met with the pack house event coordinator to finalize the Banquet seating chart. Aaliyah walked past the conference room twice. The second time, she paused at the door and smiled at me. I smiled back. She kept walking.

On Thursday, I reviewed the monthly healer supply inventory even though we had a dedicated pack healer now. I did it because writing down herb names in my own hand made me feel like I still knew who I was under all of this. Wolfsbane tincture. Arnica salve. Crushed valerian root. I knew every use by heart. I had not forgotten.

That night, Declan came to the Luna quarters. He sat on the edge of the bed and asked if I was feeling all right. I said I was fine, just tired. He kissed my forehead and left after twenty minutes. Through the bond, I felt the faint pull of his attention shifting somewhere else. Toward her.

I did not cry. I had cried once, for sixty seconds, on the first night. That was enough.

On Friday, I attended a small gathering in the pack lounge. It was supposed to be informal—just the inner circle, the families who had been part of Shadowridge's leadership for generations. Declan's sister was there with Sophia. Callum and his wife. A few of the senior warriors. And Aaliyah.

She was wearing that perfume again. The heavy floral one that made my wolf recoil every time I smelled it. It filled the lounge like smoke.

I sat on the sofa near the window with a glass of wine I was not drinking. Sophia came over and leaned against my knee. She was seven. She had her mother's dark curls and her uncle's grey eyes.

"Aunt Eleanor," she whispered. "Can we pick flowers tomorrow? For your study?"

I touched her hair. "Of course, sweetheart."

She smiled and went back to her mother.

Across the room, Aaliyah was laughing at something one of the warriors said. Declan was standing beside her with his hand resting on the back of her chair. Not touching her. Just close.

I looked away.

Then Aaliyah's voice cut through the low hum of conversation, bright and concerned. "Eleanor, are you feeling all right?"

The room went quiet. Not silent. Just quieter. The kind of quiet that means everyone is listening without looking like they are.

I turned toward her. She was smiling. It was the smile she used when she wanted something to sound kind.

"I'm fine," I said. "Why?"

She tilted her head. "It's just—your Luna aura seems quieter than usual lately. I thought maybe your wolf needs rest."

She said it softly. Gently. Like she was worried about me.

But I heard what she meant. Everyone in the room heard it.

A weak Luna aura. A deficient wolf. A woman losing her grip.

My wolf stirred. She had been so still for ten days, curled somewhere deep inside me, watching. Now she lifted her head.

I set my wine glass on the side table. I stood. I walked across the room toward Aaliyah, and I did not hurry.

She was still smiling when I stopped in front of her.

"Eleanor—" Declan's voice, behind me.

I shifted.

Not fully. Just my right arm. The bones lengthened, the skin rippled, and silver-white fur spread from my shoulder to my fingertips. My claws extended, long and curved and sharp.

I slashed her across the face.

It was controlled. Precise. One clean motion from her left temple to her jaw. The wound was shallow, but it bled.

Aaliyah screamed.

Declan moved. He was fast—faster than I expected. He stepped between us and shoved me backward. Hard. My shoulder hit the doorframe, and then I was stumbling through the back door into the parking lot.

I heard the SUV's engine before I saw it. Reversing. I tried to move, but my foot caught on the threshold and I went down.

The impact caught me along the ribs and wrist. Not the bumper—the side panel, scraping across me as the driver hit the brakes. I felt something crack. The pain was sharp and then dull and then everywhere.

I lay on the asphalt and stared at the sky. It was getting dark. There were no stars yet.

Inside the lounge, I heard Declan's voice. Low. Urgent. "Get the healer. Now."

He was not talking about me.

I pressed my left hand—my unbroken hand—to the mark on my neck. It was still cold. Colder now.

Good.

Someone came out eventually. One of the younger warriors. He helped me up and walked me to the pack clinic. The healer wrapped my ribs and set my wrist in a brace. She did not ask what happened. She did not need to.

When I got back to the Luna quarters, I locked the door and opened my laptop. My right hand was clumsy in the brace, but I managed.

I typed the incident report for Idris Crane. Time, location, witnesses, injuries. I attached a photo of the bruising along my ribs. I sent it.

Then I sat at my desk and opened my journal. I wrote down the names of the herbs I had reviewed yesterday. Wolfsbane. Arnica. Valerian.

I wrote until my hand stopped shaking.

The mark on my neck burned cold, and I was glad.