Omega Rejects Silvercrest Alpha

I stood in the Silvercrest Pack's grand dining room, watching the staff arrange silverware with military precision. Tonight was another formal pack dinner—another performance in my ongoing role as the perfect Luna-in-waiting. Five years into our arrangement, and I'd mastered the art of the facade.

My fingers trembled slightly as I reached into my pocket, feeling the small vial of wolfsbane extract. A dangerous herb that could kill a werewolf in high doses. For me, even small amounts caused severe pain and internal bleeding—a reaction that puzzled doctors given my wolfless status. Perhaps some vestige of wolf DNA still lurked in my cells, enough to trigger the allergic response but not enough to manifest an actual wolf.

I waited until the kitchen staff stepped away before approaching the serving table. With practiced movements, I uncorked the vial and sprinkled drops of the extract over several dishes—the roasted venison, the wild mushroom risotto, the berry compote. All Alexander's favorites.

"Is everything to your satisfaction, Luna?" asked the head chef, appearing suddenly at my side.

I slipped the vial back into my pocket and smiled. "Perfect as always, Henri. The Alpha will be pleased."

He beamed with pride, oblivious to what I'd done. I wasn't trying to poison anyone—wolfsbane in these quantities was harmless to full-blooded werewolves. In fact, many found its earthy undertones enhanced game meats. For them, it was a delicacy. For me, it was a test.

The pack members began filing in, dressed in their finest. Alexander entered last, commanding the room with his mere presence. He wore a charcoal suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his body. His dark hair was styled away from his face, highlighting those piercing gray eyes that seemed to see everything—except what was right in front of him.

"You look beautiful tonight," he murmured as he took his seat beside me, his eyes appreciative as they swept over my emerald gown.

"Thank you, Alpha," I replied, the title a reminder of what this was—a business arrangement, not a love match.

Dinner proceeded as it always did. I ate small portions of the wolfsbane-laced food, smiling and nodding at appropriate intervals as pack politics were discussed around me. The burning started in my stomach about twenty minutes in—a slow, insidious heat that spread through my abdomen like molten lead.

I pressed my napkin to my lips, hiding a grimace. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" I whispered to Alexander.

He nodded absently, engaged in conversation with his Beta about territory negotiations.

I made it to the private bathroom off the main hall before the first wave of real pain hit. Doubling over, I clutched the marble sink as my body revolted. Blood splattered the pristine white basin as I vomited, my vision blurring with tears. My reflection in the mirror was ghastly—skin ashen, lips stained crimson.

This was my secret ritual, my private test. If Alexander truly cared, if there was any hint of a real bond between us, wouldn't he sense my distress? Wouldn't he notice I was poisoning myself at his table?

I rinsed my mouth and cleaned the sink meticulously, then swallowed two pills from the bottle I kept in my clutch. The medication would stem the bleeding temporarily, though I'd be weak for days.

After reapplying my lipstick and pinching color back into my cheeks, I returned to the dining room with a practiced smile. Alexander didn't even look up.

I was halfway through dessert, fighting another wave of nausea, when I noticed Marcus Thorne, Alexander's Beta, watching me with narrowed eyes. Unlike his Alpha, Marcus missed very little.

When dinner concluded, I excused myself again, barely making it back to the bathroom before another violent bout of vomiting overtook me. This time, the blood came in alarming quantities, and spots danced before my eyes as I struggled to remain conscious.

The door opened behind me. I hadn't locked it.

"Luna Maya?" Marcus's deep voice was soft with concern.

I tried to straighten, to hide the evidence, but it was too late. He saw everything—the blood-spattered sink, the pill bottle I'd dropped in my haste, my pale, sweating face.

"What have you done to yourself?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

"It's nothing," I managed, though my voice was weak. "A small indisposition."

Marcus picked up the pill bottle, reading the label with a frown. "This is medication for wolfsbane poisoning." His eyes widened in understanding. "The dinner. You added wolfsbane to the food."

I couldn't deny it. "Please don't tell Alexander," I whispered.

"Why would you do this to yourself?" There was no judgment in his voice, only genuine bewilderment.

I laughed, a hollow sound that ended in a cough. "Because if he cared at all, he would notice."

Marcus's expression softened with something like pity. "Luna..."

"I'm not a Luna," I interrupted. "I'm a contract. An arrangement. A business deal."

He was quiet for a long moment. "Your secret is safe with me," he finally said. "But this has to stop. You're killing yourself."

"What does it matter?" I asked, genuinely curious. "I'm just a wolfless Omega playing dress-up."

"You're more than that," he said firmly. "To the pack. And maybe to him, too, if you'd let yourself see it."

I didn't believe him, but I nodded anyway.

Two weeks later, on our fifth "anniversary," Alexander took me to dinner at Per Se, the exclusive restaurant where New York's elite gathered to see and be seen. He presented me with a blue-diamond necklace, its stones catching the light like captured stars.

"It matches your eyes," he said as he fastened it around my neck, his fingers lingering on my skin.

I thanked him appropriately, admiring the gems while calculating their value and how I might liquidate them if necessary. Every gift was another deposit in my eventual escape fund.

Then, unexpectedly, he pulled me against his chest. His arms were strong, warm, and for a moment—just a moment—I allowed myself to relax into them. He inhaled deeply, his nose pressed against my neck where a mate mark would be if we were truly bonded.

My heart stuttered, panic rising in my throat. This wasn't part of our arrangement. This wasn't business.

"Alexander?" I questioned, my voice barely audible.

He seemed to catch himself, releasing me abruptly. "The necklace suits you," he said, his tone businesslike once more.

I nodded, reminding myself of the truth: This was just a transaction. I was a placeholder, a temporary solution to his humiliation. Nothing more.

But as I touched the diamonds at my throat, I couldn't help wondering—why had he held me like that? And why, for that brief moment, had it felt so right?