Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

The ceremonial garden stretched before me like a battlefield I'd already lost. Moonlight filtered through ancient oaks, casting silver shadows across rows of wolfsbane—beautiful, deadly, and exactly what tradition demanded for honoring an Alpha's victory over rogues.

My hands trembled as I reached for another cluster of purple blooms. The moment my fingers brushed the petals, fire exploded across my skin. I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting copper, refusing to let the whimper building in my chest escape. Two years as Everett's Luna had taught me that much—never show weakness, never give them ammunition.

The rash spread up my forearms in angry red welts, each breath growing shallower as the wolfsbane's toxic pollen invaded my lungs. I'd documented this allergy with Elena, our pack healer, months ago. Severe reaction to wolfsbane exposure—breathing difficulties, skin burns, potential anaphylaxis. She'd warned me to avoid direct contact.

But what Luna would dishonor her mate's greatest victory by refusing to prepare the sacred herbs?

I carefully arranged another bundle, my vision swimming. Blood seeped from where thorns had pierced my palms, mixing with the plant's oils. The old texts said a Luna's blood in the ceremonial herbs would bind the pack's loyalty to their Alpha. I wondered if Everett even knew that. If he cared.

Probably not, when Haven Mendoza would be the one presenting them tonight.

I forced myself through another hour, until the baskets overflowed with enough wolfsbane, silver sage, and moon thistle to honor a king. My throat had nearly closed, each breath a desperate wheeze. I stumbled back to the pack house, slipping through the servants' entrance—my usual route these days.

***

The great hall blazed with torchlight and triumph. I stood at the back, pressed against the cold stone wall, watching Everett command the room from his throne. He looked magnificent—every inch the conquering Alpha, his aura rolling through the space in waves of dominance and victory.

Haven sat beside him in the Luna's chair. My chair. Her hand rested possessively on the armrest, close enough to brush his. She'd chosen a crimson dress that made her look like a queen, while I wore the simple grey servant's tunic required of those handling ceremonial preparations.

"Our Luna has outdone herself with tonight's sacred herbs," Ryan Torres, Everett's Beta, announced. His voice dripped with something that made my wolf stir uneasily beneath my skin. "Come forward, Ellie Franklin, and present your offering."

I moved through the crowd on legs that barely held me. The welts on my arms had darkened to purple, visible even in the flickering light. My breathing came in short gasps that I tried desperately to control. Don't show weakness. Don't give them the satisfaction.

I knelt before the dais, lifting the ceremonial basket with hands that shook. "Alpha, I present these sacred herbs prepared according to ancient tradition, to honor your victory and bind our pack's—"

"Look at this," Ryan's voice cut through mine like a blade. He snatched the basket, dumping its contents across the floor. "Blood contamination. The herbs are ruined."

My heart stopped. "That's not—the blood is part of the ritual. It represents—"

"It represents your weakness," Ryan snarled. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into the welts. I couldn't stop the gasp of pain that escaped. "You've contaminated our Alpha's victory ceremony with your pathetic blood."

Two warriors seized my shoulders. I caught Everett's gaze across the hall—cold, distant, unmoved. Haven's hand had found his on the armrest. She whispered something in his ear, and his jaw tightened.

He said nothing.

They dragged me toward the ritual mud pit at the hall's center—a sacred space where challenges were issued and victories consecrated. Ryan's voice rose above the suddenly silent crowd. "Perhaps our Luna needs to learn proper respect for pack ceremonies."

My face hit the mud with enough force to split my lip. Hands pressed against the back of my head, shoving me deeper into the thick, ceremonial earth. I couldn't breathe—not from the mud, but from the wolfsbane still ravaging my lungs. My chest spasmed, desperate for air that wouldn't come.

Through the roaring in my ears, I heard Haven's delighted laughter.

They finally released me. I collapsed beside the pit, gasping and choking, mud burning in my nose and throat. The great hall swam in and out of focus. Somewhere above me, Everett's voice carried across the space, dismissive and cold.

"Typical weakness. Someone escort the Luna to the servants' quarters to clean herself up."

Not to the healer. Not to safety. To the servants' quarters, like I was nothing more than a stain to be hidden away.

I lay there in the mud and blood and herbs I'd sacrificed myself to prepare, my lungs screaming for air, while my mate returned to celebrating his victory with the woman he truly wanted by his side.

And for the first time in two years, my wolf's voice rose clear and furious in my mind: *Enough.*