Rejected by the Alpha, My Luna Roared

The screams reached me first.

High-pitched and terrified, they tore through the pack house like claws ripping through flesh. My heart stopped mid-beat as I recognized the voice—Emma.

"MOMMY!"

I dropped the basket of herbs I'd been gathering and ran, my feet barely touching the ground as I raced toward my daughter's cries. The scent hit me next—blood, so much blood, mixed with the putrid stench of rogues.

"Emma!" I screamed, my voice breaking as I burst through the garden doors.

Pack members were rushing in every direction, warriors shouting commands as they pursued something—or someone—fleeing through the western border. But I couldn't focus on that. All I could see was Martha, our elderly pack healer, kneeling over a small, crumpled form on the grass.

My baby. My Emma.

"No, no, no," I whispered as I fell to my knees beside them. Martha's hands were pressed against Emma's throat and chest, both torn open by what could only have been rogue claws. Blood pulsed between the healer's wrinkled fingers, too much blood for such a small body.

"Luna Isabella," Martha's voice was tight with urgency. "A rogue broke through the eastern perimeter. He attacked her before the guards could stop him."

Emma's eyes fluttered, unfocused and glazed with pain. Her little hand reached for mine, trembling.

"M-mommy, it hurts," she whimpered.

"I know, baby. I know." I gathered her tiny fingers in mine, trying to keep my voice steady despite the terror threatening to consume me. "You're going to be okay."

But Martha's grim expression told me otherwise. "The wounds are too deep," she whispered. "She needs Alpha blood for the healing ritual. Only that will save her now."

My fingers instinctively reached for the moonstone pendant at my throat—my grandmother's legacy, my connection to my healer lineage. But I knew it wasn't enough. Not for wounds this severe.

I closed my eyes and reached for the mate bond, that sacred connection that had grown so cold and distant over the years.

*Marcus,* I called through our mind-link, pouring every ounce of desperation into the connection. *Emma's been attacked by rogues. She's dying. Please, she needs your blood for the healing ritual. You must come now!*

The seconds stretched into an eternity as I waited, cradling Emma's increasingly limp body against my chest. When his response finally came, it was distant, annoyed.

*I'm at Victoria's mate ceremony celebration. Can't this wait?*

I gasped, disbelief and horror flooding through me. *Wait? Your daughter is DYING, Marcus! She needs you NOW!*

There was a pause, and when his voice returned to my mind, it was cold, detached.

*I won't let anything ruin Victoria's special day. Use one of the Delta's blood if you must.*

The bond between us shuddered, cracking like ice under too much pressure. In that moment, I felt something inside me break—not just the mate bond, but something deeper, more fundamental. The illusion I had clung to for ten long years.

"Luna?" Martha's voice pulled me back. "The Alpha?"

"He's not coming," I whispered, my voice hollow. Emma's breathing was growing more labored, her skin paling to a ghostly white beneath the blood. "He's with... Victoria."

Martha's face hardened with understanding and barely concealed disgust. "Then the child will not survive the hour."

"No!" I clutched Emma tighter. "There must be something—anything—"

The air around us suddenly shifted, growing heavy with power. A collective gasp rose from the pack members gathered around us as a tall figure strode through their midst, his aura so commanding that even the warriors instinctively lowered their eyes.

Alpha Alexander Cross of the Shadow Ridge Pack.

"What are you doing on Silver Moon territory?" demanded Elias, Marcus's Beta, stepping forward with his hand on his weapon.

Alexander ignored him completely, his intense gaze fixed on Emma's broken body in my arms. Without a word, he knelt beside us, rolling up his sleeve.

"I offer my blood," he said, his deep voice resonating with authority. "Begin the ritual, Healer."

Hope flickered in Martha's tired eyes. "But you're not her father—"

"I am an Alpha," Alexander stated simply. "My blood carries power enough."

As Martha hurriedly prepared for the ancient healing ritual, Alexander's eyes met mine. In their depths, I saw not pity, but a quiet, burning rage on my behalf. And something else—something I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

Respect.

A protective aura emanated from him, enveloping not just Emma but me as well, like a shield against the world that had betrayed us both. As Martha began the ritual, drawing Alexander's powerful blood into a ceremonial bowl, I found myself wondering what kind of Alpha would rush to save another pack's child while her own father celebrated with his mistress.

And what kind of mother I would become now that I knew the truth.