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The Luna He Couldn't Keep: From Rejection To Redemption Novel Cover

The Luna He Couldn't Keep: From Rejection To Redemption

The scent of pine and damp earth clung to me as I trudged through the forest, seven long years of building the Elliott Pack weighing heavy on my shoulders. Alpha Osman Elliott walked beside me, his presence as commanding as ever, his broad frame towering over me. His once-warm eyes had grown cold, distant, and I could feel the shift in him even before he spoke. The pack's den loomed ahead, a sprawling structure that stood as a testament to our hard work. But the moment we stepped inside, I knew something was wrong. The air was thick with tension, and the pack members—Delta warriors and Omegas alike—avoided my gaze, their heads bowed in submission. I caught the faint scent of another she-wolf, sweet and floral, and my stomach churned. "Amaris," Osman's voice cut through the silence, sharp and final. He turned to me, his chiseled jaw set in a way that made my heart sink. "The Elliott Pack needs an heir.
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Chapter 3

I hadn’t had the chance to respond to the message before everything started spinning, and then I blacked out.

Luckily, a rogue named Faith Austin found me and rushed me to the pack healer’s den. Though I regained consciousness, they insisted on keeping me for observation due to my persistent high fever. I ended up staying for three days, during which the only message I received was from Beta John Walker. Otherwise, my phone was silent.

I suddenly remembered that Alpha Osman’s pack had just secured a major alliance, and I had stepped down from my position as his trusted advisor. He must be swamped with responsibilities. Just as I was about to check in, I dialed his number and instantly realized my mistake. With a bitter smile, I hung up.

Alpha Osman called me back immediately. Before I could speak, he greeted me with a scornful laugh. “Amaris, calling a mated man so late? Aren’t you worried my Luna might get the wrong idea? What happened to respect?”

My throat tightened, and I was about to end the call. But he spoke first: “Come back and clear out your things. Vivienne is a neat freak. We’ve been stuck in a temporary den for three days, and my back is killing me.”

His words stung, but I countered coolly, “Alpha, are you sure it’s the den giving you back pain?”

He paused, then laughed, “Well, that could be part of it, but mainly it’s because my mate’s irresistible.”

I fought back tears and hung up. When he called again, I ended it once more. Perhaps my actions had set him off.

He sent two text messages in rapid succession:

*“Amaris, you’ve got guts, hanging up on your Alpha now!”*

*“Come back here and clear out your stuff immediately, or don’t blame me if I throw it out!”*

Curled up on the cot in the healer’s den, I couldn’t stop the tears.

I thought back to when Alpha Osman and I first met at a pack gathering. That night, some unfamiliar she-wolves cornered me in the restroom just because the male their leader liked had shown interest in me. They wanted to teach me a lesson.

Just as they were about to douse me with cold water, the door flew open. A hand with elegant fingers reached out and knocked the bucket from the lead she-wolf’s grasp.

Alpha Osman, with a cigarette poised at his lips, took in the scene with narrowed eyes, his gaze finally landing on me. After realizing I was unharmed, he spoke, his alpha tone low and commanding: “I don’t usually hit females, but I’m ready to make an exception.”

As he said this, his knuckles cracked menacingly, and he suddenly yanked the leader off balance. Amidst their shrieks, he grabbed my hand, and we ran.

In the chaos, I accidentally tore a mother-of-pearl button from his shirt. When we reached the forest’s edge, he stopped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he lifted me onto a low stone wall.

“Amaris, can I be your mate?” His cool hand brushed the back of my neck as he leaned closer, his long lashes grazing my forehead.

My heart raced uncontrollably. Gripping the button, I inexplicably nodded.

That marked the beginning of my obsession. I believed Alpha Osman was my guiding light, not realizing he was the abyss.

I had turned that mother-of-pearl button into a pendant, wearing it for seven years without ever taking it off, even during pack runs.

It’s time to move on.

I snapped the silver chain, watching the pendant arc gracefully into the trash bin—a finality, just like part of me dying.

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