The Luna They Scorned, Now Reigns

Alexandra POV: "I have to check the northern perimeter tonight," Anthony said the next evening. He was adjusting his cufflinks in the mirror, looking too polished for a patrol through the muddy woods. "Rogue wolves have been spotted near the border." "Be careful," I said, handing him his coffee. I had mastered the art of keeping my hand steady, even when I wanted to throw the scalding liquid in his face. "Always, babe. Don't wait up." He kissed my forehead. It felt like a brand of shame. As soon as his SUV pulled out of the driveway, I didn't go to bed. I went to the garage and uncovered my old motorcycle. I hadn't ridden it in years, not since I became the "respectable" Luna. I pulled on a black hoodie and a helmet. My scent was naturally faint-a side effect of my condition-but I sprayed myself with a scent-masker just to be safe. I followed him. Not to the northern woods, but straight into the city. He pulled up to the Moonlight Hotel. It was a boutique establishment owned by the pack, reserved for high-ranking members. I parked two blocks away and moved through the shadows. I didn't need supernatural powers to get in. I managed the pack's logistics. I knew the shift schedules, the blind spots in the cameras I had paid to install, and the master code for the service entrance. I reached the hotel's rear entrance. A service door. I punched in the code: 0412. Jacob's birthday. Anthony was predictable. Inside, I focused. I couldn't use the Mind-Link to find him-he would sense me probing. Instead, I reached out with my bond, trying to feel him. It was faint. A dull, muffled static. The Bond-Blockers were working. But I could still smell him. And her. I took the stairs to the penthouse floor. My legs burned, my weak constitution protesting the exertion, but I pushed through. At the end of the hallway, room 505. I heard laughter. I pressed my ear to the door. "Stop it, Anthony!" a female voice giggled. "You're going to ruin my makeup." "You don't need makeup, Katia. You need to be marked." Katia. The name hit me like a physical blow. Katia Shepherd. The pack's school counselor. The woman who had been "helping" my son Jacob with his pre-shift anxiety for the last six months. I pulled out my phone, slid it under the gap at the bottom of the door, and activated the camera. The angle was low, but clear. They walked into the frame. Anthony was shirtless. Katia was wearing a silk robe that definitely didn't belong to her. She turned, and I saw it. On the junction of her neck and shoulder, the skin was raw and red. A fresh bite mark. A Marking. In wolf culture, a bite on the neck is a claim. It tells every other male, "She is mine." An Alpha cannot Mark two females. By Marking her, he was effectively overwriting our bond. He was declaring our marriage void in the eyes of biology, if not law. Katia reached up and traced the bite, smirking. She leaned in and nipped at Anthony's jaw. "Does she suspect?" Katia asked. "Alex?" Anthony laughed, a cruel, dismissive sound. "She suspects nothing. She's too busy baking cookies and dusting the furniture. She's... domesticated. Weak." "And Jacob?" "Jacob is on board," Anthony said. I almost dropped the phone. "He thinks you're cool," Anthony continued. "He told me yesterday that he wishes you were his mother. He says Alex is embarrassing. A Luna with no wolf scent? He calls her a defect." The hallway seemed to tilt. My son. My baby boy. The boy I had sacrificed my very soul to save. He knew. He wasn't being groomed. He was an accomplice. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and stinging. But I didn't let them fall. I couldn't. If I broke down now, they would hear me. I gently pulled the phone back. I saved the video. I had the proof of the affair. I had the proof of the Marking. I turned to leave, but my foot brushed against a decorative vase in the hallway. It wobbled. I caught it just before it hit the floor, but the ceramic scraped against the wall. Scrrrtch. "Did you hear that?" Katia's voice was sharp. "Probably room service," Anthony grumbled. I didn't wait. I moved with the practiced silence of a woman who had spent two decades trying not to be noticed. I melted into the stairwell just as the door clicked open. "Hello?" Anthony's voice echoed. I was already two floors down, my heart pounding a rhythm of war. They thought I was weak. They thought I was a defect. I touched my chest, feeling the jagged scar beneath my shirt. They were about to learn exactly where my strength had gone.