When My Alpha Chose My Sister as Luna

Three days after I found the wolfsbane in my food, the Great Hall was draped in white silk and iron crests.

It was a celebration banquet. Jonathan was formally presenting Charlotte as his chosen mate.

I sat at the very back of the hall, squeezed between two elderly laundry workers at the lowest-ranked table. The scent of roasted meats and expensive wine hung heavy in the air, but under my tongue, everything tasted like ash. I wore a high-collared black dress to keep the mark on the side of my neck completely covered. Nobody looked at me. To the Ironcrest Pack, I was just Madeline’s quiet daughter, someone who cleared empty glasses and stayed out of the way.

Up on the raised dais, Charlotte looked radiant. She wore the traditional silver gown reserved for a future Luna. The fabric caught the chandelier light with every breath she took.

She stood beside Jonathan, stepping up to the microphone. Her big brown eyes glistened with unshed tears. It was a look she had practiced in bathroom mirrors since we were girls.

"I never expected this honor," Charlotte said softly, her voice trembling with just enough sweetness to captivate the room. "Ironcrest has always been my home. To stand beside Alpha Jonathan, to serve you all as your Luna... it is more than I ever dared to dream."

Applause erupted across the hall. Warriors banged their fists on the heavy oak tables. Jonathan stood tall beside her, his chest puffed with pride. He reached out, took her hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

Under the table, I laid my palm flat over my lower belly. The tiny, fragile life inside me was still there, quietly clinging on. Jonathan was smiling at Charlotte, soaking in the cheers for a union built on a lie, while the mate the Moon Goddess chose for him sat in the dark.

I didn't flinch. I didn't let a single tear fall. I kept my face blank, like stone.

When the banquet ended, I slipped back to my room. On my table was the late-night meal Jonathan’s private staff had left for me—creamed chicken and wild rice. I didn't eat a bite. Instead, I lifted the floorboard beneath my rug and pulled out two clean spice jars. I scraped samples of the sauce and rice inside both, sealed the wax around the rims, and labeled them in black ink.

Seven jars now. Seven pieces of his coffin.

Two days later, Charlotte made her move.

Jonathan had given her her first official duty: managing the border patrol rotations with the neighboring Ashwood Pack. It was routine diplomacy. All she had to do was confirm the shared patrol schedule along the eastern ridge.

Instead, she altered the time slots.

The Ashwood warriors ran into our patrol blind in the dead of night. Claws were bared, teeth were snapped, and a bloody skirmish was barely avoided at the tree line before the Ashwood Beta pulled his men back, threatening open war over the breach of trust.

Before Jonathan could even read the patrol logs, Charlotte found him.

I was crossing the second-floor mezzanine when I heard her weeping. She was in Jonathan’s office, draped over his chest, her shoulders shaking with violent sobs.

"I only used the notes she handed me!" Charlotte cried, her voice cracking in pure, rehearsed agony. "Maya gave me the dispatch sheets from the lower office. She told me those were the updated shifts. I trusted her, Jonathan! I thought my own sister wanted to help me..."

Jonathan stood behind his desk, his face dark as a storm cloud. He didn't ask to see the dispatch sheets. He didn't check the logs. He rubbed his right wrist with his thumb—the nervous tic he always had when he knew he was choosing a lie over the truth—and wrapped his arm around Charlotte’s waist.

"Call the pack," Jonathan said coldly. "To the Great Hall. Now."

Ten minutes later, the hall was packed with warriors and elders. The air was thick with tension. I stood near the entrance, flanked by two guards who had dragged me from my room.

Jonathan stood on the dais, his dark eyes locked on me. There was no trace of the man who used to hold me in the dark, whispering hollow promises of forever.

"Maya Wright," his voice boomed, bouncing off the rafters. "Step forward."

I walked to the center of the stone floor. Charlotte stood just behind his shoulder, dabbing her dry eyes with a lace handkerchief. For a split second, she lowered the cloth and smirked at me.

"Your reckless sabotage put our warriors at risk and nearly ignited a war with Ashwood," Jonathan said, stepping toward the edge of the stage. "Your jealousy toward your sister has made you a liability to this pack."

"Jonathan," I said, my voice quiet and steady. "I didn't give her those sheets. I was in the archives all morning. You can check the camera—"

"**Kneel.**"

The Alpha tone hit me like a solid wall of iron.

Because of the wolfsbane poisoning my blood, my dormant wolf couldn't muster even an ounce of defense. The command crushed down on my shoulders, forcing my knees to slam hard against the cold stone floor. A sharp gasp tore from my throat.

Jonathan looked down at me without a flicker of remorse.

"By my authority as Alpha of Ironcrest," Jonathan proclaimed to the silent room, "Maya Wright is stripped of all pack privileges and duties. Effective immediately, she is demoted to Omega status."

A collective murmur rippled through the pack, but nobody spoke out. Nobody defended the girl with supposedly dirty blood.

"You will clean the kennels and the waste pits," Jonathan commanded, his voice cold and final. "You will speak only when spoken to. Dismissed."

I stayed on my knees until his aura lifted. My legs trembled as I pushed myself back up, my head bowed so no one could see the ice burning in my eyes.

Beneath my high collar, right over my pulse, the mate mark he had given me throbbed with a cold, dead ache.

He thought he was burying me. He had no idea I was just waiting for the dirt to settle.