When My Alpha Chose My Sister as Luna

Charlotte wasn’t satisfied with scalding my hands. Cruelty, to her, was an appetite that grew with every bite.

Two mornings later, she stood in the center of the common courtyard, wrapped in a pale cream coat, weeping into Jonathan’s chest. Her voice carried clearly over the gravel, sharp with rehearsed terror.

“She was right outside my bedroom door, Jonathan,” Charlotte sobbed, her fingers clutching his lapels. “In the middle of the night. Whispering terrible things about what she’s going to do to me. She told one of the younger omegas that I wouldn't live to see the winter solstice!”

Warriors stopped to stare. Jonathan’s face set like concrete. He didn't ask for witnesses. He didn't check the hallway cameras outside the Luna suite. He simply looked across the yard at me, where I stood holding a broom, and rubbed his right thumb over his inner wrist.

“One meal a day,” Jonathan declared, his voice cutting through the morning chill like a whip. “And she doesn't leave the Omega wing after sundown. If she steps foot in the residential halls past dark, lock her in the holding cells.”

I didn't argue. I didn't defend myself. I just bowed my head and said, “Yes, Alpha.”

That night, locked behind the heavy iron door of the basement barracks, the silence was suffocating. The air smelled of damp earth and old pipes.

Once the sentry’s heavy boots faded down the corridor, I knelt beside the bare mattress on the concrete floor. I eased the loose baseboard away from the wall.

One by one, I pulled them out.

Forty-one jars.

They filled the space between my knees, gleaming faintly in the moonlight slicing through the high grate. Forty-one wax-sealed glass containers spanning three agonizing months. Inside them sat hardened gravy, dried stew, congealed porridge, and roasted meats—every single sample laced with the bitter almond scent of wolfsbane. Every single one dated in my neat, small handwriting.

Forty-one counts of premeditated murder.

I didn't smile. I didn't feel a rush of triumph. Victory was an illusion for people who still had something left to lose.

I sat cross-legged on the cold stone, folded my hands over my lower belly, and began to whisper into the dark. I recited the words my mother had drilled into my head during secret midnight lessons years ago.

*“I, Maya Wright, marked mate of Alpha Jonathan Bennett, invoke the sacred Luna Accord before the Lycan Council. By the blood in my veins and the mark on my flesh, I bring charges of treason, bond poisoning, and sacred oath-breaking…”*

I rehearsed the ancient legal phrasing over and over until my tongue felt heavy and my throat burned dry. Word for word. Clean. Lethal.

Three days later, my body began to give out.

The herbal clotting tonic Madeline gave me had slowed the bleeding, but it couldn't stop the wolfsbane already settled deep in my organs. My skin took on the waxy, grayish tint of spoiled milk. My knees buckled during laundry duty, forcing me to cling to the iron tables to keep from hitting the floor. And then came the dull, sickening cramps—a persistent, dragging weight between my hips, followed by dark red stains soaking through my gray tunic.

I couldn't hide it much longer. The pup clinging to my womb was slipping away, starved of life by the poison its own father had fed me.

If I collapsed in the kennels, Jonathan would let me die in the dirt, cover it up as rogue sickness, and throw Charlotte a Luna coronation the following week.

I had to force his hand now.

I waited until evening patrol began. Slipping past the lower barracks, I climbed the back staircase to the pack house’s private wing, avoiding the creaking floorboards I had memorized over three years.

Jonathan’s study door was slightly ajar. A warm amber light spilled onto the hardwood runner.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Jonathan was sitting behind his heavy oak desk, reviewing border maps. He looked up, his dark eyes instantly flashing with anger.

“You’re out of your quarters,” he said coldly, setting his pen down. “I gave you an order, Maya. Do you want to spend the night in the cells?”

I closed the door behind me with a quiet click. I didn't shrink away. For the first time in three years, I stood with my spine straight, staring directly into his face.

“I know about the wolfsbane, Jonathan.”

The air in the room went dead still.

The anger vanished from his features, replaced by a sudden, chilling blankness. His fingers twitched, his thumb moving automatically to rub the skin over his wrist.

“What nonsense are you talking about?” he asked, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.

“Forty-one jars,” I said, my voice dead and level. “Every meal you brought me with that practiced, sweet smile. You poisoned my wolf so she would never surface. You poisoned my body so I would never bear a pup.”

Jonathan didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just stared at me, the mask of the loving mate slipping away to reveal the cold, calculating monster underneath.

I took one step forward, pressing both hands against my aching stomach.

“I’m pregnant, Jonathan,” I whispered. “It’s your pup. And it’s dying inside me right now because of what you’ve done.”

For a fraction of a second, something dark flickered in his eyes. Then his expression hardened into pure, merciless iron.

He rose from behind the desk, his massive frame towering in the lamplight.

“**Silence,**” he commanded.

The Alpha tone tore from his throat—a deafening, supernatural shockwave that slammed directly into my chest.

With my wolf buried beneath months of poison, there was no barrier to soften the blow. The command tore through my nervous system like liquid ice.

My mouth snapped shut. My breath choked in my windpipe. My knees locked straight, my arms pinned rigidly to my sides as the invisible, suffocating weight of his authority bound every muscle in my body.

I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I stood trapped in my own failing flesh, completely paralyzed, while Jonathan walked slowly around the desk toward me.