When My Mate Crowned His Mistress Luna

The silence in the Recreation Hall was heavy, suffocating. It wasn't the respectful silence given to an Alpha; it was the awkward, pitying silence reserved for a funeral. Or a execution.

Aiden didn't straighten up when I walked in. He stayed leaning against the green felt of the pool table, twirling a cue stick like a baton. Annalise was practically glued to his side, her fingers tracing the muscles of his arm, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. She was wearing a dress that cost more than my entire wardrobe—silk, red, and cut low enough to show off the mating mark Aiden hadn't given me in three years.

"Everyone," Aiden announced, his voice booming with that Alpha tone that used to make me feel safe. Now, it just scraped against my bones. "I believe you all know Willa. The pack's... longest-standing charity case."

A ripple of nervous laughter went through the crowd. My stomach twisted. Charity case. Is that what I was? After nursing his wounds? After managing the pack's finances from the shadows while he played war games? After losing our baby because he couldn't spare a warrior for patrol?

"Aiden," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Please."

He ignored me. He turned to a group of visiting dignitaries from the Northern packs—men in expensive suits holding crystal tumblers of scotch. "She's a bit useless in a fight, doesn't have a wolf to speak of, but she's decent at fetching things. Isn't that right, Willa?"

He snapped his fingers. Actually snapped them at me, like I was a dog.

"Annalise is thirsty," he said, his eyes cold and empty. "Get her a drink. The expensive red."

My feet moved before my brain could stop them. It was instinct, ingrained after years of trying to please him, trying to earn the affection that should have been mine by birthright. I walked to the bar, my hands trembling as I reached for the bottle of Merlot. I could feel their eyes on me—burning, judging, mocking.

I poured the wine. The dark liquid swirled in the glass, looking disturbingly like blood. I walked back to them, keeping my head down, trying to make myself small. Invisible.

I held the glass out to Annalise.

She smiled, a sweet, poisonous thing. "Thank you, Sweetheart," she cooed. She reached for the stem, her fingers brushing mine. Her skin was hot, feverish with borrowed power.

Then, just as I let go, she jerked her hand back.

The glass shattered on the floor. Red wine splashed up, soaking the front of my grey slip dress, turning the fabric dark and heavy. It dripped down my legs, cold and sticky.

"Oops," Annalise giggled, covering her mouth with a manicured hand. "Oh, Aiden, look what she did! She's so clumsy. I told you she wasn't fit for service."

"Clean it up," Aiden commanded, not even looking at the mess. He was looking at me, disgusted.

I stood there, wine soaking into my skin, humiliation burning my cheeks. "She dropped it," I said, my voice trembling.

"Don't lie, Willa," Aiden growled. "It's pathetic."

He stepped closer, invading my personal space. The scent of him—forest and rain—was tainted now by Annalise's cloying rose perfume. He looked me up and down, his lip curling. "Look at you. You're a mess. Drab. Boring. And now stained."

His gaze landed on my neck. My hand flew up instinctively to cover the silver chain, but I was too slow.

"This," he said, reaching out. His fingers brushed my skin, sparking a jolt of electricity that made my heart ache. But his touch wasn't gentle. He hooked a finger under the chain. "This is wasted on you."

"No," I gasped, grabbing his wrist. "Aiden, that was my mother's. It's all I have left of her."

"And you're not worthy of it," he said simply.

He yanked.

The metal snapped. A sharp, stinging pain sliced across the back of my neck where the clasp dug in before giving way. I cried out, stumbling back, my hand clapping over the stinging scratch. I felt a trickle of warm blood mix with the cold wine on my skin.

Aiden held the necklace up to the light. The moonstone glowed softly, a piece of my history, my heart, dangling from his callous fingers.

"A true Luna deserves beautiful things," he declared, turning to Annalise. He fastened it around her neck. It sat there, wrong and heavy, against her throat.

"Oh, Aiden," she sighed, fingering the stone. "It's perfect."

Something inside me cracked. It wasn't my heart—that had shattered a long time ago. It was a wall. A barrier deep in my psyche.

*Mate...*

The whimper echoed in my skull. It was faint, weak, like a dying animal. My wolf. She had been silent for three years, ever since the miscarriage, ever since the trauma had locked her away. Now, she was waking up. But she wasn't waking up to run or hunt. She was waking up to scream.

The pain of the bond—the rejection, the betrayal, the sheer cruelty of it—hit me like a physical blow. My knees buckled. I grabbed the edge of the pool table to stay upright.

I needed it to stop. The whimpering. The look in his eyes. The laughter of the pack.

My eyes landed on a bottle of moonshine sitting on a nearby table. Rough, high-proof, illegal stuff the warriors brewed. It burned going down, they said. It numbed everything.

I didn't think. I lunged for the bottle.

"Look at her!" someone shouted. "She's going for the hard stuff!"

I uncorked it and tipped it back, chugging. The liquid was fire. It scorched my throat, burned my lungs, and settled in my stomach like a heavy stone. I drank until I choked, coughing as the burn spread through my limbs.

The room erupted in laughter. They thought I was a drunk. A weak, pathetic Omega drowning her sorrows.

I slammed the bottle down, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. The burn distracted me from the pain in my chest. It distracted me from the sight of my mother's necklace on another woman's neck.

Aiden watched me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—disappointment? Pity? It didn't matter.

"Pathetic," he muttered, turning back to the pool table. "Rack them up, Annalise. Let's see if you handle a cue better than she handles her liquor."

The alcohol buzzed in my head, but beneath it, the whimper was changing. It was growing deeper. Darker.

*Mine,* the voice inside me hissed. Not in pain this time. In fury.