After My Alpha Rejected Me, the Lycan King Said “Mine”

The crystal chandeliers of the Shadow Creek Pack house glittered like diamonds, but to me, they looked like teeth waiting to snap shut. I stood beside Alpha Jonas on the raised dais, my hand trembling slightly where it rested on his arm. He squeezed my waist—a gesture that looked supportive to the crowd below but felt like a warning grip to me.

"Leadership requires sacrifice," Jonas’s voice boomed, smooth and practiced. He looked down at me with a mask of tragic benevolence. "And no one knows sacrifice better than my Luna. Though the Moon Goddess has tested us with a dormant wolf line and a silent womb, we remain strong."

A murmur of pity rippled through the gathered pack members. I lowered my eyes, the familiar burn of shame heating my cheeks. Three years. Three years of supplements, doctors, and pitying stares. I was the broken thing on the shelf, the barren Luna who couldn't give the pack an heir.

"To Alpha Jonas and Luna Valentina!" someone toasted.

As the glasses clinked, a woman in a shimmering red dress approached the dais. Alana Bell. She wasn't high-ranking, just a wealthy donor, but she walked with the confidence of a queen. She stepped into Jonas's personal space, far closer than etiquette allowed.

"A lovely speech, Alpha," she purred, her hand lingering on the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. Her fingers trailed down, brushing his chest.

Jonas didn't step back. In fact, I saw a muscle in his jaw jump—not with annoyance, but with restraint. He leaned in, just an inch, before catching himself.

"Thank you, Alana," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

That was when it hit me. A scent. It wasn't just her perfume—overpowering Chanel No. 5—but something beneath it. Musky, sweet, and undeniable. It was the scent of female arousal, clinging to my husband's jacket like a second skin.

A dormant instinct, one I thought had died years ago, prickled at the base of my neck. My hand went to my throat automatically. Jonas checked his watch, untangling himself from us. "I have to take a call from the Council. Valentina, stay here. Smile."

He left his tablet on the high-top table behind us. The screen lit up with a notification, then went dark.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I shouldn't. A good Luna trusts her Alpha. But the scent... it was suffocating me. I glanced around; the pack was distracted by the open bar. I slid the tablet toward me.

He thought I was stupid. He thought I’d forgotten the passcode was his own birthday.

I typed it in. The device unlocked.

It wasn't his official email open on the screen. It was a private social media account—a "Finsta." My breath hitched. There was only one recent post, uploaded two hours ago. The photo was intimate, taken in a bedroom I didn't recognize. Jonas was on his knees, his hands cradling a swollen, pregnant belly. Alana’s belly.

The caption read: *Finally, the Alpha Heir we deserve.