Betrayed Luna's New Hope

The silver dress whispered against my legs as I climbed the mahogany staircase, each step careful and deliberate. Eight years. Eight years since Deacon had slipped this very dress over my head on our first anniversary, his hands trembling with what I'd believed was love. The memory warmed me as I balanced the handmade ceremonial candles in my arms, their vanilla and rosemary scent filling the hallway—the same fragrance that had marked our original mating ceremony.

I'd spent weeks crafting these candles in secret, melting down the wax from our first anniversary dinner, embedding dried moonflowers from our mating grove. Tonight would be perfect. A private renewal ceremony, just the two of us, before the pack's formal celebration tomorrow.

My bare feet made no sound on the hardwood as I approached our bedroom door. The twins were safely tucked away in their rooms, and the pack house had settled into its evening quiet. This moment belonged to us alone.

The door stood slightly ajar, and I pushed it open with my hip, a smile already spreading across my face. "Deacon, I have a surprise for—"

The words died in my throat.

My mate lay naked in our bed, his powerful frame wrapped around another woman. Not just any woman. Myra. My cousin Myra, her dark hair spilled across my pillow, her pale skin gleaming in the lamplight. And around her throat—my throat closed as if someone had wrapped iron chains around it—she wore my Luna ceremonial jewelry. The sacred silver necklace that marked my position, my identity, my worth.

The candles slipped from my numb fingers, clattering to the floor. One rolled under the bed where my mate—my mate—was betraying everything we'd built together.

Deacon's head turned toward me, and I waited for shock, for shame, for some flicker of the man who'd promised to cherish me above all others. Instead, his ice-blue eyes held nothing but cold irritation, as if I were an unwelcome interruption to his evening plans.

"Scout." His voice carried no warmth, no apology. He didn't even have the decency to cover himself or move away from her. "You're early."

Myra stretched languidly beneath him, a satisfied smile curving her lips as she fingered my ceremonial necklace. "Hello, cousin." Her voice dripped with false sweetness. "I hope you don't mind—Deacon thought the jewelry looked better on someone who actually deserves to wear it."

The room spun around me. Eight years of marriage, of sacrifice, of giving up my healing career to be the perfect Luna. Eight years of believing I was cherished, protected, loved. "Deacon, what is this? Today is our anniversary. Our—"

"A breeding arrangement." His words cut through my stammering like a blade. He sat up, completely unbothered by his nakedness, by my presence, by the devastation spreading across my face. "Myra has the bloodline strength our pack needs. Her wolf is powerful, dominant. Our children will be stronger with her genetics."

I staggered backward, my hand finding the doorframe for support. "Children? But