Luna Rejects Cheating Alpha

The examination room felt smaller than a coffin, its sterile white walls pressing in around me as Dr. Aris Thorne's words echoed in my skull like a death knell. Three months. Fading Wolf Syndrome. Terminal.

My hands trembled in my lap, fingers interlaced so tightly my knuckles had gone white. The pack healer's weathered face was etched with sympathy, his silver eyes holding the kind of gentle sorrow reserved for the dying. I wanted to scream, to rage against the Moon Goddess who had blessed me with a fated mate only to snatch away my life just as I'd found my purpose. Instead, I sat frozen, my wolf Lyra whimpering like a wounded pup deep in my consciousness.

"Luna," Dr. Thorne said softly, his voice carrying the reverence my title demanded even as my world crumbled. "Would you like me to mind-link Alpha Dylan immediately? The mate bond can provide comfort during—"

"No." The word escaped before I could stop it, sharp and final. His bushy eyebrows rose in surprise, and I forced myself to breathe, to think past the roaring in my ears. "Not yet. I need... I need time to process this."

But that wasn't the truth, and we both knew it. The truth was that something had been wrong between Dylan and me for weeks now. The truth was that our mate bond, once a constant warm presence in my chest, had grown cold and distant. The truth was that my Alpha came home smelling like secrets and lies, his scent tainted with something that made Lyra pace anxiously in my mind.

Dr. Thorne nodded slowly, his healer's oath binding him to my wishes. "Of course. But Luna, please don't wait too long. The syndrome progresses quickly, and Alpha Dylan deserves to know—"

"Three months," I interrupted, my voice steadier now. "You said I have three months. That's enough time." Enough time for what, I didn't know. But the instinct to keep this secret burned in my chest like wildfire.

The drive home passed in a blur of autumn trees and lengthening shadows. My hands gripped the steering wheel until my fingers ached, Lyra's distress bleeding through our connection and making my vision swim. When I pulled into the driveway of the house Dylan and I had made our den, I sat in the car for long minutes, staring at the warm lights glowing in the windows.

Three years ago, I'd walked through that front door as Dylan's fated mate, my heart bursting with joy and purpose. I'd spent countless hours learning the traditions of our pack, memorizing the intricate ceremonies and protocols that would make me worthy of being his Luna. Every detail of our home bore my touch—the wildflowers I'd arranged on the mantle, the soft throws I'd woven from pack territory wool, the photographs of our happiest moments scattered throughout the rooms.

Now it felt like a mausoleum.

The moon was high and full when Dylan finally came home, his key turning in the