My Alpha Planned My Death to Give My Luna Title Away

The dust motes dancing in the shaft of afternoon light were the only witnesses to my masterpiece. In the suffocating heat of the attic, hidden away from the rest of the pack house, I held the Moonstone Collar in my trembling, scarred hands.

It was finished.

For three months, I had spent every spare second up here, bent over the workbench, etching microscopic runes into the silver setting. My fingers, rough from scrubbing floors and washing dishes, ghosted over the central gem. It hummed against my skin, a low, vibrant thrum that only someone with ancient blood could feel. I had used the Old Tongue for the enchantments—techniques passed down through my mother’s line, secrets of the Lycan Court that I had buried deep within me five years ago.

"For you, Henry," I whispered, my voice raspy from disuse.

He had mentioned the collar months ago, casually tossing a sketch onto the kitchen table while I was chopping vegetables. He said he wanted the family heirloom restored for the Pack Anniversary. He didn't say it was for me, but who else would an Alpha give a mating collar to, if not his wife?

I tucked the velvet box into the deep pocket of my faded gray dress. It was the only dress I owned that wasn't a uniform, though it hung loosely on my frame. I caught my reflection in a cracked mirror leaning against the wall. My eyes were tired, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. I didn't look like a Luna. I looked like what they called me: a wolfless, broken thing.

But tonight, maybe—just maybe—he would see me.

I descended the narrow servants' stairs, the noise of the celebration rising like a tide to meet me. The Silver Creek Pack House had never looked better. The grand ballroom was draped in silver and blue silk, paid for by the funds I secretly funneled into the pack accounts. The irony tasted bitter on my tongue. I had bought the wine they were drinking, yet I wasn't allowed a glass.

As I stepped into the periphery of the ballroom, the air grew heavy with the scent of pine and expensive perfume. I kept my head down, trying to blend into the shadows near the catering entrance.

It didn't work.

"Oops. Watch your step, Omega."

A foot shot out. I stumbled, my worn shoe catching on the polished floor. I hit the ground hard, my knees cracking against the marble. A ripple of laughter tore through the nearby crowd.

I looked up to see Elena Marsh smirking down at me, a flute of champagne in her hand. "Clumsy," she sneered, her voice pitched loud enough to draw attention. "Maybe if you had a wolf, you’d have some balance."

"I'm sorry," I murmured automatically. Five years of conditioning made the apology slip out before I could stop it. I pushed myself up, my hand instinctively going to my pocket to ensure the box was safe.

Across the room, the crowd