Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

The Pack Talent Ceremony was supposed to be Layla's moment to shine. As Luna of the Moonveil Pack, I had watched my daughter practice for months, her fingers dancing across the keys of our family's sacred piano with the grace of someone touched by the Moon Goddess herself. The Collins heirloom had been blessed generations ago, and when Layla played, I swear I could feel our ancestors' spirits humming along with the melody.

But now, standing outside the pack house restroom, my heart hammered against my ribs as I heard muffled sobs from behind the locked door.

"Layla?" I called, my Luna authority making my voice carry despite my growing panic. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

The lock clicked, and the door swung open to reveal my daughter—my beautiful, talented daughter—with tears streaming down her face and coffee stains splattered across her pristine white performance dress. The fabric clung to her skin where the liquid had soaked through, and the carefully arranged curls I'd helped pin up this morning now hung limp and disheveled.

"Mom," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I can't... the competition... it's over."

My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, sensing the injustice that hung in the air like smoke. That's when I noticed her—Morgan's sister, standing just far enough away to appear innocent, clutching an empty coffee cup with a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Oh my," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "What a terrible accident. I was just bringing Layla some coffee to calm her nerves before her performance, and she must have bumped into me when I knocked on the door."

Lies. Every word tasted like ash in the air between us.

Layla's shoulders shook as she pressed against me, and I wrapped my arms around her protectively. "She locked me in," my daughter whispered so quietly only I could hear. "She threw the coffee at me and locked the door. I tried to get out, but—"

"Shh," I murmured, stroking her hair while my eyes never left Morgan's sister. The girl's satisfaction was poorly concealed behind her mask of innocence, and my Luna instincts screamed warnings. "We'll fix this."

But even as I said the words, I knew it was too late. The piano competition had already concluded, and when I marched Layla to the judges' table, their response was as cold as winter wind.

"I'm sorry, Luna Collins," the head judge said without looking up from his papers. "The competition has ended. Late entries cannot be accepted, regardless of circumstances."

"This is my daughter," I said, letting my Luna authority color my voice. "She was deliberately sabotaged—"

"The rules are the rules." His dismissal cut through me like a blade. "Perhaps next year she'll be more punctual."

The injustice of it burned in my chest as I led Layla away, her dreams shattered as surely as if someone had taken a hammer to our family piano. But this was just the beginning.

Later, in Leonard's office, I laid