Rejected Mate's Wrath

The Great Hall of the Silvermoon Pack House fell silent as Marcus stepped onto the dais. My heart clenched at the sight of him—his magnificent silver pelt gleaming under the ceremonial torches, a reminder of the wolf I once knew, the mate who had cherished me above all else. But the cold, unfamiliar eyes that swept over the assembly held no recognition when they passed over me. No flicker of the bond we had built together over years of struggle and triumph.

I instinctively touched the spot on my neck where his mark used to be—a phantom pain, a memory of belonging that no longer existed.

'Today, I announce a new alliance that will secure our territory against the Northern packs,' Marcus's Alpha tone resonated through the hall, commanding and unyielding. So familiar yet so foreign. 'The Walsh territory has agreed to join forces with Silvermoon under certain conditions.'

My wolf, Luna, whimpered inside me. *Something's wrong, Victoria. Something's very wrong.*

I rested my hands protectively over my swollen belly, our unborn pup shifting restlessly beneath my touch. Eight months of carrying our heir—the miracle we had prayed for after seven heartbreaking losses—and still, Marcus looked at me as if I were a stranger.

'As part of this arrangement,' Marcus continued, his voice hardening, 'Luna Victoria will be sent to Rogue King Richard Walsh's territory as a gesture of our commitment.'

Gasps echoed through the hall. I froze, certain I had misheard. My knees threatened to buckle beneath me.

'Alpha, the Luna is with pup,' Liam Blackwood, Marcus's Beta, stepped forward, his face tight with barely concealed distress. 'Your heir—'

'Is a liability in its current state,' Marcus cut him off, his tone dismissive. 'The pack needs strength, not weakness.'

From beside him, Sophia Walsh stepped forward, her lips curved in a triumphant smile. She wore my ceremonial Luna cloak—the silver-threaded garment Marcus had commissioned for me on our fifth anniversary. The sight of it on her shoulders sent a wave of nausea through me that had nothing to do with my pregnancy.

'The arrangement has been made,' she announced, her voice a soft, melodic coo that seemed to further cloud the vacant expression in Marcus's eyes. The subtle scent of herbs wafted from her—a forbidden manipulation I recognized from ancient texts in the pack library.

She was drugging him. Controlling him. And no one could stop her.

'Guards,' Sophia's voice hardened as she gestured toward me, 'relieve the former Luna of her ceremonial robes. She will travel as befits her new status.'

Two Delta wolves approached, their eyes downcast, unable to meet mine. These wolves—who had once sworn to protect me with their lives—now moved to strip me of my dignity.

'Marcus,' I whispered, one final, desperate plea. 'Our pup. Your heir.'

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes—confusion, perhaps the barest hint of recognition. But then Sophia moved closer to him, her scent intensifying, and the moment was gone.

The Deltas removed my Luna medallion, the silver