The Rejected Luna's Twin Alphas

The Judgment Circle was not just a place of law, but it was a place where souls went to die. The floor was made of obsidian, cold enough to seep through my skin and settle in my marrow. My wrists were raw, the silver-lined shackles hissing every time I moved, sending thin curls of acrid smoke into the air.

​But the physical pain was a dull thrum compared to the sight of the man on the throne.

​Killian Nightshade. My Alpha. My husband. My mate.

​He sat with his back straight, his large hands gripping the obsidian armrests so tightly the stone began to hairline fracture. His golden eyes, usually filled with a warmth that could melt the harshest winter, were flat and glassy. He looked like a man made of marble, beautiful and utterly lifeless.

​"Elara Vance," Killian's voice didn't just speak; it boomed, vibrating through the stone floor and slamming into my chest. "The High Council has reached a verdict. The vial of Nightshade poison, the very toxin currently paralyzing my father, it was found hidden in your personal infirmary. Three witnesses saw you near the kitchens before the Alpha Emeritus fell. And then... there is Sienna."

​My gaze flickered to the side. Sienna Thorne, the Beta's daughter, sat draped in white silk that made her look like a mourning angel. A thick, pristine bandage was wrapped around her neck. She looked fragile, her lower lip trembling as if she were about to burst into tears. But when our eyes met for a fleeting second, the mask slipped. In that dark, honeyed gaze was a flash of pure, unadulterated triumph.

​"I didn't do it, Killian," I whispered. My voice was raspy, my throat feeling like it had been scraped with sandpaper. I forced myself to stand, ignoring the way the silver bit into my skin. "I have spent five years as your healer. I have saved lives in this pack. Why would I destroy the man who treated me like a daughter when my own parents died?"

​"Because you were desperate!" a voice shrieked from the back of the hall. It was Sienna's mother, but soon, the entire room erupted into a cacophony of hatred.

​"She knew she was being replaced!"

"A wolf-less freak can't lead a pack!"

"Traitor! Poisoner!"

​The shadows in the hall seemed to lengthen as the pack's collective anger rose. The growls of a hundred shifted and semi-shifted wolves created a low-frequency vibration that made the windows rattle.

​Killian stood up, and the room went instantly silent. He was six-foot-four of pure, predatory muscle, and as he stepped down from the dais, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. He stopped just inches from the edge of the Judgment Circle.

​His scent-sandalwood and rain-hit me like a physical blow. It was the scent of home, of safety. But today, it felt like the scent of a storm that was about to drown me.

​"I gave you everything," Killian said, his voice dropping to a