When the Luna Became Rogue

I'd been cleaning Alpha Nixon's office for hours, preparing for tomorrow's meeting with the visiting dignitaries. My hands moved mechanically, dusting shelves and organizing papers while my mind wandered to the Luna Crowning Ceremony in just three days. Five years of service to the Silver Creek Pack would finally culminate in my official position as Nixon's mate and Luna.

"Sloan, you're doing that wrong." Nixon's voice startled me from the doorway. "The leather-bound books go on the bottom shelf, not mixed with the journals."

I nodded, careful not to show irritation. "Of course, Alpha. I'll fix it right away."

As I reached for the stack of leather-bound books, my elbow knocked against the desk lamp. The books tumbled to the floor, scattering across the polished hardwood. One particular book landed open, its pages splayed out like wounded wings.

"I'm so sorry!" I dropped to my knees, gathering the fallen volumes.

"Don't touch—" Nixon began, but stopped himself. "Just leave it. I'll handle it later."

But something caught my eye—a leather-bound journal with the Silver Creek Pack emblem embossed on its cover. The Alpha Log. I'd never seen it before, though I'd heard whispers about it from other pack members. It was sacred, private—the thoughts of an Alpha meant only for himself.

The open page displayed yesterday's date, and the elegant script that could only be Nixon's flowed across the cream-colored paper. My fingers trembled as I reached out, knowing I shouldn't but unable to stop myself.

"Just one glance," I whispered to myself.

My eyes scanned the page, absorbing Nixon's words like poison:

"Sloan is the perfect breeder, submissive and domestic; the safe choice for stabilizing the pack, but her wolf is weak and lacks fire unlike Lana. She will never set my soul ablaze like Lana could. Still, she serves her purpose—keeping the pack healthy and providing heirs. What more could I ask for in a Luna?"

The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. Five years. Five years I'd stood by his side, healing his warriors, caring for his pack members, believing I meant something to him. And this was all I was—a breeder. A safe choice.

I quickly closed the journal and placed it back on the desk, my hands shaking so badly I had to grip the edge to steady myself.

---

The pack dinner that evening was meant to celebrate my upcoming crowning. Tables laden with food filled the great hall, pack members mingling and offering congratulations. I sat beside Nixon, wearing the smile that had become my mask over the years.

Then the perimeter alarms blared through the hall, cutting off conversation mid-sentence.

"INTRUDER ALERT! NORTH GATE!"

Nixon stood immediately, his Alpha aura flaring protectively around him. "Stay here," he commanded, but I followed anyway, my healer's instincts kicking in.

We rushed to the north gate where a lone figure stumbled through, bleeding and disheveled.

"Please," she gasped, collapsing to her knees. "My pack... they're all dead..."

I recognized her instantly—Lana Henderson, daughter of