Chapter 1 The Rejected Luna

Selene Rayne - POV

⸻

They called me Luna, but never like they meant it.

In the pack of Nightfall Ridge, the title was nothing more than a scar they etched into me with cold stares, dismissive glances, and whispered accusations. I bore it in silence. After all, I had been chosen. Fate had marked me as the mate of Alpha Darius Blackthorn - feared by many, revered by all.

But no one dared revere me.

Not when I was too quiet. Not when I had no warrior blood. Not when my wolf, Astraea, remained painfully dormant.

I had spent two years in this hollow palace of stone and dominance, sleeping beside a man who never truly looked at me. His rejection didn't come with violence, only indifference - but that was its own cruelty. Worse, he never formally severed the bond. I was his Luna in title, yes... but not in soul.

He refused to mark me.

He refused to claim me.

And the pack followed his lead.

"You should smile more, Luna," one of the warriors sneered one morning as I brought a tray of tea to the council chambers. "You're making the room cold."

I said nothing. I was good at that.

I wasn't brought here to lead. I was brought here to exist quietly in his shadow.

I did not flinch when Darius walked past me without a word. I did not wince when his Beta called me "girl" instead of my name. And I did not cry when I overheard the omegas placing bets on whether he'd ever mark me.

But I felt it all.

Every day.

Like frostbite working its way through the skin.

⸻

Then, it happened.

The final fracture.

We were in the Great Hall, the fire burning low, shadows dancing against the stone. Darius had summoned me - rare enough on its own. I'd hoped, stupidly, that maybe tonight would be different. Maybe he would see me.

Instead, he spoke the words I had feared since the bond had first snapped into place.

"I reject you, Selene Rayne. As my mate and as my Luna."

No warning. No reason. No mercy.

The bond cracked inside me like a whip. Astraea howled in pain for the first time in months. I gasped, clutching my chest as if I could hold the pieces together.

"You can't-" I choked.

"I just did."

He turned, emotionless, and walked away.

And not a single soul in that room stopped him.

I don't remember leaving the hall. I don't remember packing. I only remember the snow - thick, unrelenting - as I wandered through the forest, the last of the pack border shrinking behind me like a wound closing over.

I wandered without a destination, the chill of despair settling deep within my bones. No allies to guide me, no dignity left to cling to.

Just a wolf, wounded and silent, thrumming in my chest.

Just a heart that had yet to grasp the full weight of its fracture.

Three days later, I collapsed at the edge of an unfamiliar territory, feverish and barefoot, my mind foggy and desperate. The world swirled around me as I succumbed to the exhaustion that beckoned me toward the end.

Instead, fate intervened.

Or perhaps it was him who found me.

Strong hands, warm and unwavering, lifted me from the snow's cold embrace. A voice-deep, smooth, and reassuring-murmured something just beyond my comprehension. His scent enveloped me, a grounding mixture of cedarwood and smoke, wrapping my senses in a soothing calm.

Then, darkness reclaimed me.

When I awoke, warmth cradled my body.

I blinked against the soft, golden light streaming through a quaint cabin window. Each movement prompted a delightful ache throughout my body. My lips felt cracked and parched, but I was... alive.

Alive in a bed that radiated comfort, free from the oppressive aura of power or cold stone.

A fire crackled nearby, its flickering flames casting playful shadows. A soft wool blanket-thicker and richer than the threadbare linens of Nightfall-was tucked around my legs.

As I attempted to sit up, a jolt of pain shot through my ribs, sharp and jarring.

"Don't move too fast."

The voice, low and deep, sent a shiver of surprise through me.

Turning slowly, I gasped at the sight before me.

He stood tall and imposing, broad-shouldered with dark hair tousled across his brow. His eyes, a piercing steel-gray, penetrated with a gaze that wasn't cruel but compellingly unreadable.

"I found you on the southern border," he stated, keeping his distance. "You were half-frozen. No scent of pack lingered around you."

Swallowing hard against the knot of fear in my throat, I replied, "I didn't mean to trespass."

"You didn't."

He moved toward the table, pouring steaming tea into a delicate cup before placing it gently beside me.

"My name is Ronan Vale," he introduced himself, his voice steady. "Alpha of the Crescent Hollow pack."

The name ignited a flicker of memory-a northern territory renowned for its self-imposed isolation, its neutrality, and the strength of its wolves.

"I'm Selene Rayne," I whispered, the name barely escaping my lips.

His eyes flickered with recognition, just for a moment.

"I know who you are."

My breath caught in my throat. "Then why help me?"

He hesitated, his gaze contemplative. "Because even Lunas deserve saving."

I remained in that cabin for five days.

Not as a prisoner, shrouded in chains of obligation. Not as a guest, delicately coddled with false comforts.

But as something in between-a ghost learning to breathe life back into its essence.

The wolves of Crescent Hollow rarely spoke to me. They offered food, warmth, and silence-silent gestures of kindness without pity. Not one of them dared to ask why I had been cast into darkness.

And Ronan-he didn't pry.

He visited just once a day, inquiring softly if I needed anything, before retreating and leaving me my space.

Not distance, for distance implies separation.

But space-an inviting buffer of understanding and respect.

I discovered the difference slowly.

On the sixth day, I stood on my own two feet again, unsteady but resolute.

Outside, Ronan was chopping wood with an effortless, flowing grace. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong, toned arms. A few stray strands of hair clung to his brow, dampened by the snowflakes that drifted through the air. In that moment, he appeared less like an aloof Alpha and more like a warrior-fierce yet undeniably human.

"Thank you," I managed to say, my voice a mere whisper carried by the wind.

He paused, casting a glance in my direction. "You're healing."

I nodded, the weight of gratitude swelling within me.

"You still carry his scent," he noted, not unkindly. "The bond has yet to loosen its grip."

"No," I admitted, a pang of sorrow surfacing. "He rejected me, but my wolf still... remembers."

"That's normal," he assured me, his tone steady.

And then I truly looked at him-saw the man behind the Alpha. Something within me stilled, wrapping around the moment like a warm embrace.

He didn't see me as broken.

He didn't treat me as fragile.

He regarded me as real.

And for the first time in years, I felt truly seen.