Rejected By The Alpha: The Hidden Luna's Revenge

For five years, I hid my identity as a legendary White Wolf, swallowing suppressants that tasted like ash just to protect Alpha Grafton.

I played the role of the spineless "Shadow," enduring his pack's ridicule and his cold indifference, all to fulfill a promise I made to his dead twin brother.

But when I finally exposed my powers to save Grafton from a rigged car crash, shattering my leg with liquid silver in the process, he didn't thank me.

Instead, he stepped over my bleeding body to comfort Cherrelle, a socialite who was faking a wrist injury.

He believed her lies over my sacrifice.

When I tried to warn him about the poison in his drink, he forced me to swallow the Wolfsbane myself.

He watched me convulse on the floor, calling me a "drama queen."

He even threw me into a dog kennel, crushing the only photo I had of his brother-the man I actually loved-under his boot.

He thought I was a stalker obsessed with him.

He didn't know I drank black coffee I hated every morning just to be in sync with him, or that the "jealousy" he saw was actually grief for the ghost of his twin.

Broken and done, I stood on the edge of Blackwood Bridge and sent him one final text.

"I'm going to be with the man I actually love."

Then, I rejected him as my mate, severed the bond that linked our souls, and let the dark river wash away five years of lies.

Chapter 1

Cayla POV:

The red circle on the calendar didn't just mark a date; it marked a prison break.

October 15th.

Five years. One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days of swallowing bitter pills and biting my tongue.

Justen's dying wish had been a shackle I wore willingly. "Keep him safe, Cayla. Hide your wolf. Hide your power. Protect Grafton until he is ready to lead the Bloodmoon Pack alone."

So I did. I played the part of the scentless, spineless assistant. I let them call me "Shadow." I let them think I was nothing.

But beneath the suppressants that made my blood taste like ash, I was a White Wolf. A myth in human skin.

"Contract's up, Justen," I whispered to the rain-streaked window. "I'm done."

I grabbed the resignation letter and headed for the Alpha's office. I didn't knock. After five years of cleaning up his messes, I figured I'd earned the right to barge in.

Grafton Mcleod sat behind his massive desk, radiating an aura that tasted like ozone and cedar. He was a True Alpha-dominant, aggressive, and unfortunately, my Fated Mate.

My wolf, Selene, scratched at the walls of her chemical cage. Mate!

I ignored her. To him, I was just the charity case his dead brother had dragged in.

"I'm resigning," I said, sliding the envelope across the mahogany.

Grafton looked up, his steel-gray eyes narrowing. "Is this a joke, Cayla? Or a negotiation tactic?"

"I just want to leave, Alpha."

"And go where?" He stood, circling the desk like a shark. "You're a human-blooded stray with no wolf and no skills outside of fetching my coffee. You leave this pack, the Rogues will eat you for breakfast."

"I'll take my chances."

"Request denied," he sneered, swiping the letter onto the floor. "You stay until I decide you're useless. Now get out. Brooks is here."

I wanted to shift right there and tear his desk in half. Instead, I turned on my heel.

I made it as far as the lobby when Brooks, the pack lawyer, intercepted me. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Miss Bass, you need to know," Brooks stammered. "Cherrelle... she's got him doing the Underground Circuit. Tonight."

My stomach dropped. The Underground Circuit was a death trap run by Rogues. No rules. Silver-spiked bumpers.

"Why?"

"She questioned his manhood," Brooks said, adjusting his glasses. "Said a real Alpha wouldn't be afraid of a little race."

Cherrelle Hughes. The Beta socialite clawing her way to the Luna position. She'd burn the whole pack down if it meant she could be Queen of the ashes.

"Where?"

"Dead Man's Curve. Starts in twenty."

I didn't think. I just ran.

The Mate Bond is a biological wire-you pull one end, the other bleeds. If he died, I was as good as dead.

I drove my beat-up sedan like I was running from hell itself. When I screeched onto the cliffside track, I saw him. Grafton was stepping into a sleek racer. Cherrelle was hanging off his arm, whispering poison in his ear.

I sprinted across the tarmac.

"Grafton!"

He turned, annoyance flashing on his face. "Go home, stray."

"Don't get in that car," I panted. "It's a trap. I saw the manifest. The Rogue car is rigged with liquid silver injectors."

"She's lying," Cherrelle scoffed, checking her nails. "She's just jealous, baby. She can't stand seeing you win."

Grafton looked at me, then at Cherrelle. He chose the lie. "Get off the track, Cayla."

He reached for the door handle.

No.

I dropped the mental barrier. Just a crack.

A pressure wave slammed into the crowd. Not human. Not Omega. Pure, unadulterated Alpha authority.

Grafton stumbled back, the keys slipping from his fingers.

I didn't hesitate. I snatched the keys, shoved him into his Gamma's chest, and vaulted into the driver's seat.

"Hold him back!" I yelled, my voice layering with a harmonic command that made the Gamma freeze in obedience.

I slammed the gas just as the starting gun cracked.

The race was a blur of mud and metal. I wasn't driving; I was hunting.

Left. Brake. Drift.

The Rogue driver grinned and hit a switch. His bumper extended-shining silver spikes dripping with liquid death.

He rammed me.

CRUNCH.

The metal sheared. The silver bit into my thigh.

It felt like molten lead injected straight into the bone.

I screamed, but I didn't lift my foot. I yanked the wheel hard to the right. My heavier chassis caught his rear quarter panel at the perfect angle. Physics took over. The Rogue car spun out, crashing through the guardrail and tumbling into the ravine.

I crossed the finish line.

My car was a smoking wreck. I kicked the door open and fell onto the asphalt, clutching my leg. The silver was already turning the veins black.

Grafton was there in a second. He looked furious. Terrified. Confused.

"You suicidal idiot!" he roared, dropping to his knees.

I pulled the winner's badge-a golden skull-from my pocket and shoved it into his chest.

"You... won," I wheezed. "Tell Cherrelle... to choke on it."

His hand brushed mine.

ZAP.

A jolt of electricity arced between us, lighting up my nervous system like a Christmas tree. The Mate Bond.

Grafton froze. His pupils blew wide, swallowing the irises. He stared at his hand, then at me.

"What..." he whispered.

The pain dragged me under. The last thing I saw was a hallucination of Justen standing in the rain.

"Job's done, boss," I whispered, and let the darkness take me.

Grafton POV:

My hand was still tingling. Like I'd grabbed a live wire.

"Get her to the pack hospital!" I barked.

My wolf, Fenrir, was losing his mind. Mate. Hurt. Protect.

I shoved him down. Impossible, I thought. She's a human. A stray. Justen's pet project. She can't be.

But the spark...

At the hospital, the doctors swarmed her.

"Alpha," Dr. Evans said, frowning at the monitors. "Her healing factor is garbage. It's like her system is dormant. The silver is eating her alive."

"Fix her," I growled.

"Grafton?"

Cherrelle's voice grated on my ears. She was sitting in a wheelchair she didn't need, holding a wrist that wasn't broken.

"Baby, I'm traumatized," she sniffled. "That Rogue... he looked at me."

I looked at Cayla, bleeding out on the table. Then I looked at Cherrelle.

Logic said Cayla saved my life. Logic said that spark meant she was my other half.

But paranoia whispered louder. She hid her power. She used a Voice command on the Gamma. What else is she hiding? Is she a witch? A spy?

"Grafton," Cherrelle whined. "My wrist hurts."

I needed to think. I needed distance from the confusing scent of vanilla and rain coming from Cayla.

"Dr. Evans," I said, my voice cold. "Check Miss Hughes. She's... in shock."

"But Alpha," Evans protested. "Miss Bass is critical."

"She's tough. She'll live," I lied to myself. "That's an order."

I walked out, leaving my potential Mate to bleed alone.

Cayla POV:

I woke up to silence. No beeping machines. No nurses.

My leg throbbed with a dull, toxic ache. I looked down. Bandaged, but the blood was seeping through. The silver was still in there, fighting the suppressants.

Thirsty.

I dragged myself out of bed. I grabbed an IV pole and shuffled into the hallway.

Laughter drifted from the VIP suite.

I looked in. Grafton was sitting on the bed, holding an ice pack to Cherrelle's perfectly fine wrist. He was releasing calming pheromones-a luxury he'd never wasted on me.

Cherrelle spotted me. Her eyes narrowed, and she launched into a performance worthy of an Oscar.

"Ah!" she shrieked, flinching away. "She's doing it again! She's in my head!"

Grafton spun around.

"What are you doing?" he roared.

"Water," I rasped.

"Liar!" Cherrelle cried. "She's projecting pain! Make it stop!"

Grafton marched toward me. He didn't see the blood on my gown. He only saw the threat to his precious socialite.

He grabbed my arm. His grip bruised.

"I told you to stay away from her," he snarled.

He shoved me.

I hit the wall hard. My head cracked against the plaster.

I slid to the floor, seeing stars.

Grafton loomed over me, eyes glowing red. He wasn't thinking. He was reacting to Cherrelle's distress signals like a puppet.

"You are nothing," he spat. "You will never be Luna. You aren't even worthy to clean her shoes."

My heart didn't break. It just stopped beating for a second.

"I, Grafton Mcleod, Command you," he bellowed, the Alpha magic pinning me to the floor. "Do not come near us."

I lay in my own blood, watching the man I saved walk back to the woman who wanted me dead.

Cayla POV:

Three days later, I was back at my desk. The Alpha Command didn't account for sick days.

Cherrelle strutted in, tossing a file on my desk.

"Grafton wants Moonberry Tarts for the poker night. From the bakery on the Rogue border."

"That's twenty miles away," I said. "And there's a storm warning."

"Better get driving then, Shadow."

By the time I got back to the pack house, the storm had turned the world into a car wash. I was soaked, shivering, and clutching a box of soggy tarts.

The poker game was in the basement bar. Grafton sat in the center, surrounded by sycophants. Cherrelle was on his lap.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Cherrelle giggled.

"Put them down and leave," Grafton said, not looking up from his cards.

"Wait," Cherrelle said. "Truth or Dare. Grafton, I dare you to drink a shot of 'Midnight Madness'."

The room went dead silent.

Jeremy, the Gamma, stood up. "Cherrelle, are you insane? That's straight Wolfsbane extract. It's for torture, not toasts."

Wolfsbane. It causes paralysis, hallucinations, and agony.

"It's diluted," Cherrelle lied smoothly. "Just a little kick. Unless our big bad Alpha is scared?"

Grafton's jaw tightened. His pride was his leash, and she held the handle. "Pour it."

"No!" I stepped forward. The smell coming off that bottle was acrid enough to strip paint. "Grafton, don't. That's not diluted. It's pure concentrate."

"Silence, slave," Grafton snapped.

Cherrelle held the glass to his lips.

Justen's voice whispered in my head: Protect him.

I moved.

I threw myself across the table, knocking the cards flying.

"Get off!" Grafton shouted.

I snatched the glass.

"You won't believe me," I said, my voice shaking. "So I'll show you."

I downed the shot.

It tasted like battery acid.

The moment it hit my stomach, my insides dissolved. It was worse than silver. It felt like swallowing a live grenade.

I fell to my knees, clutching my throat.

"Cayla!" Jeremy shouted.

I looked up, gasping for air. I expected to see gratitude.

Instead, I saw Grafton rolling his eyes.

"Drama queen," he muttered. "She probably palmed the real glass. Get her out of here. She's ruining the vibe."

He didn't know. He couldn't feel the bond screaming because he had blocked it out with his own arrogance.

I curled into a ball on the sticky floor, dying inside, while the man I loved dealt the next hand.