After My Mate Claimed Another Luna

At 5:14 on a Tuesday morning, invisible fangs tore into the flesh of my throat.

The pain hit so hard my vision flashed white. My hand spasmed against the mahogany desk, knocking over a brass pen. A raw, blistering heat ripped through my mate bond, carrying the wet sound of broken skin and the suffocating high of a male claiming a female. Warren was marking someone else. The phantom bite burned like acid on my collarbone, turning from boiling agony to an icy hollow—like an iron door slamming shut in an empty room.

Deep behind my ribs, Sable—my wolf, whom I had kept muffled for seven years—bared her teeth and gave a low, bloodthirsty snarl.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I clamped my jaw shut, forced air into my lungs, and severed the bond channel with a brutal mental snap. The agony faded to a dull, throbbing ache.

Across the desk, Caden paused mid-sentence. My Beta was holding a ledger, his knuckles white.

"Luna?" he asked quietly.

"Finish the report, Caden," I said. My voice came out flat, cold, and perfectly steady.

Caden swallowed hard and pointed to the access log between us. "The pack's restricted wolfsbane vault was opened three times this month. Each time, your personal Luna seal bypassed the lock. But I checked your ward logs. On every single night, you were reinforcing the perimeter boundary stones at the eastern border. You were nowhere near the vault."

I looked down at the digital trace signature. The secondary security scan had caught an override passcode.

Laylah Voss.

Three years ago, I pulled Laylah out of a ditch near a rogue camp. She was half-starved, weeping, and bruised. I sponsored her into Ironveil, gave her clean clothes, and taught her how to handle basic pack duties. Now, her name sat on my desk, stamped beside stolen wolfsbane and Warren's fresh bite mark on my soul.

"Is there anything else?" I asked.

Caden didn't flinch. Without a word, he pulled a thick manila folder from beneath his arm and set it over the vault log. "Eight months of Alpha patrol reassignments. Garrett approved them all behind your back. Patrols on the northern ridge were cut by half on the exact nights the stores went missing."

"Garrett covered his tracks well," I said.

"Not well enough," Caden replied. "What do we do?"

"You pull every original border log from the ward archives for the last six months," I told him, rising from my chair. "No summaries. Originals only. Pack them in my vehicle."

"And Alpha Warren?"

"He doesn't exist to you today."

I walked to the wall safe behind my desk, punched in the six-digit code, and pulled out a heavy parchment bound with crimson wax. It was the Luna Accord—the blood pact signed seven years ago when I merged my family's ancestral lands into Ironveil. I traced the reversion clause with my thumb: *Should the Alpha break the sacred bond through infidelity, all merged territory reverts to the Luna's bloodline, and the Alpha forfeits his right to command.*

I tucked the accord into my inside coat pocket. I had my weapon.

***

By evening, the pack house smelled like a slaughterhouse disguised as a banquet.

I stood by the grand staircase as the double oak doors swung open. Warren walked into the great hall, flanked by Garrett and six senior warriors. The scent came off him in waves: cheap vanilla, sweat, and a thick, metallic layer of wolfsbane suppressant rubbed directly over his throat to hide the stench of his betrayal. But my healer's nose cut right through it.

Laylah walked two steps behind him. Her eyes were downcast, her posture humble and frail, but around her neck was a high-collared blouse. Beneath the collar, a fresh, swollen bruise peeked out.

The room went dead silent.

Garrett stepped forward, taking his customary half-step in front of Warren like a shield. He crossed his arms and looked at me with cold arrogance. He had spent months whispering to the warriors that my strength was driving Warren away, that an Alpha needed a gentle mate, not a second commander.

Warren stepped to the center of the hall. He looked straight at me, holding my gaze a beat too long. It was his tell. He always did that when he was about to lie.

"Pack of Ironveil," Warren projected, his voice booming across the rafters. "The Moon Goddess has shown me our true future. The bond between Margot and me was a duty, not destiny. Today, the Goddess gave me my true mate."

He reached back and pulled Laylah to his side. A murmur ripped through the pack members.

"Laylah has accepted my mark," Warren said smoothly. "The Mate Ceremony will be held this Saturday. Ironveil will welcome its true Luna."

He turned fully toward me. His eyes darkened, and his chest expanded as he unleashed his Alpha aura. A suffocating wall of pressure crashed through the room, forcing several young Deltas to their knees.

"Margot," Warren commanded, dropping his voice into the full Alpha tone, thick with domineering force. "Your tenure as Luna is finished. You will step down and report to the infirmary as pack healer. Kneel and yield the title."

The Alpha command slammed into my mind like a battering ram, demanding submission.

I didn't bow. I didn't bend.

Deep inside me, Sable snarled, her ancient bloodline burning through Warren's crude pressure like paper in a furnace. The force shattered against my skin.

Warren's eyes widened a fraction.

"I see," I said simply.

Before he could speak, Garrett pulled a signed pack transition decree from his vest, stepped forward, and slammed it face-down onto the council table.