By the time the patrol arrives, it is already too late.
As our beta picks my body off of the ground, I feel the moment when my heart stops and my spirit slips away.
“Damn it, Val,” he cries. “Why didn’t you wait for us? I told you to wait.”
My soul travels swiftly, following the last thread of fate still tethering me to this existence.
My mate. Maxwell.
In seconds, I am hovering above him as he continues to thrust between the open legs of his mistress. They are both enjoying themselves, fully lost in the moment.
Did he know I was dying as he fucked her? Did he feel when my heart stopped beating as he thrust inside her?
“Max, I’m here!” I shout in his ear.
He looks up, and for a moment I think he can see me, but when he goes back to plowing into her, I know I’m wrong.
No matter what I try, It’s pointless. He wouldn’t listen to me when I was alive, why would my death matter?
Unable to turn away, I watch him come undone, wishing I could touch him one more time even as he slides out of Phoebe. She moans as he finishes, reaching for him, begging him to stay.
“Get cleaned up, we need to leave soon,” he orders her, turning his back.
“Yes Alpha,” she replies quietly, her eyes downcast. “As you wish.”
I still feel the stab where my heart once was as she covers herself with one of his shirts and saunters from the room.
Watching him prepare for a date with another woman, I remember every moment he told me I was imagining things about their relationship.
“She’s an omega,” he’d argue, “You’re my Luna. You will always be my Luna. She could never take your place.”
Yet as she places a delicate arm on his, I can’t help but notice how perfect they look together striding into the Alpha Ball side by side.
An hour later, their joy is snatched by the arrival of our Beta, Dexter. He pulls the Alpha aside, his grim face dampening the mood.
The alpha pats Phoebe’s hand in dismissal. Nodding demurely, she gives him a simple, easy-going smile.
“Dex, can’t this wait?” He asks as they enter a separate room. Max’s eyes widen as he notices the blood stains on his Beta’s clothing.
“There was an attack,” Dexter explains. “A large group of rogues violated our borders.” As Dexter delivers the story of my demise, all the color drains from Max’s face.
“Why weren’t you with her? She wasn’t supposed to be alone,” the alpha demands, his face only inches from his beta as he fights to rein in his anger.
“We were called away to check the southern boundary,” Dexter explains. “By the time we were called back, it was too late.”
Only moments after Dexter leaves, Phoebe’s small, blonde head peeks around the doorway. In one hand she’s holding out a glass of whiskey. In the other, the bottle.
“Alpha, are you okay?”
Snatching the glass from her hand, he swallows it in a single gulp. “Val is dead,” he announces, his voice distant and cold as reaches for the bottle.
Her face falls sympathetically. “Let’s get out of here,” Phoebe suggests and he agrees, letting her wrap her arms around him in comfort.
They make the slow march back to the packhouse. She settles in next to him, soothing his hurt with her kind words and gentle touches.
“Come on, Baby,” she takes a deep swig before handing the bottle back to him as they reach the packhouse. “Let’s go back to your room. I’ll help you forget about this. Let me take care of you.”
“No,” His lips curl. “Not tonight.”
“But we wouldn’t even need to sneak around this time. She’s not here to bother us anymore,” she pouts.
His fist clenches the bottle. “I said no.”
“I bet she set up this attack herself,” Phoebe’s sweetness sours at his rejection. “She was always so jealous. It serves her right that she…”
Max slaps Phoebe hard enough that she stumbles and falls to the ground. Blinking up at him in shock, she places her hand on bruises forming on her cheek.
“How dare you speak of your Luna that way!” He snarls, his words slurred from alcohol and pain.
Phoebe cowers as she drops her head to the ground. “Please forgive me Alpha."
He turns his back to her and opens the packhouse door.
“Val, I’m …” he starts to call out like he always does but there’s nobody here to answer this time. Tonight the packhouse is empty and dark.
As I reach forward to comfort him, another hand lands on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Alpha,” Phoebe’s hand stretches across his chest. “Please forgive me. I just wanted to be close to you.”
I wait for him to throw off her hand, to reject her and to send her away so that he can be alone with his grief.
But I should have known better. He’s too weak.
Saying nothing, he brings her fingers to his lips and turns her in his arms. As he pushes her forcefully into the door, his hands roving her body, I shrink to dust.
Grabbing Phoebe around the waist, he undoes his fly and pushes up her skirt as bends her over a table.
In his rush, he absentmindedly knocks over a portrait of the two of us together. Glass shatters everyone, disturbing the dark stillness of the room. He pauses to pick it up and I hover next to him hoping to see a flicker of remorse.
Instead, he growls, tearing the picture to tiny shreds. Phoebe looks up to see, but he pushes her down roughly as he kicks her legs apart and slams his hardness into her core.
She screams in pleasure as he rams into her, the tabletop rattling as more pictures from our life fall like stones around his feet.
“How could you leave me,” he grunts as he thrusts, staring ahead at the place where I’m standing. “You were mine.”
Does he see me? Does he know I’m here?
“Yes, Alpha yes!” Phoebe’s moans of excitement break the spell and he stops. Looking at the destroyed memories around his feet, his lips curl in disgust.
With rough hands, he pulls her up the stairs to our bedroom. Ripping her dress from her shoulders, he grabs one of my nightgowns and throws it at her. “Put this on,” he grunts, and she nods, obeying without question.
“Stop it,” I beg as he grabs my finest perfume, spritzing her liberally as she giggles in delight. “Please,” I beg as he drapes a long strand of my pearls around her neck.
Those pearls had been a mating day present. He had given them to me on the night he proposed to me, asking me to be his wife and Luna.
“Tonight, you’re my luna,” he announces drunkenly as flips her onto the bed.
Pushing her head to the side as he enters her again, her legs open wide to receive him. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he whispers my name over and over again.
“It isn’t me,” I weep as he finishes inside of her. biting her hard on her marking spot, claiming her. “I’m right here.”
She places her hand where his teeth once were and her lips curl upwards in contentment. “Alpha,” she sighs, glistening with sweat and the joy of their union.
Finally spent, he rolls off of her to lie in a stupor, quickly falling asleep as Phoebe pants, struggling to regain her breath. Eventually, her body settles too, and her eyes close as the alcohol and exhaustion take over and they both fall into a fitful slumber.
I watch the two of them sleep side by side the rest of the evening. I have nothing better to do, since the Moon Goddess seems amused at my suffering and sees fit to make me watch as my husband forgets me in the arms of another.
As the night wears on, I guard his slumber, thinking about all of the moments we shared in our early days. That necklace, the one around her neck, glistened brightly on my throat as we danced on our wedding day. “You are my perfect, shining jewel,” he had said to me as he twirled me on the dance floor. “My perfect Luna, now and forever. “
I can’t believe he claimed her. How can he replace me so quickly?
When the sun peeks into the room around the blinds, Phoebe is the first to wake. Sighing contentedly, she traces a finger along his arm possessively as with the other hand she touches her newly formed mark.
“Mine,” she practices quietly as she watches his chest move up and down in his sleep. “All mine.”
Reaching down, she grabs the tattered remains of her dress. Instead of putting it on and creeping to her room like a good little omega, she grabs her cellphone from one of her pockets and settles back into his arms.
Smiling sweetly, she takes a selfie in my bed wearing my jewels and my husband like a trophy, like a hunter after a well-executed kill.
Phoebe takes another photo. And another. Laughing, she wraps my pearls around her fingers, making sure her new mark is visible in every shot.
If only my hands still worked, I’d scratch the smug smile off her face.
The sheets rustle and she startles. Turning quickly, she throws down her phone, leaving it face up. It has an open web browser to her social media feed, now full of images of the two of them together.
Max reaches over and grabs her phone.
