The Luna Who Banished Her Alpha Mate

Two months had passed since the loss—an accidental fall, a sudden pain, and then... silence. The kind of silence that followed you like a shadow. Today, I had my final checkup at the pack infirmary, alone again. Preston said he'd come. He always said that. But true to form, he vanished just before the appointment began.

The healer handed me the last round of medication. I nodded silently, my limbs moving on autopilot as I left the sterile room. There was no anger this time. Just a hollow echo where pain used to live.

By the time I got back to the pack house, the emptiness had settled in my bones. I sat down and, out of habit, opened my phone. Twitter blinked up at me. A new post. Gwen again.

"Only a tiny cut, but Preston insisted I see a doctor. He’s been by my side ever since. Still the sweetest!"

My eyes skimmed the words, unmoved. So that’s where he was—again.

There was no sting of betrayal, no ache of jealousy. I should have felt something, anything. But I didn’t. It was like all the love I’d once carried for Preston had been wrung dry, leaving only resignation.

Later that night, I saw him return. He wasn’t alone. In his arms was a little boy—Gwen’s son. They looked... content. Domestic. From where I stood, just a few steps away, they resembled a family. One I clearly didn’t belong to.

I smiled faintly, almost mockingly. “Looks like the child could use a father figure. Spend more time with them, Alpha,” I said coolly, turning to leave.

His hand gripped my arm. Desperate. “Marcia, why are you like this now? Why don’t you care anymore?”

I stared at him blankly. He didn’t know? I stopped caring the day he made me feel invisible.

Earlier that afternoon, before the checkup, Preston had reached out through our bond.

"Something came up. You’ll be alright heading home on your own, right?"

I remembered pausing, phone in hand, unsure whether to scream or laugh.

"Sure. No problem," I replied, detached.

On the ride home, something tugged at me to glance back. That’s when I spotted his car—still parked near the infirmary. He hadn't left for some urgent Alpha task. No. He had stayed. Just not for me.

When I arrived home, curiosity got the better of me. I checked again. Another tweet from Gwen. Same tone. Same Preston.

"He took me to the hospital for a tiny scrape—won’t let me out of his sight."

I remembered the shirt Preston wore in that photo. I bought it for him on his birthday.

I remembered her too—Gwen Thompson. The shewolf from his past. The childhood flame who once left with another Alpha. After her mate died, she'd returned with a child and nothing else. No title. No power. No pack.

And yet, the moment she returned, it was like I’d never mattered.

He had always been hers, hadn’t he?

I’d been the standin Luna. Temporary. Convenient.

That night, I drifted into a medicated sleep. But not for long.

A creak. The door opened. Preston entered quietly. I felt the mattress dip as he sat beside me, brushing his fingers through my hair.

“What did the healer say?” he asked softly, voice dipped in fake tenderness.

I caught the faint scent clinging to him—floral, unfamiliar, female. Not mine.

I pulled away, pretending not to notice. “She said I’m healing well,” I lied.

Preston gave a small nod. “I’ve just been so busy with Alpha duties lately…”

I said nothing. The air between us was thick with everything unspoken. Finally, I turned my back to him and murmured, “You should shower before bed.”

He lingered a second, as if waiting for an invitation to explain or justify himself. None came.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, the water starting its steady stream. I stared at the wall, numb, listening to the sound of my mate bathing in someone else’s scent.

Sleep never came back.

The next day came in a blur, filled with endless obligations. As the Luna, I had a full plate—meetings, decisions, and the constant hum of responsibilities pulling me in every direction. Just as I finished the morning briefing, Preston’s voice pushed its way through the mind link, laced with irritation.

"Marcia, why didn’t you wake me? You left without saying a word, and now I’ve overslept."

The frustration I felt was all too familiar. Since our bond was sealed, I’d poured everything into caring for him—setting out his clothes, making his meals with care, gently waking him each day so his mornings started smoothly. It had been an act of love, at first. But now, the affection behind it had gone unnoticed. To him, it was just part of my job, not something I chose to do out of devotion.

A long breath escaped me. I wasn’t his maid. I was his Luna, not someone bound to his every whim.

"If you’re late, I suggest you get up quickly," I replied, letting some of my displeasure show.

"What should I wear?" he asked, as if picking his own outfit was beyond him.

"Your wardrobe is full, Alpha. Just grab whatever suits you," I said, my patience wearing thin.

"But I don’t see it..." he mumbled, that helpless tone creeping in like it always did.

A nearby Omega called for my attention, giving me the perfect excuse to end the conversation. "I’ve got work to do. You’ll have to manage without me," I said, turning away.

But he wasn’t finished.

"The shirts are wrinkled! Didn’t you iron them? How am I supposed to attend a meeting like this?"

And of course, the next complaint followed.

"You didn’t make breakfast?"

Each word hit me like a reminder of everything I had given up. I had silenced my wolf for this man. I had once believed in a shared future—love, children, leadership. But now, that dream felt more like a cruel joke. The life I had envisioned no longer seemed possible.

Overwhelmed, I left the pack house and wandered into a neighboring town. There, I checked into a modest inn that catered exclusively to female wolves—those who needed space, healing, or just a break. It felt like a safe pocket of peace, far removed from the life I had entangled myself in.

Lying on the bed, I stared up at the ceiling. The stillness around me brought a storm of memories. I remembered every moment I wished I could change. Then, through the silence, a soft voice reached my mind.

"My daughter..."

My mother’s voice—gentle, full of love and concern—wrapped around me. As the Moon Goddess, she had always guided me, warned me, cared for me. And yet here I was, aching with regret.

She had tried to protect me. Now her voice was a bittersweet comfort, reminding me that even if I had made mistakes, I wasn’t alone. But it also reminded me of the cost of my choices—ones I would carry with me forever.

Flashback

My eighteenth birthday had finally arrived, the day I would discover my destined mate—an event every wolf waited for.

"Are you excited to meet him?" my mother asked, her smile laced with something deeper.

"Yes, Mama! Can I see who it is?"

She nodded and summoned the sacred orb. As the image formed, I saw him—Alpha Preston from Westbrook Town’s Cold Moon Pack. Even through the orb, his presence felt strong and magnetic. My heart soared. But my mother’s smile faded, her gaze dimmed.

"Your mate..." she began, hesitation clear in her voice.

"What’s wrong?" I asked, my excitement starting to falter.

"There’s something you need to know. His bloodline carries a curse, Marcia. One that’s endured for generations. It’s dangerous."

My heart dropped. "What kind of curse?"

She sighed, her eyes sorrowful. "Long ago, an Alpha in his family rejected his mate because she had no wolf. He mocked her, hurt her deeply, and eventually pushed her to end a pregnancy she didn’t want to lose. Heartbroken, she sought help from her best friend—a powerful witch. Together, they cast a curse. Every Alpha born of that line would cause their mate to become wolfless."

A chill ran through me. My wolf—my spirit, my strength—would be lost if I chose him.

But when I looked back at the orb, I didn’t just see a cursed man. I saw Preston. The boy I had loved for years, even before fate had confirmed it.

"But I love him," I whispered. "Even if it means losing my wolf, I want to be with him."

My mother’s face tightened with grief. "Think about what you're giving up. Your wolf is your essence. Without her, you’ll never feel whole."

"I can’t let him go. I’m sorry, Mama. I choose him."

End of Flashback

Even now, the memory stung. That young girl had no idea what she was giving up. I had believed love would be enough. But love without respect, without support—it wasn’t love at all.

The sun had disappeared, and I still hadn’t responded to my mother. I didn’t know what to say. Guilt held me silent.

Then, once again, Preston’s voice barged into my thoughts.

"Why aren’t you back yet? Where’s dinner?"

The thought of returning to him filled me with disgust. I stayed put, wrapped in the comfort of stillness.

"I had something important to handle," I replied, calm and cool. "Let the maids prepare your meal."

His reaction was instant. "What?"

Preston had always refused food from anyone else. Only what I made was good enough. I had fed him day after day, believing it was a way to show love.

"Is there an issue?" I asked, a challenge hidden in my tone.

He hesitated. "No. Just... take care of yourself."

"Thanks," I said plainly.

Silence followed—long, strained, heavy.

Eventually, he reached out again, his voice uncertain.

"Marcia… are you upset with me?"

I should have been. Once, I would have cried, screamed, begged him to see how he hurt me. But now? Now I only felt numb. Either he hadn’t noticed or he simply didn’t care.

"I’m not angry," I said softly. Not to reassure him, but to acknowledge the truth within myself. Anger had faded. What remained was emptiness.

And perhaps, something stronger waiting to rise.

Preston’s voice drifted into my thoughts through the mind link, colored with what sounded like guilt.

“Marcia, Gwen’s raising a child all by herself. She doesn’t have anyone here. I’m the only one she can count on.”

The words struck me like icy water. It was almost laughable—he forgot that I, too, was isolated. I had no one either, except for him. But that didn’t seem to matter.

“I get it already,” I replied, forcing myself to stay level. “She’s clearly had a tough time.”

But the faint sarcasm in my voice must’ve registered because he fired back immediately, his tone sharp and defensive.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Why are you talking like that?”

“I said I understand,” I repeated, the bitterness beginning to seep through my carefully held restraint. “Is that not enough?”

“Why do you have to sound so cold?” he shot back, his patience clearly waning.

Letting out a long sigh, I answered tiredly, “What exactly do you want me to say?”

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until he finally muttered, “Fine. Do whatever you want,” and severed the link abruptly.

The irony clung to me like smoke. If I dared question his frequent visits to Gwen, I was being unreasonable. If I asked him when he’d come home, I was labeled clingy. Now, even when I tried to be understanding, it still rubbed him the wrong way.

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, pushing away the urge to cry over the familiar, exhausting loop. I needed to redirect my energy—find a version of myself that didn’t revolve around him. But was that even possible now that I had silenced my wolf?

As night fell, I remained at the inn, swallowed by memories and regrets. Every choice I had made circled my mind like a predator stalking its prey. I couldn’t bring myself to return to the pack house—not when every corner reminded me of a love that had soured.

Eventually, though, I made my way back. The house was quiet, and Preston was nowhere to be found. I showered, scrubbing away the residue of the day, and curled up in bed, hoping to escape into the numbness of sleep.

Just as I felt myself drifting, the mind link flared open again. Preston’s voice was strained and panicked.

“Marcia… my stomach... it hurts. Bad.”

I barely managed to mumble something in return before sleep overtook me again. Somewhere in the haze of dreaming, I heard him calling my name, but it felt distant, almost like an echo from another life.

A sharp noise woke me—a door creaking open. Preston stood at the foot of the bed, his face twisted in pain.

“Marcia, what happened to you? You used to care when I felt like this,” he said, his voice low and wounded.

His words pulled at memories I had desperately tried to lock away. I remembered one time clearly: he’d had a stomachache, and I had rushed to his office with medicine. It had been pouring, but I didn’t hesitate. I showed up drenched, my clothes clinging to me, water dripping off my hair. His subordinates had laughed at the sight. Not a single one showed concern that the Luna was standing there, soaked and shivering.

Preston had done nothing to stop them. In fact, his only reaction had been annoyance.

“Don’t come to my office again like this,” he had said coldly. “It’s embarrassing.”

That day, it had been Beta Clifton who noticed my shaking hands and chilled skin. Without a word, he handed me a warm cup of chocolate tea—my favorite—and led me to a seat to rest.

Clifton had always been quietly protective, stepping in during moments when Preston failed me. And as I thought more deeply, I realized that Clifton had been assigned to Cold Moon Pack around the same time I had arrived.

We had a shared history, one that went far beyond titles. We were childhood friends, growing up in the same small town. We used to play tag through the forests, racing barefoot through the trees without a care. Later, we both attended the prestigious academy for wolves, where I first saw Alpha Preston. I’d fallen for Preston back then, like a foolish girl caught in a fairytale—long before I knew he was my fated mate.

Pulled from the past, I blinked at the man in front of me.

“Are you doing any better now?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “I think we’re out of medicine. You might want to go pick some up.”

Preston’s expression soured, his agitation mounting. Without warning, he grabbed my wrist, his grip forceful.

“Marcia, how long are we going to keep arguing about Gwen?” he demanded. “I told you, there’s nothing going on between us!”

His voice thundered in the quiet room, but I met his gaze with a calm, indifferent expression.

“Okay,” I said softly, the flatness in my voice clashing with the intensity of his anger.

That only made him angrier. He turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence.

But to me, that silence was a gift. It wrapped around me, peaceful and light. A rare moment of calm in the chaos he always brought with him.

My mind wandered again—to Clifton. He had always been my quiet anchor, my source of strength when I had none left. In the face of Preston’s dismissiveness, Clifton had offered dignity. And without realizing it, I had always leaned a little closer to that quiet, dependable warmth.

The days passed in a dull, unchanging rhythm. After Preston’s outburst and abrupt exit, he vanished for several days. I didn’t ask where he had gone, nor did I care to. It wasn’t until the third day that he finally reached out through the mind link.

“I’m off to attend a meeting with another pack,” he said simply.

“Alright, take care,” I replied, a dry laugh slipping out as the connection faded.

Trying to distract myself, I absently scrolled through my social media. That’s when a post from Gwen on Twitter caught my attention.

[First vacation in ages. Never thought I’d miss the feeling of sand under my feet! Someone insisted we take a beach trip.]

The photo attached showed a familiar hand—Preston’s—still wearing the mateship ring I had given him. The location tagged in her tweet matched the exact place he had just mentioned to me.

Suddenly, the ring on my own finger felt like it was searing into my skin. Without a second thought, I yanked it off and shoved it into the drawer, as if hiding it could also bury the betrayal clawing at my chest.

From that moment, I immersed myself in my role as Luna. I poured all my energy into work, task after task, using my responsibilities like armor. I stopped asking about Preston’s whereabouts. I stopped wondering when he’d come home. I just kept moving, pushing myself until exhaustion dulled the ache inside.

Then one evening, I was caught off guard when Preston unexpectedly pulled into the driveway. His car was parked outside the pack house, and seeing it gave me a jolt I hadn’t anticipated. I was drained from another long day, my body heavy with fatigue as I stepped outside.

“What brings you here?” I asked, my voice low and tired.

“Did you forget what today is?” he responded, holding the car door open for me. “It’s our mateship anniversary.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, caught off guard. “I’ve been busy. It must’ve slipped my mind.”

Preston looked at me, disappointment creeping into his features. “You used to care about these things more than anyone. How could you not remember?”

It was true. In the past, I had gone out of my way to make our special days memorable—throwing parties, planning private dinners, picking out thoughtful gifts. I gave everything I had to show him how much he meant to me. But those efforts, once welcomed, had eventually become sources of shame for him.

I could still remember the birthday surprise I’d planned at a fancy restaurant. I had decorated the space, invited the people closest to him, and prepared a heartfelt speech. Instead of being touched, Preston had scowled.

“Marcia, this is too much. Everyone’s watching. Do you have to make a scene?” he had hissed before pulling me aside in front of the pack warriors and his Beta.

Now, standing in front of him years later, I realized something important—there was no point in celebrating what no longer existed. Whatever joy we once shared had long since withered away.

“Come on,” he urged, gently ushering me into the car. “Let’s go have dinner.”

The drive was tense. The silence between us pressed in like a weight, thick and uncomfortable. Preston kept glancing over, clearly searching for signs of excitement or affection.

“Are you upset about something?” he finally asked, trying to break the quiet.

I shook my head. “No.”

“No?” he echoed, irritation creeping into his tone. “Then why are you acting like this? I’m trying, Marcia. I went out of my way to pick you up, and you’re sitting there like I forced you.”

His frustration hovered in the air, but I had no energy left to argue. The man who once meant everything to me now felt like a stranger. His gestures felt rehearsed, devoid of sincerity.

“I’m not upset, Alpha,” I said, the title slipping out of habit more than respect.

Preston let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. Look, I’ll stop seeing Gwen. No more contact. I promise.”

I turned to him, eyes narrowed slightly. Did he really think a simple vow could undo the months of lies and emotional neglect?

“Happy now?” he asked, clearly fishing for reassurance.

I didn’t answer. I looked away, letting the silence speak for me.

We eventually pulled up to an elegant restaurant. Preston had gone all out—our table was decorated with fresh flowers, and a gift box sat neatly beside my plate. The place exuded charm and romance, and a few of the other diners shot us admiring looks.

But I felt detached, as though I was watching it all unfold from a distance. The beautifully arranged table, the polished silverware, the candlelight—it all felt like part of someone else’s love story.

Just as I was about to open the gift, Preston’s phone rang. He answered quickly, his expression changing the moment he heard the voice on the other end.

“A fever? Did you give him anything? I can’t bring you to the infirmary right now—I’m... I’m busy. That high? Okay, okay. I’m coming. Just hang on.”

He ended the call and looked at me, his face a mixture of discomfort and guilt. “It’s Gwen. Her kid’s sick. High fever. I need to go check on him.”

A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down, keeping my expression neutral. “It’s fine. Go. The child needs you.”

He lingered for a second, almost as if waiting for me to object. But I didn’t.

“I’ll come back to pick you up. Don’t go anywhere,” he said before hurrying out.

Left alone, I stared down at the halfeaten dessert on my plate. The rain began to fall harder outside the window, its rhythm matching the quiet storm within me. I took one more bite of the cake—sweet, despite everything—then stood up and left the restaurant.

As I stepped outside, a car approached slowly and came to a stop beside me. The window rolled down, and Beta Clifton’s familiar face greeted me. He stepped out without a word and opened the door for me. I slid in silently, grateful for his unspoken understanding.

The ride back was quiet, but unlike the silence with Preston, this one was comforting. It felt safe, like a warm coat in a cold wind.

When we arrived, I realized I didn’t have an umbrella. The rain was still coming down, light but persistent, the droplets cold against my skin as I prepared to run inside.

“Wait, Luna,” Clifton’s deep voice called out. I turned to see him holding an umbrella over me.

“Here. Use this,” he said softly, offering it to me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, taking it from him.

Back inside, I went straight to the shower. The hot water washed away the chill in my bones, but it couldn’t erase the ache in my heart.

Later, wrapped in a towel, I sat on the edge of my bed and picked up my phone again. Another tweet from Gwen appeared on my timeline, accompanied by a photo.

It showed Preston, sitting beside her and her child, their faces warm in the golden glow of a softly lit room. They looked like a family, cozy and content.

And as the rain continued to fall outside, I stared at that image—at the life he had chosen to share with them instead of me.

The morning seemed to crawl by at a maddening pace as I waited for my mate’s return. When Preston finally walked through the door, fatigue etched into every line of his face, he didn’t waste a second before launching into an explanation. His voice was hoarse, strained with either worry or weariness—perhaps both.

“Tricia was burning up with fever all night,” he said, dropping his keys on the counter. “Nothing worked—it just wouldn’t go down.”

“Is she alright now?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral, even as the name 'Tricia' hit my ears like a cold gust of wind. It wasn’t just a name—it was a reminder. Tricia was Gwen’s daughter, the child Preston rushed to every time she so much as sneezed.

How ironic, I thought. He showed more devotion to someone else’s child than he ever did to his own mate.

He stopped what he was doing, his expression twisting in irritation. “Are you being sarcastic again?” he asked, his tone clipped. A long sigh escaped him, the weight of it unclear—was it real exhaustion or just for show? “I didn’t sleep at all. I’m beyond tired.”

“Then you should lie down for a while,” I replied, reaching for my bag without looking at him. “I have work to do.”

The responsibilities of being Luna didn’t pause for personal drama.

“Marcia…” he said, grabbing my wrist gently. “What’s going on with you?”

He was trying, or at least pretending to. “We’ll reschedule the anniversary celebration for another time, okay?” he added.

His voice was soft, almost pleading, and I gave him a weak smile—more of a reflex than anything sincere. “I’m not angry,” I murmured, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.

He wrapped his arms around me, and I stood there, unmoving, as his embrace offered no comfort—only more confusion. “There’s going to be a gathering this weekend,” he said into my hair. “A major one. Lots of packs will be attending. Come with me?”

The Cold Moon Pack had significant status in Westbrook Town and beyond. Such events weren’t just social—they were political. Preston, as Alpha, thrived at these gatherings, surrounded by fellow leaders eager to align with him. Once, being his Luna felt like a privilege. Now, I only felt like an accessory.

Despite holding the title, I remained an outsider in the eyes of the elders and warriors. Their cold glances and judgmental whispers never faded. To them, I was a placeholder, tolerated but not respected.

I recalled the countless times I had brought Preston food or medicine—even during his meetings—only to be dismissed or ignored in front of his peers. Never once did he show me the courtesy of public acknowledgment.

The sound of his teeth grinding brought me back to the present. His irritation was bubbling to the surface. “Do whatever you want,” he muttered before heading upstairs.

I chose not to attend the gathering. That decision wasn’t born of defiance—it was exhaustion. But I hadn’t anticipated that he’d take her in my place.

While buried in Luna duties later that day, my phone vibrated over and over. I finally gave in and glanced at it. Notifications from social media flooded the screen. I opened the app and was immediately confronted with image after image from the gathering.

There she was—Gwen—everywhere. Smiling, laughing, her arm looped through Preston’s. She mingled easily with the Alphas, her presence radiating comfort and charm.

I scrolled through them, noting one odd absence: Beta Clifton. He was nowhere to be seen in the photos. Perhaps he had chosen not to attend, refusing once again to support Preston’s reckless choices. I had often scolded Clifton for his indifferent attitude toward his Alpha’s orders, yet his quiet defiance somehow always impressed me.

As I stared at the images, a question formed in my mind, uninvited and painful:

Why wasn’t she chosen as Luna instead of me?

One particular photo arrested my attention. Preston was carrying Gwen in his arms across a stretch of manicured lawn. Her head rested against his chest, her eyes closed in delight. Around them, wolves from different packs clapped and cheered, shouting about how perfect they looked together.

Something in me cracked. I couldn’t stop myself. I found the comment section and typed: Perfect match. A single clapping emoji followed.

Then I closed the app, silenced my phone, and shut off the mindlink. I wanted nothing more than quiet. Just quiet.

By the time I wrapped up my work, night had blanketed the skies. The silence around me was thick, almost comforting. When I finally turned my phone back on, dozens of missed calls and unread messages from Preston filled the screen.