My Alpha Planned My Death to Give My Luna Title Away

The dust motes dancing in the shaft of afternoon light were the only witnesses to my masterpiece. In the suffocating heat of the attic, hidden away from the rest of the pack house, I held the Moonstone Collar in my trembling, scarred hands.

It was finished.

For three months, I had spent every spare second up here, bent over the workbench, etching microscopic runes into the silver setting. My fingers, rough from scrubbing floors and washing dishes, ghosted over the central gem. It hummed against my skin, a low, vibrant thrum that only someone with ancient blood could feel. I had used the Old Tongue for the enchantments—techniques passed down through my mother’s line, secrets of the Lycan Court that I had buried deep within me five years ago.

"For you, Henry," I whispered, my voice raspy from disuse.

He had mentioned the collar months ago, casually tossing a sketch onto the kitchen table while I was chopping vegetables. He said he wanted the family heirloom restored for the Pack Anniversary. He didn't say it was for me, but who else would an Alpha give a mating collar to, if not his wife?

I tucked the velvet box into the deep pocket of my faded gray dress. It was the only dress I owned that wasn't a uniform, though it hung loosely on my frame. I caught my reflection in a cracked mirror leaning against the wall. My eyes were tired, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. I didn't look like a Luna. I looked like what they called me: a wolfless, broken thing.

But tonight, maybe—just maybe—he would see me.

I descended the narrow servants' stairs, the noise of the celebration rising like a tide to meet me. The Silver Creek Pack House had never looked better. The grand ballroom was draped in silver and blue silk, paid for by the funds I secretly funneled into the pack accounts. The irony tasted bitter on my tongue. I had bought the wine they were drinking, yet I wasn't allowed a glass.

As I stepped into the periphery of the ballroom, the air grew heavy with the scent of pine and expensive perfume. I kept my head down, trying to blend into the shadows near the catering entrance.

It didn't work.

"Oops. Watch your step, Omega."

A foot shot out. I stumbled, my worn shoe catching on the polished floor. I hit the ground hard, my knees cracking against the marble. A ripple of laughter tore through the nearby crowd.

I looked up to see Elena Marsh smirking down at me, a flute of champagne in her hand. "Clumsy," she sneered, her voice pitched loud enough to draw attention. "Maybe if you had a wolf, you’d have some balance."

"I'm sorry," I murmured automatically. Five years of conditioning made the apology slip out before I could stop it. I pushed myself up, my hand instinctively going to my pocket to ensure the box was safe.

Across the room, the crowd parted. My breath hitched.

Henry stood near the dais, radiating power. He looked magnificent in his charcoal suit, his Alpha aura commanding the room. He was laughing at something, his head thrown back, his throat exposed. My heart squeezed with a painful, desperate love. I had given up my name, my family, and my beast for him.

But his eyes weren't searching for me.

They were locked on Maddison Kelley. She stood beside him, draped in a crimson gown that clung to her curves like a second skin—a gown that cost more than the annual budget for the pack orphanage. She placed a hand on his bicep, possessive and bold. Henry didn't shake her off. Instead, he leaned down, whispering something into her ear that made her giggle and flush.

The pain in my chest was sharp, physical. I needed to leave. I couldn't give him the collar here, not with Elena watching, not with Maddison clinging to him. I would leave it on his desk. A private gift. A reminder of the bond we were supposed to share.

I slipped away from the noise, moving like a ghost down the hallway toward the Alpha’s office. The corridor was quiet, the thick carpet swallowing my footsteps. My senses, though dampened by my suppression, were still sharper than a human's.

The door to his office was cracked open an inch. A sliver of light spilled onto the floor.

I reached for the handle, intending to push it open and leave the box on his mahogany desk. But then, a voice stopped me cold.

"...getting impatient, Henry."

Maddison. Her voice wasn't the sweet, breathless soprano she used in public. It was sharp, demanding.

I froze, pressing myself against the wall. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Patience, baby," Henry’s voice replied. It was a tone I hadn't heard directed at me in years—rich, indulgent, warm. "Tonight is about appearances. The Council is watching."

"I don't care about the Council," Maddison snapped. I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of her sitting on his desk. "I care about my place. Everyone sees that trash walking around in rags, technically holding the title that belongs to me. It’s embarrassing."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Trash.

"She’s useful for the moment," Henry said dismissively. The callousness of his tone felt like a physical blow. "But don't worry. The Luna’s Trial is coming up next month."

"And?" Maddison huffed. "You know I’m not the strongest fighter, Henry. If the elders make me compete fairly..."

"Who said anything about fair?" Henry chuckled darkly. "I’m the Alpha. I set the rules. We’ll rig the obstacle course. Sloan is wolfless; she’ll be disqualified in the first round. And you... you will breeze through to the finish."

My hand clenched around the velvet box in my pocket. The sharp corners dug into my palm.

"And then?" Maddison purred.

"And then," Henry murmured, his voice dropping to a husky growl, "I will finally mark you. That collar Sloan has been slaving over? It’s almost done. It’s a moonstone antique. It amplifies the aura of the wearer."

A pause. Then, the sound of a kiss—wet and sickening.

"It will look beautiful on you, Maddison," he whispered. "My true Luna."

The world tilted on its axis. The hallway seemed to stretch and warp. I stood there, the masterpiece I had poured my soul into burning a hole in my pocket, realizing with a devastating clarity that I had not been crafting a gift for my husband.

I had been polishing the crown for his mistress.