He Chose the Fake Luna, So I Destroyed His Pack

Chapter 1

The snow beneath Freya Vance’s boots wasn't white anymore. It was a vicious, steaming crimson, spreading outward like a macabre inkblot in the moonlight.

"You're a long way from home, little witch," the rogue snarled, wiping a streak of black blood from his jaw. He was a massive, scarred brute, his yellow eyes glowing with feral hunger. "Step aside. Ironcrest's borders fall tonight."

"The borders of Ironcrest fall when I am dead," Freya replied, her voice eerily calm despite the agonizing tearing sensation in her abdomen.

She raised her hands, and the shadows of the pine trees elongated, snapping to attention like trained soldiers. As a Shadow-Seer, her magic wasn't the flashy, elemental kind that garnered public awe. It was dark, silent, and lethal. It was the secret foundation upon which Alpha Julian Cross had built his untouchable empire.

The rogue lunged, his silver-laced claws aimed directly at her throat. Freya didn't flinch. She flicked her wrist, and the shadows rose from the snow, hardening into razor-sharp spikes. The rogue impaled himself before he could even register the movement, his body going limp with a wet gasp.

Silence fell over the northern ridge, save for the howling winter wind. Three rogues lay dead at her feet. The pack’s magical wards remained intact.

But as the adrenaline began to ebb, the true cost of the battle hit her.

Freya collapsed to her knees, clutching her side. The second rogue had gotten a lucky strike, his silver-coated claws tearing through her flesh and grazing her spirit-wolf’s core. Inside her mind, her wolf let out a pitiful, fading whimper, curling into a tight ball of agony. The silver was poisoning them both.

Her hands trembling, Freya reached into the pocket of her tactical jacket and pulled out her phone. The screen was cracked, but she managed to dial the one number that was supposed to be her safe harbor. Her Alpha. Her mate.

The line rang three times before it clicked open. Background noise instantly flooded the speaker—clinking glasses, sweeping classical music, and the low hum of a hundred laughing voices.

"Julian," Freya breathed, her teeth chattering as the cold began to seep into her bones.

"Freya? I specifically told you not to call me tonight," Julian’s voice snapped through the receiver, dripping with irritation. "I am in the middle of a very delicate event."

"The northern wards," she gasped, pressing her frozen palm against her bleeding side. "Three rogues. Silver-laced weapons. I stopped them, Julian, but I'm... I'm hit. My wolf is fading. I need a medical extraction team."

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, the sound of a man profoundly inconvenienced. "Are the wards secure?"

Freya blinked, a single tear of pain freezing on her eyelashes. "Yes. But Julian, I am bleeding out."

"Then wrap it up and walk back to the infirmary," Julian ordered, his tone utterly devoid of warmth. "You always handle these things, Freya. You're the strongest wolf in the pack. I cannot pull my security team away from the estate tonight. Maya is already nervous enough with all these foreign dignitaries here. I am not going to ruin her night just because you couldn't dodge a rogue."

"Maya?" Freya whispered, the name tasting like ash in her mouth. "Julian, please. The silver—"

"I have to go. Stop interrupting my important night. Go see the healer quietly, and don't make a scene. We'll discuss this tomorrow."

The line went dead.

Freya stared at the cracked screen, the dial tone ringing in her ears like a death knell. She was his mate. Three years ago, the Moon Goddess had tied their souls together. But Julian had demanded they keep it a secret. *'Maya is too fragile,'* he had said. *'She grew up expecting to be Luna. If I reject her for you, it will break her. You are my true power, Freya. You don't need a public title to know I value you.'*

For three years, she had swallowed her pride. She had lived in the shadows, casting the wards that kept Ironcrest safe, strategizing the alliances that made Julian rich, and fighting his secret wars. She had believed her worth was tied to her usefulness. She had believed she was protecting the pack.

Slowly, agonizingly, Freya dragged herself to her feet. Every step was a battle against the darkness creeping into the edges of her vision. Her blood left a dotted trail in the snow, a silent testament to her loyalty.

It took her two hours to walk the three miles back to the Ironcrest packhouse. By the time the massive, glittering mansion came into view, she was running purely on spite.

The estate was ablaze with light. Valets were parking luxury cars, and the grand front doors were thrown wide open. Freya avoided the main gates, slipping through the servant’s entrance at the side of the kitchens. She pressed herself against the cold stone wall, clutching her bleeding side, and limped down the servant's corridor until she reached the alcove beneath the grand staircase.

She just needed to get to the infirmary. Just a few more steps.

But a sudden hush fell over the grand ballroom above her, halting her in her tracks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed Alphas and honored guests," Julian’s booming, charismatic voice echoed through the marble foyer.

Freya leaned against the pillar, peering out from the shadows.

Julian stood halfway up the grand staircase, looking like a king in his tailored midnight-blue tuxedo. Beside him stood Maya Linwood, Freya’s stepsister. Maya looked ethereal in a shimmering white gown, her blonde hair perfectly curled, her delicate hands clasped in front of her chest in a picture of perfect, fragile innocence.

"Three years ago, I took over the Ironcrest Pack," Julian announced, his eyes shining as he looked down at his guests. "And in that time, we have achieved unprecedented peace and prosperity. But a king is nothing without his queen."

Freya’s breath caught in her throat. Her injured spirit-wolf let out a low, mournful howl in her mind.

Julian turned to Maya and gracefully dropped to one knee. The crowd gasped in collective delight.

"Maya," Julian said, his voice carrying the perfect pitch of devotion. "You have been my guiding light. Your kindness and grace are the true foundation of Ironcrest. Will you do me the honor of becoming my Luna?"

"Oh, Julian!" Maya shrieked, her voice breathy and theatrical. She covered her mouth, tears of joy spilling perfectly down her cheeks. "Yes! A million times, yes!"

Julian pulled a velvet box from his pocket and slid a massive, blinding diamond onto Maya’s finger. The crowd erupted into applause, cheering as Julian stood and pulled Maya into a passionate kiss.

"To the future Luna of Ironcrest!" an elder shouted, raising a glass of champagne.

"To Luna Maya!" the crowd roared back.

Standing in the shadows, Freya looked down at her hands. They were coated in her own dried, blackening blood. She looked at her tactical jacket, shredded and ruined from defending the very people who were now cheering for her stepsister.

She looked at Julian, the man who carried her hidden silver mating mark on his wrist, smiling brightly as he crowned another woman.

The illusion shattered. The three years of lies, the empty promises, the justifications—it all evaporated, leaving behind a cold, crystalline clarity.

She wasn't his secret mate. She wasn't his partner. She was a tool. A guard dog kept in the dark, thrown scraps of affection only when he needed her to bite.

Freya didn't cry. The pain in her abdomen suddenly felt distant, eclipsed by a cold, rising fury that settled deep in her chest.

Still dripping blood onto the pristine marble floor, Freya reached into her inner pocket and bypassed her main phone. She pulled out a small, encrypted burner device she had kept hidden for over a year.

There was only one contact saved in it. A man who had offered her a throne while Julian offered her the shadows. A man who had spent years telling her she was wasting her brilliance on a coward. Kade Blackridge. Alpha of the Blood-Moon Syndicate. The most dangerous, ruthless warlord on the continent.

He had told her once: *'When you finally realize you are a queen playing a peasant's game, you know how to reach me.'*

Freya unlocked the screen, opened the blank message thread, and typed a single word:

*Yes.*

She hit send, slipped the phone back into her pocket, and turned away from the light.