My Alpha Forced Me to Serve His Chosen Luna

The Luna Mantle was heavier than I remembered.

I stood in front of the tall mirror in the Alpha quarters, running my fingers along the silver embroidery at the collar. Crimson fur trimmed the edges, catching the low lamplight like fresh coals. Five years I had watched this mantle hang in the glass case by the door. Five years I had walked past it every morning, telling myself not to touch, not to hope.

Tonight I let myself hope.

My name is Gemma Griffin. I was born Delta-blood in the Ironveil Pack, and at eighteen I caught the scent of pine and iron on the wind at a full-moon run and nearly dropped to my knees. Jace Crawford. Alpha. Fated. The Moon Goddess herself had drawn a line straight from his soul to mine, and I had followed it ever since, quiet and patient, into this room, into his bed, into a life that had never quite become mine.

But tonight was the 50th Anniversary Pack Banquet. Every allied pack on the coast would be under one roof. And two days ago, in the kitchen, I had heard Marcus Doyle—Jace's Beta—murmur to a runner about "a special announcement." My name hadn't been said. But whose else could it be?

My wolf stretched inside my chest, cautious, aching. *Tonight,* she whispered. *He'll say it tonight.*

I smoothed the mantle across my shoulders and tried a smile at the mirror. It looked shaky. I forced it steadier. I had practiced this face—the calm, gracious face of a Luna—so many times I could summon it in my sleep. I told myself the trembling in my hands was excitement, not fear.

On the vanity sat a small wooden box, the one that used to hold my mother's moonstone earrings. I brushed my thumb over the worn lid. *Please,* I thought, to the Goddess, to my mother, to whoever might be listening. *Please let it be tonight. I've waited long enough.*

The door opened.

I turned, the mantle swirling. "Jace—"

He didn't look at me.

That was the first thing. Five years I had learned every angle of his face, and I knew the difference between the eyes that skimmed past me on a busy morning and the eyes that refused, actively refused, to land. His jaw was set. His tuxedo was already fastened, the collar pressed sharp against his throat. He crossed the room in three long strides, stopped in front of me, and reached for my shoulders.

For a bright, stupid second I thought he was going to kiss me.

Instead his fingers slid under the collar of the Luna Mantle. He lifted it off me. Clean. Efficient. The way a man might lift a coat from a hook.

Cold air hit my bare shoulders.

"Jace?" My voice came out small. "What are you—"

"There's been a change of plans." He folded the mantle over his arm. Silver and crimson, gathered up like laundry. "Tonight the mantle goes to Kinsley."

The room tilted.

My wolf made a sound I had never heard her make before. Not a growl. Not a whimper. Something in between, low and disbelieving, like a heart stuttering.

"Kinsley," I repeated. My own voice sounded far away.

"Webb. You know her."

Of course I knew her. The childhood companion. The Beta-born she-wolf who always seemed to be in whatever room Jace walked into, with her pale silks and her breathy laugh. The one who touched his sleeve when she asked him questions.

"She's not your mate," I said.

He finally looked at me then. And what I saw in his face wasn't cruelty, not exactly. It was worse. It was the flat, businesslike expression of a man who had already decided, hours or days or maybe years ago, and was only now getting around to informing me.

"This is about optics," he said. "About the pack's image tonight. Kinsley presents better beside me for the allied packs. It's one evening, Gemma. Don't make it more than it is."

"One evening." I laughed. It cracked in the middle. "You're giving her the *Luna Mantle*. In front of everyone."

"I said don't make it more than it is."

He walked past me to the bed. From a garment bag I hadn't noticed, he drew out a dress. Plain. White. The kind of unadorned linen the Omega servers wore at long events, so their spills wouldn't show.

He laid it across the duvet like an answer.

"You'll wear this," he said. "You'll stand with the Omegas at the back of the hall. You will not approach the dais. You will not speak to Kinsley. And you will not embarrass this pack."

I stared at the white cloth. My mother had been buried in a dress like that.

"No." The word left my mouth before I chose it. "Jace, no. I am your—"

His eyes hardened.

"*Know your place.*"

Alpha tone.

It hit me like a hand at the back of my neck, folding me down. My knees buckled before my mind could refuse them. I caught the edge of the vanity, the little wooden box jumping under my palm, and I stayed there, half-crouched, breathing hard, while my own fated mate stood over me with my Luna Mantle folded neatly across his arm.

He didn't wait for an answer.

He walked out.

The door clicked shut, soft as a lock turning, and in the mirror across the room I saw myself—bare-shouldered, kneeling, staring at a white dress laid out like a shroud.

Something inside me went very, very quiet.

Not my wolf.

Something else. Something I had been feeding for five years without knowing its name.

It opened its eyes.