A LUNA’S REJECTION

Chapter 1

Welcome to Sparta

There are rules about rejecting a mate.

Unwritten, yes, but they’re pretty clear—respect and dignity demand that mates are never rejected. We’re taught this from day one, especially after the Alpha King’s decree. So when it happens, it takes you completely by surprise.

Like it did to me.

___

I hit the mat with a solid oomph!, the impact sending sharp pangs of pain across my back from the grueling training.

"Come on, Mia," one of the trainers urged, voice firm but encouraging.

My opponent paced beside me, waiting for me to get up. "Stay down too long, and you're a dead woman."

With a deep breath, I sprang back to my feet, glaring at the girl who’d just knocked me down. Her grin was cocky.

She spat on the grass. "What else you got, Mia?"

Her voice was like acid, aiming to get under my skin. I forced myself to calm down. Losing my head would mean losing the fight. So I take another breath, then flashed her a smile. She charged at me with a wild yell, throwing punches, each one harder than the last. I blocked as best as I could, but she managed to land one solid blow to my gut, stealing my breath for a second.

My instinct kicked in, and I dodged to the side, bringing my knee up hard into her body.

"Good job, ladies," our instructor clapped slowly, signaling the end of the round. We both got up, still panting.

"Let’s call it a day. Before you kill each other or wolf out."

I turned to my sparring partner and we shared a quick smile before fist-bumping, no hard feelings. This was our daily routine—training, pushing ourselves, before heading to hours of leadership classes and counseling. While the men built their muscles, we sharpened our minds. I'd say it’s what made us smarter than the muscle-bound drones.

Clara approached with a water bottle in her hand, offering it to me with a grin. "That was great, Mia. You’re getting better."

I took a long gulp of the ice-cold water. "Thanks, but I’ve still got a lot to work on."

She smirked, "Well, that’s because you're book-smart."

I laughed. "Top of the class," I admitted.

"But not top of the sparring charts." I sighed, rubbing my sore stomach.

Clara shook her head. "Girl, chill. No one's perfect."

I smiled at her, grateful for her easygoing attitude. Clara and I had been best friends since we were little, always together, always pushing each other. The instructor doesn’t even pair us anymore because we’d gotten too good at holding back.

"Come on, you gotta shower before class," she nudged me. "Or else you’re gonna smell like a wet dog."

I rolled my eyes but followed her advice, heading toward the changing rooms. The lockers were arranged by rank and experience level, and at the far end were the younger girls. Clara and I were near the advanced section. We were so close to graduating from this phase of training.

Clara undid her ponytail, letting her blonde curls spill down her shoulders. "God, stop looking so pretty," I teased with a laugh.

"What?" She glanced over at me, tossing an extra towel my way. "What, this?" She striked a playful pose, hands moving dramatically over her body. "I know," she said, grinning. "I’m just too hot."

I chuckled as a few girls glanced our way, clearly noticing Clara’s confidence. She's always had it—she’s pretty, and she knows it. And as much as it used to bother me, I couldn’t help but admire her for it. She always made me feel more comfortable with myself.

"Your mate’s gonna love you." I rolled my eyes, though a part of me felt a sting of jealousy.

Clara’s grin widdened, and for a second, her gaze became dreamy. We're told to be strong, to hide our vulnerabilities, that power lies in physical might, sharp minds, and unity. But Clara and I? We’re dreamers. We gossip about mates like schoolgirls, imagining who they'll be and what they'll be like. Sometimes, late at night, when the moon is clear, we sit outside, sipping wine, making up stories about our perfect mates.

"You know you’re hot too, Mia," Clara teased, her eyes scanning me as I wrapped the towel around my body.

"I know." I winked back, then added a grin, "But dammit, Clara, your boobs are just... so much better than mine."

A pre-teen girl walked past us on her way to the showers, shaking her head. "At least you have boobs," she said with a mischievous grin.

Clara and I burst into laughter.

"Just wait for puberty!" I called out after her as she disappeared behind the curtain of the showers.

I quickly stripped and headed in to shower before class.

Clara joined me in the lecture hall later, and I slid into my seat beside her just as the bell rang. My hair was still damp, and a few of the other girls glanced my way as I settled in.

Right as the professor entered, a loud whistle blew from outside. We all glanced out the window to see the men heading off into the woods for their run. Meanwhile, we stayed inside for strategy and tactics. We learned to lead, to advise, to understand packs—while they were out there training to fight.

Once in a while, someone crosses into another role—a girl with exceptional physical skills could transfer to the warrior class, while a guy with a knack for academics could join us too. Other packs called us Sparta—not an official title, but it fit.

Our professor cleared his throat, drawing our attention back to the board. I leaned forward eagerly. Leadership, fighting patterns, pack dynamics—it was all fascinating to me. I might not be the best fighter, but I’ve always excelled in class.

I aim to become an advisor. It’s a role that could take me to the Royal Capital or other packs, where I’d get a chance to experience different cultures and ways of thinking. Not all packs are as focused on strength as Sparta. And unlike some wolves, I’m curious about the others.

As the class wrapped up, the professor asked if anyone had questions. Clara raised her hand, as usual.

"We're supposed to graduate soon," she said, her voice full of excitement. "What happens if we fail our final? Can we still attend the ceremony?"

"You can attend," he replied, "But not as a graduate. Just as a guest."

Clara beamed. She'd been looking forward to the ceremony for months. For her, it’s a chance to show off her skills—and of course, her ridiculous physique.

I don’t share her excitement however. The ceremony means fighting in front of the whole pack, and to be honest, my skills are far from perfect. There are only a few people I could actually beat in the graduation fights.

As we left the class, Clara eyed me. "Are you okay, Mia? You seem a little off."

I shrugged it off. But the thought of the ceremony kept nagging at me. We were there last year. Girls went first, fighting in pairs or groups like gladiators, while the Alpha, Beta, and all the top wolves watched on. Then the men's fight, with an even bigger spectacle. It’s all for show, really—no one’s died in years.

Afterward, we all get "branded," a permanent mark on our wrists to signify we’re part of the pack.

"You’re going to be fine," Clara reassuresd me, sensing my unease. "You’ll do great."

I tried to smile, but it was half-hearted. I didn’t care about the fight. I did care about proving myself in other ways.

"Thanks, Clara," I said softly. "At least we’ll see Bren and Jake."

Bren, now Alpha, and Jake, Beta, were once close to us. We used to study together. Bren always struggled with some of the material, so I’d tutor him. Clara would keep things light, trying to get them to loosen up.

"God," Clara said with a roll of her eyes, "I bet Bren’s a total d**k now that he’s Alpha. We barely see him anymore—just his speeches."

I chuckled, imagining the shift in him. "He’ll loosen up once he finds his mate."

Clara sighed, clearly frustrated. "Well, I hope it’s soon. I can’t take much more conditioning."

She glanced at me and said, "I mean, you can take it."

I shoved her playfully. "Oh shut up."