Rejected Luna: The Cruel King of Ironfang MC

I had practiced my Luna vows in the mirror for three years. Tonight, under a fat silver moon, I was finally going to say them out loud. I stood at the edge of the ceremony grounds in a dress the color of moonlight, my hands shaking, my heart so full it ached. Lanterns floated between the pines. The whole of Crescent Hollow had gathered two hundred wolves, their faces turned toward the dais where Damien stood in black, broad-shouldered and golden, the most powerful Alpha the territory had seen in a generation. My fated mate. The bond had snapped into place six weeks ago, in front of everyone, exactly the way the old stories promised. One look across the training field and the world had narrowed to him. My wolf had howled. Mine. His eyes had found mine and held. And tonight he would mark me. Tonight the daughter of a disgraced Beta would become Luna of Crescent Hollow. "You look like the moon came down to visit," a voice whispered beside me. Celeste. My best friend since we were six, since she held my hand at my father's funeral and swore she'd never let me feel alone. She looked beautiful tonight, glowing even, in deep red. I squeezed her fingers. "I'm so nervous I might be sick," I admitted. She didn't squeeze back. I felt it then the strange stillness in her hand, the way she wouldn't quite meet my eyes. But the drums had started, and Damien had lifted his hand for silence, and I told myself it was nothing. I told myself a lot of things, that night. "Bring her forward," Damien said. I stepped toward the dais, my chest blooming with joy so bright it hurt. And Damien looked straight through me. "Crescent Hollow," he called, his voice carrying over the crowd. "Tonight I take my Luna." The pack roared. My wolf surged in my chest, ready, yes, finally "Celeste Vane. Come to me." The world tilted. Behind me, my best friend walked past me. Her shoulder brushed mine. She did not stop. She climbed the dais steps in her red dress, and she took Damien's hand, and she turned to face the pack as he wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. "No," I said. The word came out so quiet no one heard it. "No, that's Damien, I'm your mate. The bond" "The bond was an inconvenience," Damien said. He didn't even raise his voice. "Celeste carries my heir. She has trained her whole life to lead at my side. You are a Beta's daughter with a dead father and no name." His golden eyes finally landed on me, and they were empty. "I reject you, Wren Calloway. As Alpha of Crescent Hollow, I sever you from this pack." The pain hit like a blade between the ribs. Rejection isn't a word. It's a wound. The bond I'd cherished for six weeks tore down the center of me, and I screamed I couldn't help it folding over my own knees as my wolf keened, a sound of pure animal grief. "Damien, please." I was begging. I hated that I was begging. "I can I'll serve in any way, I'll step aside, just don't cast me out, this is my home" "It was never your home." He nodded to the warriors at the edge of the dais. "Take her to the line. Throw her out." I looked for my mother in the crowd. She looked at the ground. I looked for Celeste. My best friend was crying actual tears, sliding down her glowing face. "I'm sorry," she mouthed. I'm sorry. As if sorrow were a gift. As if I should thank her for it. Then the warriors' hands closed on my arms. I didn't fight. There were too many of them and I was already broken in half. They dragged me across the ceremony grounds I'd decorated with my own hands, past the lanterns, into the black wet treeline, and the whole way the pack watched in silence and did nothing. Rain started as they reached the territory line the old iron boundary marker that separated Crescent Hollow from the lawless dark beyond. They threw me into the mud on the wrong side of it. "Stay out, rogue," one of them spat. And they were gone, melting back into the trees, back toward the warm lights and the drums and the wedding of the man who was supposed to be mine. I lay in the mud in my ruined moonlight dress and I cried until there was nothing left. I don't know how long I was there. Long enough for the rain to soak me through. Long enough for the cold to stop mattering. Long enough to hear the engines. They came out of the dark like a growl made of metal headlights cutting through the rain, low and deliberate, the throaty roar of a dozen motorcycles slowing as they reached the line. I pushed myself up onto my hands. Bikes. Wolves on bikes I could smell them now, that wild ungoverned scent that no pack wolf carried. Ironfang. Even cast-out and shaking, I knew the name. Every pack wolf was raised to fear it. The lead bike stopped six feet from me. The engine cut. A man swung off it. He was tall, broad, dressed in black leather slick with rain, and when he crouched down in front of me I caught the glint of silver rings on his fingers and eyes the color of a storm about to break. He looked at me the mud, the torn dress, the bond-wound still bleeding off me like smoke and he smiled. It was not a kind smile. "Well," said the cruel king of Ironfang MC, tipping his head. "What did the good little pack throw away tonight?" And God help me I was still stupid enough to be afraid of the wrong thing.