The entire pack has gathered for Celeste’s Luna ceremony day later—the ritual that will bind her to Theron, making official what everyone already knows.

Making permanent what should have been mine.

I watch from the shadows at the edge of the clearing as the Elder Norah raises the chalice, her ancient voice carrying the old words. Theron stands tall and proud in his ceremonial robes, Celeste beside him in white and gold, radiant in the moonlight.

She’s glowing. Perfect. Everything a Luna should be.

Everything I’m not.

My fingers trace the black fabric of the dress I’m wearing. It took me three days to find it, hidden in the depths of the pack archives. The black Luna dress—reserved for only two occasions.

A mate’s funeral. Or a rejection ceremony.

I step out of the shadows.

The movement catches someone’s eye. Then another. A ripple of awareness spreads through the crowd like poison in water. Pack members turn, their expressions shifting from celebration to confusion to shock.

I walk toward the sacred circle, my bare feet silent on the grass. The crowd parts without thinking, creating a path straight to the center where Theron and Celeste stand.

“Kira?” Celeste’s voice wavers, uncertain. Her hand tightens on Theron’s arm. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be—”

“Serving?” I supply. “Scrubbing floors? Hiding in my servant’s quarters?” Each word is measured, calm. “Not tonight.”

Theron sees what I’m wearing—really sees it—and his jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind. His entire body goes rigid, muscles coiling like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You have no right to be here. This is sacred ground. You’re not—”

“Not what?”

I stop at the edge of the sacred circle, my toes just touching the line of salt and herbs that marks its boundary.

“Not your mate? Not worthy?” My voice is steady. Stronger than I’ve ever heard it. “Ancient law says I have every right. Or did you forget what binds us, Alpha?”

“This is my ceremony…” Theron starts, taking a step toward me.

His Alpha command bleeds into his voice, trying to force me to submit. To obey.

The Elder Norah raises her hand, and Theron stops mid-step. Her eyes are on me, ancient and knowing. She looks at what I’m wearing, and something like respect flickers across her weathered face.

Whispers explode through the crowd. Shocked. Scandalized. Excited.

Theron’s wolf is suddenly agitated—I can see it in the way his eyes flash amber, the way his hands clench into fists.

“You already know you’re nothing. Why humiliate yourself further?”

“I’m not the one who should feel humiliated, Alpha.” I step into the circle, and the Elder doesn’t stop me. Can’t stop me. The old laws are absolute. “I’ve come to finish what you started.”

I pull the silver blade from where I’ve hidden it in my dress. The ceremonial knife used for blood oaths, for sacred vows.

For rejections.

Theron’s face goes pale. Actually pale. “Kira, don’t do this. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t I?” I raise the blade, and moonlight runs along its edge like liquid silver. “You made your choice, Theron. Now I’m making mine.”

“If you do this…” His voice cracks. “The bond breaking, it will hurt both of us. You could die. Wolves have died from—”

“Then I die.” The blade is steady in my hand. “Better dead than chained.”

The Elder Norah moves closer, her presence a weight of ancient power. “Speak the words, child. If you mean them.”

I meet Theron’s eyes. Hold them.

Then the bond snaps.

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