Today was supposed to be my mating day. The day Tristan Veyne would mark me as his Luna, in front of the whole Ashveil Pack. We’d trained together since we were pups. Everyone said we were the perfect match. Future Alpha and Luna. Balanced. Predictable. Safe. I smoothed down the front of my cloak for the hundredth time and glanced toward the entrance again. Still no one. Not a single soul had shown up—not my parents, not my brother Rafe, not even Tristan. Just me, standing alone in the silence. I pulled out my phone and checked for the fifth time. No new messages. My thumb hovered over Tristan’s name before I called again. It rang twice, then went to voicemail. I stared at the screen, unsure whether to laugh or throw it against the stone wall. Then the pack announcement flashed across it: [WELCOME HOME SERA THORNHART] A video auto-played. There they were—my family. All of them. Gathered at the arrival gates of the northern ridge, where the skycrafts landed. My father beamed, my mother teared up, and Rafe had lifted Sera into a spinning hug. Even Tristan was there, standing just behind her. Sera’s golden hair glinted under the lantern lights. Her arm curled tightly around Tristan’s like she belonged there. She always did. My chest burned. A moment later, my phone buzzed again. This time it was Tristan. “Stop being dramatic, Kiera,” he said, his voice dry, like I’d called to complain about the weather. “We’ll do the ceremony later. Sera just got back from Alpha training at Wolfsbane Academy —” The line cut. I stared at the screen, my claws itching to come out. Around me, the ceremonial hall remained silent, filled only with the soft rustle of moonflower petals falling to the floor. I looked down at the cloak I’d spent hours sewing silver threads into. It pooled around me now like shed fur, like something I didn’t deserve to wear. I slipped it off and left it there. The Ashveil Pack buzzed with noise when I returned. Someone had roasted meat on the back grill. Sera’s perfume floated through the halls—rose and sweetleaf, strong enough to push every other scent away. Laughter echoed from the main room. A celebration, loud and thoughtless. No one noticed when I slipped inside through the kitchen door. I went straight to my room, sat on the edge of my bed, and stared at the list I’d written in my journal. A simple list. Every time I’d been forgotten. Overlooked. Passed over. I added another entry at the bottom: Mating ceremony—no one came. A knock slammed against the door. It creaked open, and Rafe stepped inside like he owned the place, his boots heavy on the floor. “There you are.” He looked me over, taking in the fur cloak now folded by my desk and the half-written letter to the Council. “Sera wants your meatloaf. Make it spicy—she says she missed the way you cook it.” I stared at him, hands resting on my lap. “You missed my mating ceremony.” Rafe blinked, then shrugged like it didn’t matter. “It’s just a ritual. You and Tristan can do it next moon, or the one after. Sera’s back, Kiera. We haven’t seen her in a year.” He picked up my journal from the desk, flipped through it without asking. “You still writing this stuff down?” His eyes landed on the fresh page. At the top in bold letters: FINAL WARNING. He snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean? You gonna run away? To be a rogue?” He tossed the journal back onto the bed. “Just make the meatloaf, Kiera.” I stood slowly and walked past him toward the kitchen. My hands stung as I pulled out the meat from the cold box. The new soap they’d brought back for me to use—Sera’s favorite brand—had left red blotches on my skin. Rafe leaned against the wall behind me, watching too closely. “Why are you so quiet?” he asked. “Planning to poison her or something?” Before I could answer, her voice rang out from the main room. “Rafeee! The chestnuts!” He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Coming,” before turning and leaving without a second glance. I washed my hands under cold water, watching the red fade into pale pink. My eyes drifted to the counter. There sat the ceremonial cake I’d ordered. Still untouched. The bonding rings lay beside it, sealed in their velvet box. I didn’t cry. I just stood there for a long time, staring at all the things that were supposed to matter. My wolf had been quiet all day, but now her voice was sharp in my head. Veyla, my wolf, growled low in my chest. “They’ve made their choice,” she said. “So will we.” I looked toward the window. Beyond it, the dark trees of the northern woods swayed gently in the night wind. Sera was back. She had everything. And me? I was done waiting.
I set the meatloaf down on the long oak dining table, the scent wafting through the air like a forgotten promise. Laughter echoed from the living room. Father, usually buried in Alpha Council meetings and Ashveil Pack’s logistics, sat comfortably, listening intently as Sera gushed about her time at Wolfsbane Academy. “We practiced under the pack elder Greyfang,” she said, eyes shining. “He said I had the instincts of a born Alpha—strong enough to lead any pack.” Mother clutched Sera’s hand, eyes shimmering with emotion. “My sweet girl. You’ve lost weight, haven’t you? You need more rest—too much time in training will weaken your wolf and dull your senses.” Rafe sat beside them, still dutifully peeling chestnuts like some Beta servant. I stood quietly at the threshold between the kitchen and living room—watching, never invited. That room was warm, bright, full of voices and attention. This room—mine—was quiet, dim. Forgotten. Sera’s voice rose with performative sweetness. “Kiera, why are you just standing there? Still mad at me for ruining your ceremony?” The conversation screeched to a halt. Three pairs of eyes turned toward me like I was a problem that had just come back. Father’s brow furrowed. “Kiera, come here. Don’t sulk.” Mother gave me that impatient look—the one that always followed whenever Sera cried. “You’re the one who picked that unfortunate date. Sera had just landed, we were all exhausted from the airport run. You know that, don’t you?” Then came the dagger. “If you’re going to be petty with your sister, then you’re no daughter of mine.” Sera gasped, wide-eyed and full of faux concern. “Mom, don’t be so harsh. Kiera will feel hurt…” But her smirk said otherwise. She knew my ceremony date. I told her a week in advance. She even replied: “Can’t wait! Got a surprise planned for you.” Surprise, indeed. Since we were pups, Sera had always managed to turn every situation into a test—one where the pack had to choose. They always picked her. Even my mate chose her. I should’ve felt something—anger, betrayal, sadness. But there was only... stillness. “I’m not angry.” Those three words sliced through the tension like claws through bark. Everyone stared. Father blinked. Mother narrowed her eyes. Sera tilted her head with a mock-confused pout. They had expected a tantrum, not serenity. Which meant... they knew what they did would hurt me. They just didn’t care enough to stop. Father exhaled and forced a smile. “Good. That’s good. We’re a pack. We don’t hold grudges.” “Of course,” I said, nodding with perfect obedience. It was the same voice I used to speak to the Elder wolves during full moon rituals. The relief in their eyes was instant. They turned their attention back to Sera. Dinner began. The maid had added several dishes besides my meatloaf—crab legs, lemon garlic scallops, all Sera’s favorites. “You’re too thin,” Father murmured, piling food onto her plate. “Eat more. You’ll need your strength before the orchestral trial,” Mother added, dabbing her eyes again. Rafe chimed in with a grin. “Don’t worry. If any of those city wolves give you trouble, I’ll rip their throats out.” Sera laughed, her silver hair gleaming in the light. “No need. I’ve got this.” They all chuckled. I ate in silence, the warmth of the meatloaf doing little to thaw the cold within me. Then, for the first time that evening, Mother glanced at me. She hesitated. Picked up a spoonful of meatloaf and placed it on my plate. “Try it. Don’t think we don’t care about you just because we fuss over Sera. I care about you too.” The words felt... rehearsed. Like a line from a script she’d used too often. I looked down at the food, then slowly set my utensils down. “No. I’m full.” Her expression shifted—first startled, then irritated. “What’s wrong with you lately?” She started to say more, but Sera suddenly clutched her throat, eyes wide. “Mom… I… I can’t breathe—” Her voice cracked, breath rasping. She staggered backward, knocking over her chair. Panic erupted instantly. “Sera!” Mother screamed. “What’s happening?!” Father stood so fast the table shook. Rafe was already at her side, sniffing her neck and face for signs of poison, his Beta instincts flaring. “Her scent’s spiking—something’s wrong!” My heart thudded in my chest, not from fear, but from the quiet, twisted irony of it all. In the chaos, no one noticed me standing completely still—just watching. Veyla’s voice stirred faintly in my mind. “She’s not choking, Kiera. She’s shifting. Something inside her is waking.”
Sera’s rash bloomed across her skin like a warning from the moon goddess. "Is this… an allergic reaction?" Father barked, nostrils flaring as he hovered over her convulsing form. "Why would this happen now?" Mother’s gaze snapped to me like a dagger drawn under moonlight. In the next heartbeat, her palm collided with my cheek, sending me sprawling across the tiled floor. "Kiera! What did you put in the food? Have you forgotten your sister’s triggers?!" My head rang. The room swam. I could feel Veyla stir within me, a low growl rising in the depths of my chest. But I shoved her back, swallowing the heat clawing at my throat. Rafe stepped forward, eyes flashing in disbelief. "You were so quiet… so obedient. And now this? You meant to harm Sera." "How did I end up with a sister like you?" he added, his voice heavy with disappointment. "Enough!" Father slammed his fist on the table, the sound reverberating like thunder. "Get her to the healer now!" The room cleared in a blur—my parents and Rafe carrying Sera out, frantic and breathless, like she was the moon’s own fragile vessel. I was left alone, face throbbing, heart hollow. It wasn’t me. I whispered the words aloud, but they echoed off the silence like lies. They wouldn’t believe me. They never did. Not after everything. I felt something wet and hot on my palm. The maid had returned, her eyes wide as she caught sight of my hands. "Lady Kiera… your hands… they’re—swollen." I looked down. Red lines bloomed across my skin like fire veins. "I’m fine," I lied, brushing past her. In my room, I reached for an old leather-bound notebook. As I opened its worn cover, the scent of old ink and pine dust rose—memories not even the wolf in me wanted to recall. That winter, prey was scarce. Rogues pushed at our borders, and the Council demanded more from Father than he could give. When resources thinned, when space and safety grew tight, someone had to be sent away. I volunteered. The obedient daughter. The easy one to forget. The outpost clung to the cliffs beyond the pack's borders—a place carved for old warriors and outcasts. No pack song reached that far. Only wind and silence. There I learned everything. They visited once a year for Solstice rites. Each time, they stayed less. Brought more gifts for Sera. Spoke less of me. When I finally returned, the Ashveil Pack had grown stronger—courts and galleries echoing with pride. My new quarters? A forgotten supply room near the rear exit. No windows. No warmth. Just a reminder: I wasn’t part of the vision they built. I packed my things into a worn duffel. The wedding leave I had once requested felt laughable now. I was reaching for the phone, ready to send a message to my superior at outpost—requesting return to the outpost. Tristan. My mate. Or at least, the one fate had paired me with. The one who should have stood by me. "What did you do to Sera?" he demanded, skipping any pretense of concern. "She’s in the healer’s hall. You poisoned her?" "It was an allergic reaction," I said simply. "Don’t lie to me. You’ve always been jealous. How could you hurt your own blood like that?" His words were fire, burning through any remaining illusion I had. "Yes. I hurt her. I’ll apologize when she recovers. Are we done?" He fell silent for a second, stunned by my calm. We’d argued about Sera before—dozens of times. He used to flirt with her under the pretense of concern. Ordered her favorite foods during our dinners. Ignored my needs, my wants. "She’s your sister," he always said, like that made everything acceptable. To my family, I was always the overreacting one. The unstable one. When Sera went to the Alpha training, I felt peace for the first time. Even Veyla had been calmer. Now, the storm had returned. "If anything happens to Sera again," Tristan warned, his voice cold, "there will be no mating ceremony." Then the line went dead. I pictured him rushing into the healer’s den, brushing hair from Sera’s face, playing the hero to the girl he truly wanted. My claws threatened to unsheathe. Instead, I smirked, hung up, and called my mentor back in the outpost . Later that night, the front door creaked open. Mother and Father returned, exhaustion painted across their faces. Rafe followed, his head low. My duffel sat by the door. I was ready to leave. From upstairs, I heard them speaking in hushed tones—until the silence cracked open with betrayal. "If only Tristan’s family had better standing," Mother sighed. "He’s so good to Sera…" "Sera likes him," Father added. "Had I known, I never would’ve paired him with Kiera." "Still," Mother continued, "Tristan and Kiera are more suited. Let Sera chase her dreams. He can still take care of her, even as Kiera’s mate." The words sank like stones in my gut. Even now, they planned to keep Sera close to my mate. To my mate. I descended the stairs, my presence sudden, cutting off their whispers. Mother flinched as she saw me. "Kiera… you—You’re still here?" I said nothing. Just grabbed my bag and walked into the night—into the cold air and the arms of the moon. Veyla stirred again. We were never one of them, Kiera. But we are not alone. I tilted my face skyward, letting the night wind carry my scent far from that house. From the pack that never truly saw me. From the mate who never chose me. Let them keep their false bonds. I would forge my own.
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