I Refuse to Be Your Luna

The moon altar had been prepared for two wolves, but only one of us showed up. Harold Virel should have been standing there.. Beside me, before the Moon Altar, before the elders of Stonehedge.

Before every wolf who had spent the last six years waiting to see whether I would finally become his Luna or remain the woman he kept close enough to shame but never close enough to honor.

Tonight was supposed to settle it. The Luna Rite only happened once under the blood moon. Once the Alpha placed his mark over my pulse and accepted me before the elders, no one in Stonehedge would be allowed to question my place again.

“Lady Flourish,” Elder Marwin said quietly, “shall we send another summons?” Another summons. As if the first five had not been ignored.

I kept my chin lifted even though my fingers were cold beneath the folds of my ceremonial sleeves. The white claiming robe felt heavier with every passing breath, its silver embroidery pressing against my skin like chains.

“No,” I said. “If Alpha Harold wanted to be here, he would be.” A murmur passed through the hall. My wolf stirred beneath my ribs, not in anger yet. Just wounded.

Quiet in that dangerous way wounded creatures became when they realized the pain was not an accident. Across the hall, a young warrior rushed in through the side arch.

His boots scraped against the stone before he stopped near the elders. He looked at them first, then at me. That hesitation told me enough. Elder Marwin’s face tightened.

“Speak.” The warrior swallowed. “Alpha Harold has dismissed the Moon Guard assigned to escort him here.”

My breath caught before I could stop it. Dismissed them? A cold ripple passed through the gathered wolves. Even the servants near the walls froze. A Luna Rite was not a casual promise. It was law, blood, rank, and territory.

If an Alpha delayed it because of war, illness, or death, the elders could forgive him. But dismissing the guards meant Harold had not simply missed the rite. He had refused to come knowingly, publicly, and without the slightest intention of hiding it.

Elder Marwen’s gaze shifted to me, and for the first time that night, I saw pity in his eyes. I hated him for it. Before anyone could speak, elder Hailey whispered loudly enough for half the hall to hear.

“Maybe Widow Phina needed him again.” My body went still. The name moved through the hall like smoke. Phina. Harold’s late beta’s widow. The fragile beauty Stonehedge protected like sacred glass.

Three years ago, Harold’s beta, Rowan, died during a border ambush. Phina survived, but barely.

They said the moon sickness entered her blood that night and hollowed her slowly, leaving her too weak for court gatherings, too delicate for pack life, too broken to be blamed for anything.

For years, Harold had guarded her recovery with a devotion that made people lower their voices whenever I passed. At first, I pitied her.

Then I noticed Harold only smiled gently when her name was spoken. Then I noticed her scent lingering in places where mine should have been.

Then I started hating myself for noticing at all.