Chapter 7: The Alpha’s Choice

The clearing was thick with anticipation as the pack assembled beneath the silver gaze of the moon. Every wolf, young and old, pressed in close, their eyes shining with excitement, curiosity, and—on some faces—barely disguised envy. Mira stood on the outskirts, her heart a wild, fluttering thing in her chest. She searched Lucian’s face for a sign, a secret message just for her. But his expression was unreadable—every inch the Alpha, his jaw set, his eyes fixed on the elders.

The council’s eldest, her voice brittle as old bark, called out, “Alpha Lucian, it is time. Who do you choose as your mate and Luna?”

A hush fell. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Mira’s breath caught, hope and dread warring inside her. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, willing herself to be brave, to believe that the secret moments she and Lucian had shared would mean something here, in the open, before the pack.

Lucian’s gaze swept the crowd, pausing on Mira for only a fleeting second—no warmth, no apology, just the measured look of a leader weighing his people. Then he turned to Selene—a proud, fierce wolf from a respected bloodline, standing tall and expectant beside the council.

“My choice is Selene,” Lucian declared, his voice clear and unwavering.

In that instant, a jagged, searing pain ripped through Mira’s chest. She staggered, clutching at her heart as if struck by an invisible blow. The agony was deep, raw, and unlike anything she had ever known—a tearing, as if something vital and unseen had been wrenched from her soul.

Across the clearing, Lucian’s composure faltered. His hand shot to his chest, his breath catching as a mirrored pain lanced through him. For a heartbeat, he met Mira’s gaze, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. The pain was silent and invisible to the rest of the pack, but between them, it was a living thing—a bond torn, a promise broken, a punishment from something ancient and wild.

A ripple of approval swept through the pack, oblivious to the agony that passed between Alpha and the outcast. Selene stepped forward, her smile victorious as the elders nodded in satisfaction. The council began the ancient ritual, their voices rising in a chant that echoed through the trees. The firelight flickered, illuminating Selene’s sharp features as she accepted the ceremonial cloak, the symbol of her new status.

Mira felt the world tilt beneath her feet. Her vision blurred, the cold ache in her chest now a throbbing wound. She barely heard the rest of the ceremony—the vows, the howls of celebration, the promises of unity. It was as if she stood behind glass, watching her life fracture into pieces she could never gather back.

Lucian’s voice, reciting the ancient words of binding, sounded distant, hollow. The pack’s joyous howls rang out, but to Mira, they were the cries of something lost forever.

As the ceremony continued, Mira’s mind spun with memories—Lucian’s arms around her in the moonlight, his whispered promises, the taste of his kiss. She had believed, foolishly, that love could be stronger than tradition, that the bond they’d forged in secret could withstand the weight of the pack’s expectations.

But Lucian never looked her way again. He stood beside Selene, strong and composed, accepting the pack’s cheers and the council’s blessing with the calm authority of a true Alpha. If he felt any regret, he did not show it. If he remembered Mira at all, he gave no sign—except for that single, haunted moment when their pain had met and mingled, a silent wound neither could hide.

Mira drifted through the crowd, unseen and untouched, her body moving on instinct. Anya found her near the edge of the clearing, her friend’s eyes wide with worry and sympathy.

“Mira—” Anya began, but Mira shook her head, unable to speak. The words would only shatter her further.

She slipped away into the shadows, her heart breaking in the silence of the woods. The celebration faded behind her, replaced by the hush of the forest and the distant call of an owl. She wandered, numb, through the trees, the cold air biting at her skin. Tears threatened, but she forced them back, unwilling to let herself fall apart where anyone might see.

She found herself at the river’s edge, the moon’s reflection trembling on the water. Mira dropped to her knees, clutching the earth as if it could anchor her to a world that suddenly felt unfamiliar and cruel. The ache in her chest grew sharper, pulsing with every ragged breath—a pain that was hers and not hers, a wound she shared with Lucian even as he stood beside another.

She thought of Lucian, of the way he’d looked at her in that final moment—no softness, no secret plea, just the distant gaze of an Alpha who had made his choice. She wanted to hate him, to curse him for his coldness, but all she could feel was the echo of their love—twisted now by duty and loss.

The night deepened around her, the forest alive with the sounds of life continuing, indifferent to her pain. Mira let herself grieve, but only for a moment. There would be time for tears later, when she was alone, truly alone.

When she finally stood, her face was dry, her jaw set. She wiped her hands on her skirt and returned to the edge of the clearing, watching the pack celebrate their new Luna. She didn’t know what she would do next, or how she would survive this, but she knew one thing: she would not let them see her break.

Not tonight.