The Rejected Fool Luna

The morning run had almost killed her.

Briar had been training with the gammas for four weeks straight, every day at six a.m., rain or shine. Killian's birthday was tomorrow and she had a plan. A real one. She would run beside him at the territory check, keep up without falling behind, and he would see that she was trying. That she was worth keeping.

The gammas had not gone easy on her. But she had shown up every morning anyway, her thighs burning, her lungs screaming, until she could finally complete the full eastern circuit without stopping.

This morning she had done it in under forty minutes.

She was still sweaty and flushed and deeply out of breath when the first water balloon hit her.

It caught her between the shoulder blades. The cold water exploded through her gray hoodie and she lurched forward, nearly losing her footing on the sidewalk. She turned around.

Four children stood near the curb. None of them older than ten. All of them grinning like they had done something very clever.

"Got her," the tallest one said.

"Fat Luna," the smallest one yelled, already reaching into a plastic grocery bag. "Stupid, fat, ugly Luna."

"My mom says you're getting replaced," a girl in the middle announced. "She says the real mate is back and you're going to be thrown out."

The second balloon came fast. Briar took it on the arm. Cold water sheeted down her sleeve and dripped off her fingers onto the pavement.

She stood there. The children waited to see what the stupid Luna would do.

She turned around and kept walking.

*Hey.* Vivienne's voice slipped through the link. *You've been quiet. Everything okay?*

Briar kept walking. Water was still dripping from her sleeve. *Some kids threw water balloons at me. I'm soaked.*

A small pause. *Come to my apartment and clean up. I have things you can borrow. I'm heading out soon anyway, take all the time you need.*

She almost said no. Then she looked down at herself. Soaked hoodie, grass-stained leggings, mud caked along the sides of her sneakers from the trail. Her face was probably red and blotchy. It always was after she ran.

*Okay,* she sent back. *Thank you, Viv.*

---

Vivienne's apartment was in one of the newer buildings near the financial district, all glass and clean lines. Briar let herself in with the spare key and went straight for the bathroom.

She stopped in the hallway.

There was a pair of men's dress shoes outside the bedroom door. Dark oxfords, one had tipped slightly onto its side and she could see the size stamped on the inner sole.

Twelve.

Killian wore a twelve.

She stood very still for a moment. Then she told herself that lots of men wore size twelve. She walked past them.

In the bathroom mirror she looked at herself properly for the first time in days. The rosacea across her nose was worse from the exertion, red and raw. The breakouts along her jaw had not cleared despite the medication. Her hair was damp and flat. She stepped on the scale out of habit. One hundred and sixty pounds.

She remembered being seventeen. Before the last witch Brenda's drugs. She had been pretty once. She was almost certain of it.

She wrapped a towel around herself and went to find something dry to wear.

The laundry room was a narrow closet off the hallway. Briar pulled open the dryer door and went very still.

A white button-down shirt, she lifted it out slowly. Beneath it, charcoal dress trousers, neatly folded. And underneath those, a pair of dark navy boxer briefs from a brand she recognized immediately, because she had bought Killian the exact same brand twice and left them in his drawer without ever being thanked for it.

She put everything back. She stood in the small closet and breathed.

There was a Victoria's Secret bag on the shelf above the dryer. Briar reached up and looked inside before she could stop herself.

Black lace. A balconette bra with thin satin ribbon detail along the underwire, and a matching thong with a tiny bow at the center.

She thought about something Vivienne had told her six months ago. Briar had asked about lingerie, whether she should try something different to get Killian's attention. *Men don't like all that effort*, Vivienne had said. *It comes across as desperate. Just be natural, Briar. Trust me.* Briar had believed her and thrown away everything she had ordered.

Briar set the bag back on the shelf.

She walked down the hallway toward the bedroom. She could hear something through the door. Low sounds she did not immediately have words for. She put her hand on the handle.

She pushed the door open.

Killian was standing beside the bed. His belt was undone, the buckle catching the afternoon light. Vivienne was on her knees in front of him, her silk blouse slipped off one shoulder, her platinum hair coming loose from its knot. Her hands were at his waist.

They both looked at Briar at the same moment.

Nobody moved.

Then something tore open in Briar's chest and she crossed the room without thinking, grabbed Vivienne by the arm and pulled her sideways. Vivienne gasped and caught herself against the mattress.

"What are you doing." Briar's voice came out flat and loud. "What is this. You are on your knees. You are on your KNEES in front of my mate. Why are you on your knees, Vivienne."

"Briar." Vivienne's voice was steady. "Stop. Listen to me. It is not what you think it is."

"It is exactly what I think it is." She grabbed Vivienne by the arm and pulled her sideways. Vivienne gasped and caught herself against the mattress. "I know what that is. I am not that stupid. That is something you only do for your mate. That is a mate thing. He is MY mate, not yours. Why are you doing a mate thing with MY mate."

The tears came fast, the way they always did with Briar, zero to drowning with nothing in between.

"You told me not to wear lingerie," she said, loudly, the words tumbling out in whatever order they arrived. "You said men don't like it and I threw everything away and YOU HAVE THE PRETTY UNDERWEAR IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM. The black one with the bow. I saw it." She pointed back toward the hallway like presenting evidence. "And those are his shoes outside. I know his shoes. Size twelve. And his shirts are in the dryer. I KNOW HIS SHIRTS, VIVIENNE."

She was sobbing now, full and ugly and completely unashamed.

"I hate you," she announced. "I hate you and I want to kill you and I mean it. He is my mate. MINE. You cannot do mate things with my mate. That is the rule. That is the only rule and you broke it."

"Enough."

Killian  stepped forward, grabbed Briar by the back of her hoodie with one hand and lifted her off her feet entirely, walked her to the door and dropped her into the hallway. Hard.

Briar caught herself against the opposite wall and spun back around immediately. "Killian. Killian, look at me, please."

He looked at her. His eyes were dark and furious, every muscle in his face locked tight.

"We are done," he said.

The words didn't land. They sat outside her somewhere waiting to be understood.

"What?"

"Done." His voice rose. "Over. Finished. How many times do I have to say something before it gets through to you? I have told you I do not love you. I have told you this more than once. What is the matter with you? Are you genuinely this stupid or are you doing this on purpose?"

"You don't mean that." Her voice broke apart. "We have a bond, you can't just say we're done, that is not how it works, you can't."

"VVivienne is my fated mate, Briar Thorne." He said. " So whether it's oral, a titfuck, or me fucking her right here, you have no right to speak. Got it?"