All Chapters of The Rejected Luna's Revenge: Chapter 1 - Chapter 6

There is no pain like a broken mate bond.I used to think it was just an expression. A poetic way to describe a broken heart. But as I lay on the cold, marble floor of my bathroom, I know the truth. It is a physical, living thing. It feels like a clawed hand has reached into my chest, grabbed hold of my soul, and ripped it in half.The bond is severed, but the nerve endings are still on fire.I press my cheek against the tile. It’s a desperate attempt to find something cool against my burning skin. My stomach heaves again, violent and empty, leaving me gasping for air. I have been throwing up for the last hour.My wolf, Lyra, is thrashing against the walls of my mind. She isn't just angry; she is feral. The rejection has driven her to the brink of madness. She is howling, a continuous, deafening wail inside my skull that makes it impossible to think. She wants to find Julian. She wants to force him to take us back. She wants to tear his throat out.Stop, I command her, my internal voi

I push open the heavy oak door to the Alpha’s study.The room smells like old books, expensive leather, and a dark, intoxicating cologne that makes my stomach flip. The lighting is dim, casting long shadows across the mahogany desk.I force my spine to straighten, ignoring the violent tremor in my legs. The bond-sickness is tearing at my insides, a relentless, throbbing agony that makes me want to curl into a ball and scream. But I don't. I am wearing the red dress. I am wearing my war paint. I will not look like a victim tonight.Alistair is sitting behind his desk, a crystal tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He doesn't stand when I enter. He doesn't look surprised. He just watches me with those piercing grey eyes, his expression completely unreadable.He is dressed in a dark suit, his tie loosened slightly. The silver at his temples catches the light. He looks like a predator who has just been waiting for his prey to walk into the trap.I stop in the middle of the room, a few feet fro

I wake up to pain.It is not the sharp, tearing agony of the bond snapping. It is a dull, persistent throb, like a heartbeat in my chest that radiates through my entire body. I am curled in a fetal position, my knees drawn to my chest, my fingers clutching the silk sheets.The room is unfamiliar. The sheets are cream-colored. The walls are pale grey. There is a window overlooking a garden, and the morning light is filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor.I am in the east wing. Alistair's estate. The contract.I try to sit up. The pain surges, a wave of nausea that makes me gasp. I press my palm against my sternum, as if I can physically hold the broken bond together. It doesn't help.I need him.The thought is humiliating. I hate it. I hate that my body craves his touch like a drug. I hate that I am lying in a bed he provided, wearing a silk nightgown he left for me, in a room he chose for me. I am a kept woman. A pawn.But the pain is too much.I force