Rejected by My Fated Mate

As the Gamma of the Empire Moon Pack, my life was defined by duty, schedules, and the relentless protection of our borders. I didn't have the luxury of being soft. They called me the "Iron Wolf" for a reason. But even iron can rust if you leave it out in the rain too long, and for five years, I had been standing in a storm.

The Winter Ball was tonight. The pack house was buzzing with excitement, streamers of silver and gold hanging from the banisters. I wasn't interested in the party. I just needed Graham's signature on the perimeter security revisions. As the Beta, he had to sign off before I could double the guard rotation.

I knocked on his office door. No answer. I pushed it open, expecting to find him buried under paperwork. The room was empty, but the air wasn't.

My nose twitched. Beneath the smell of old paper and Graham's usual cedar cologne, there was something else. Something sharp, cloying, and forbidden.

*Moonshade.*

My wolf, usually dormant and depressed these days, bristled inside me. Moonshade was a banned herb. It had one primary use: masking scents. Why would the Beta of the strongest pack on the East Coast need to hide his scent?

I followed the smell to the corner of the room, behind his heavy mahogany desk. The carpet was slightly askew. I kicked it back and saw a loose floorboard. My heart hammered against my ribs—a slow, heavy thud of dread. I pried the board up with my fingernails.

Inside lay a bundle of dried purple herbs and a leather-bound journal. My hands trembled as I picked up the book. I knew I shouldn't read it. That was an invasion of privacy. But five years of rejection, five years of Graham telling me my aura was "cursed" by a dark omen, made me desperate.

I flipped to a page dated five years ago. The day the Moon Goddess paired us.

*"The omen is a lie,"* the handwriting was unmistakably Graham's. *"I cannot mark Rory while my heart waits for Adelina. I will use the prophecy to buy time until she returns. Rory is strong; she can handle the wait. I cannot handle the truth."*

The book slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud. The world tilted on its axis.

There was no curse. There was no dark prophecy warning that our union would destroy the pack. There was just him, waiting for another woman.

A low, dangerous growl ripped from my throat. It wasn't a sound of sadness. It was the sound of a wolf who had been caged for too long. I didn't cry. The Iron Wolf didn't cry. I moved.

I tracked his scent. It was fresh, leading away from the office and down the hall toward the pack library. I moved silently, my boots making no sound on the hardwood floors. I was hunting now.

The library doors were slightly ajar. I didn't barge in.