Rejected By The Alpha, Claimed By The Hidden King

Elara Thorne's POV:

The wind was a cold bite against my cheeks, a stark contrast to the feigned warmth of the gathered pack. I pulled the collar of my daughter Cora’s coat tighter, my fingers brushing against her small, trembling shoulders. She huddled against my leg, a tiny island of silver-blonde hair in a sea of dark, formal mourning clothes.

My mate, Alpha Ryker Blackwood, stood a few yards away. He wasn't looking at us. His broad, powerful back was turned, his head inclined towards Faye Dawson. Her fiery auburn hair was a slash of color in the greyscale of the Blackwood Pack's cemetery. He murmured something to her, and she offered him a sad, brave little smile. The smile of the woman who should have been standing where I was.

Today was the funeral for the pack's eldest matriarch, Genevieve. It should have been a day of unity, of shared grief. For me, it was just another public exhibition of my failure.

Ryker’s mother, Lena Croft, caught my eye from across the freshly dug grave. Her expression was pure acid, a look of disgust she reserved just for me. A moment later, that same face softened into a look of maternal affection as she turned her gaze to Faye.

The whispers followed, as they always did. I didn’t have to strain to hear them; they were carried on the same wind that chilled my skin.

“Look at them. That’s how an Alpha and Luna should be.”

“Faye’s back. It’s only a matter of time.”

“She never should have left him. This one… she’s just a placeholder.”

Cora’s small hand tugged at my sleeve. Her voice was a bare whisper, lost to everyone but me. “Momma? Why isn’t Daddy with us?”

A familiar, tight knot formed in my stomach. I knelt, turning my body to shield her from the prying eyes and venomous whispers. It was a practiced move, one I had perfected over six years. I forced a gentle smile onto my face.

“Daddy is busy with our guests, sweetie. He’s the Alpha, remember?”

The lie tasted like ash in my mouth. He wasn’t busy. He was choosing. And he wasn’t choosing us.

The ceremony began. Ryker stepped forward, his deep, commanding baritone washing over the assembled wolves. He spoke of his grandmother, of her strength, of the alliances she had forged. His stormy grey eyes swept over the crowd, and for a fraction of a second, they flickered towards Faye as he mentioned loyalty and destiny. A story for everyone, with a message for one.

Faye, on cue, dabbed at her emerald-green eyes, a perfect portrait of beautiful, resilient grief. The pack sighed in collective sympathy.

My turn came. As the Luna, it was my duty to place the first Moonpetal blossom on the casket. In years past, Ryker would have offered me his hand, a public show of support. Today, he didn’t even look my way. He had already turned back to Faye, his hand resting lightly