Rejected by the alpha, crowned as the rogue Queen

SIERRA'S POV

The night of the Luna Ceremony was the kind that made even the mountains hold their breath.

Moonlight spilled like fire over the courtyard, turning stone and steel into something holy. Every torch flickered in rhythm with the wind, every banner of the Moonbane Pack rippled under the blue sky. The air hummed with anticipation, with the scent of wolves and something divine.

And somewhere in the middle of it all stood me.

My name, Sierra. The kennel girl. The lowest omega in Moonbane.

I tugged at the hem of the borrowed gown that hung off my back. It was too big, a hand-me-down from one of the Beta’s daughters, yellowed lace, uneven sewing. I’d spent the afternoon scrubbing mud from it just to look halfway decent. It didn’t matter. No amount of scrubbing or praying could hide the truth of what I was.

Still, I stood there among the pack, heart hammering, trying not to fidget, trying not to let my nerves show.

Every year, the ceremony was the same: the priestess would call forth the unmated wolves, the Moon Goddess would reveal Her will, and some lucky she-wolf would walk away chosen by fate. Usually, the mates were Betas or warriors. Never an omega.

But the rules said every unmated wolf must attend. So here I was, a shadow among beauty.

It wasn’t hard. People didn’t see omegas unless they wanted work done. I kept to the back, watching as the Alpha stood at the front of the courtyard.

Isaak.

Our Alpha.

Even from a distance, I could feel the pull of his presence, the commanding power that came with his bloodline. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a dark ceremonial cloak that caught the light like storm clouds. His hair gleamed black under the moonlight, and his eyes, gods, his eyes, were gray like winter rain. Cold and sharp like his chiselled jawline. He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen and every she-wolf in the crowd watched him like he was the moon itself.

He was perfect.

And he was everything I was not.

I’d seen him up close only a few times, passing through the training yard or leading a patrol. I’d never spoken to him. I’d never dared. If he’d noticed me at all, it was only because I was a pest in his way.

Still, a part of me, some foolish, naive part, had always wondered what it might feel like to be noticed.

The priestess’s voice rose, cutting through the night. “On this sacred night, under the gaze of the Moon Goddess, we call upon Her to reveal the bond of fated souls."

The crowd fell silent.

The priestess lifted a bowl of shimmering water, glowing faintly with moonlight, and dipped her fingers into it. One by one, she called the names of the unmated women, marking their foreheads with a touch of silver. Each time, a faint ripple of power moved through the air.

Some women glowed faintly,