When My Mate Offered Me to the Rogue King

The silver key felt heavy and cold in my palm, a jagged little piece of metal that weighed more than the plaster cast on my arm. It was just a key—standard issue, brass-coated—but it opened the heavy oak door to the Luna’s office. The office where I had spent seven years balancing the pack’s budget, organizing treaties, and ensuring our warriors were fed and paid.

"Aria," Theodore’s voice was impatient, his hand extended. "Don't make this difficult. You are injured, and frankly, your recent performance has been... lacking. You need to focus on healing, not administration."

I looked at him, searching for a flicker of the man I loved, but his eyes were hard, fixed on the key. Beside him, Macie stood with her hands clasped demurely in front of her, wearing a look of practiced reluctance.

"Theo," I whispered, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "This is my office. It’s the heart of my duties as Luna."

"And right now, you are failing those duties," he snapped, snatching the key from my unresisting fingers. He turned immediately to Macie, his expression softening into something sickeningly tender. "Here. You mentioned you had ideas for the upcoming festival. You’ll need a quiet place to work."

Macie accepted the key as if it were a crown jewel. "Oh, Alpha, are you sure? I don't want to overstep..."

"You could never overstep," he assured her. Then, he turned his back to me. "Aria, report to the kitchens. If you aren't doing real Luna work, you can at least make yourself useful. The Omegas are short-handed with the festival prep. Try not to break any plates."

The humiliation burned hotter than the fever in my broken arm. I was the Luna of the Obsidian Crest Pack, and I was being sent to peel potatoes.

***

The kitchens were a chaotic symphony of clattering pans and shouting cooks. The air was thick with the smell of roasting venison and onions. When I walked in, the room went silent. Old Martha, the head cook, looked at my sling and then at my face, her eyes wide with horror.

"Luna?" she gasped, wiping her hands on her apron. "What are you doing down here?"

"I've been reassigned, Martha," I said, keeping my chin high. "Where do you need me?"

For three hours, I worked. I couldn't chop with one hand, so I carried sacks of flour on my good shoulder, gritting my teeth against the strain. I scrubbed counters until my knuckles were raw. I became a ghost in my own home, invisible to everyone but the lowest-ranking wolves who looked at me with heartbreaking pity.

Around midday, Martha asked me to bring a tray of coffee and sandwiches up to the Alpha's floor. "They've been in meetings all morning," she muttered. "Best you take it, Luna. Maybe he'll... maybe he'll see you."

I took the tray, balancing it precariously on my good forearm. As I approached the office—*my* office—the door was slightly ajar. I moved to knock, but the sound of Macie’s voice froze me in place.

"...it was terrifying, Theo," she was saying, her voice breathless and soft. "The smoke was so thick I could barely breathe. But I saw you there, trapped under the wreckage. Everyone else had run, but I couldn't leave you."

My blood turned to ice.

"I was so small," Macie continued, weaving a web of lies that strangled my heart. "But I grabbed your collar. It was burning hot, searing my fingers. I pulled with everything I had. I remember the weight of you, dead weight in the mud, and the way the fire roared behind us..."

I nearly dropped the tray. That wasn't her memory. That was *mine*.

I remembered the heat blistering my skin. I remembered the smell of burning rubber and wolfsbane. I remembered screaming for help until my throat bled while dragging Theodore’s unconscious body inch by agonizing inch away from the burning jeep.

I peeked through the crack in the door. Theodore was sitting on the edge of the desk, staring at Macie with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship. There were tears in his eyes—tears he had never shed for me.

"It was you," he whispered, reaching out to cup her face. "All this time, I thought... I felt a connection, but I didn't know. You saved me, Macie. You are my destiny."

"I didn't want the glory," she lied smoothly, leaning into his touch. "I just wanted you to be safe."

I backed away, bile rising in my throat. She wasn't just taking my office or my husband. She was stealing my history. She was erasing me completely.

"Alpha!"

The shout came from the end of the hallway. Gamma Rick was striding toward us, his face grim. He didn't notice me pressed against the wall as he burst into the office.

"Alpha, we have a situation," Rick said urgently. "Border patrol just reported fresh tracks on the northern ridge. Rogue scouts. They're probing the perimeter."

I stepped forward instinctively. "The northern ridge?" I interrupted, forgetting my place. "That sector is blind right now. Macie reallocated the sensory patrols to the festival grounds this morning. If scouts are there, they've already found a way in."

Theodore looked at me, then at Macie. Macie’s eyes widened in fake alarm. "I... I just thought the festival security was more important, Theo! We have so many guests coming..."

"She's right," Theodore said, waving his hand dismissively at Rick. "It's just a few stray rogues, Rick. Don't be dramatic. They're looking for scraps, not a fight."

"But Alpha," Rick argued, "if Aria is right about the blind spot..."

"Aria is peeling potatoes, not running military strategy!" Theodore roared, slamming his hand on the desk. "I will not have panic ruining the Mate Festival. I am making a public announcement tonight—an announcement about the future of this pack and my *true* chosen mate. I want security focused on the stage, not chasing ghosts in the woods. Is that clear?"

Rick stiffened, casting a helpless glance at me before bowing his head. "Yes, Alpha."

Theodore turned back to Macie, pulling her into his arms, oblivious to the disaster looming on the horizon. I stood in the hallway, the tray trembling in my hand, realizing with a sickening jolt that he wasn't just breaking my heart anymore. By ignoring the threat to plan his romantic declaration, he was dooming us all.