Rejected By The Alpha, Claimed By The Lycan

I was the Luna of the Silvermoon Pack, bound in a political marriage to Alpha Jace for three miserable years.

But because I was a "wolfless" runt, he never touched me. Instead, he moved his late brother's widow and her bratty son into my wing, publicly treating her as his true mate.

He let her son destroy my parents' only surviving photograph and demanded I apologize to the boy. When my cruel grandmother summoned us to the Winter Solstice Conclave—a deadly trial—Jace knew I would be brutally tortured if I arrived without my Alpha.

Yet, he chose to stay home to comfort his mistress over a fake stomach ache.

"I never wanted a wolfless mate," he had sneered, abandoning me.

He handed me over to the Blackwood Pack's Terrace of Correction. Forced to my knees, the silver-laced stone burned my flesh while the blizzard froze my blood.

As my vision darkened, I realized he had intentionally sent me here to die. I had swallowed my pride for three years, hiding my true identity and the signed rejection papers I had tricked him into signing, only to be thrown away like trash for another woman's fake tears.

Just as I prepared to let the darkness take me, the impenetrable iron gates of the Keep were obliterated by a massive black Maybach.

Baron, my terrifying Lycan cousin, stepped into the storm and scooped my scorched body into his arms.

"Short every stock tied to the Silvermoon name," he ordered into his phone, his eyes locked on my abusers. "I want Jace begging on his knees by sunrise."