Marked Twice, Now Queen of Alphas

“I renounce Celeste as my mate,” Alpha Alaric’s voice cut through the grand hall, unyielding and cold. “She was discovered in bed with a stranger—an act of betrayal against the Wolfsbane Pack. And in our laws, treachery earns only one fate: death!”

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For the first time since the brutal assassination of the former Alpha a month prior, the Wolfsbane Pack pulsed with cautious excitement. The pack had mourned deeply for their leader, yet they could not remain leaderless forever—especially with outside threats looming.

The late Alpha had left behind three daughters. The eldest, Nyla, had been exiled two years earlier after her hedonistic spiral through Hollow Creek led to scandal. 

The youngest, Brielle, had just turned eighteen three months ago, but she remained unmated—and her abilities still lagged behind her middle sister’s. 

Celeste, the Alpha’s second-born, had been revealed to possess the rare Luna wolf at sixteen, and now she was twenty. Though a formidable warrior, pack tradition mandated that only her mate—if powerful enough—could claim leadership.

Celeste’s wolf, Astra, was strong and loyal, but until recently had been unable to identify her destined mate.

That changed only a few weeks ago, and with much fanfare, the council extended an invitation to every unmated Alpha at their upcoming summit—secretly hoping that one might bond with Celeste. 

Shock rippled through the pack when it was revealed that Alaric, one of Wolfsbane’s most respected warriors, was her true mate.

Their connection had been virtually invisible to outsiders—few had noticed them exchange even a single word outside council meetings. Yet, fate had bound them during the conference.

On the third day of their summit, preparations were underway for a dual celebration: Alaric’s coronation as pack leader, and the public marking of the Luna-Mate bond he'd placed upon Celeste the previous night. 

She awoke that morning with a radiant glow, traces of blush still lingering from his mark on her neck.

“You look exquisite, Cel,” teased Brielle, slipping a jeweled hairpin into Celeste’s curls. Her smile was warm but guarded. 

“You look stunning too, Bri,” Celeste replied as she stepped into her stilettos. “Don’t keep them waiting—it’s rare to witness both a coronation and the Alpha summit together.”

Indeed, the hall was packed with all manner of Alphas. One notable absentee was Alpha Thorne, whose reputation for dark dealings preceded him. Rumor had it he was expected to attend in respect for the fallen Alpha—and possibly to make his own claim.

Seconds before the ceremony began, Celeste leaned toward Brielle. “What do you imagine happened to Father?” she asked softly.

Brielle’s face tightened. “He’s gone, Cel. But after today, we need to locate his remains—and find Nyla. He deserves an Alpha’s farewell.”

“I never believed Father acted properly when he banished Nyla,” Celeste confessed quietly. “Something doesn’t sit right. There may be more behind her exile.”

Brielle gently slid the pin into place. “Do you suspect someone framed her?”

Celeste shrugged, though her jaw clenched with determination. “Whoever silenced him will face parpjustice.”

Their private moment ended abruptly as the MC’s voice boomed through the speakers:

“Luna Celeste, please step forward and recite your vows.”

A chill ran through Celeste’s spine—Alaric had already been crowned without her. Tradition demanded her presence before the crown was fully bestowed. She swallowed hard and moved onto the dais, hearts pounding at her entrance. Applause thundered around her, though the spotlight—and Alaric’s attention—should have been hers.

She approached quietly, whispering to him, “You held the coronation without me.”

Alaric’s expression remained stoic. Celeste, radiant in her champagne-colored gown, dared to hope he might apologize, might look into her eyes. But he stayed silent.

“Luna Celeste,” began the MC, voice steady—

“Wait,” Alaric snapped, his voice suddenly loud enough to echo through the hall. “There is something I must address.”

Celeste froze. “Alaric, what—?”

He raised his head and spoke clearly: “You believe you can betray me? Spend the night with another man, and expect to stand here as though you’re innocent?”

Gasps erupted. Shock and whispers rippled across the crowd. Celeste’s vision blurred as panic surged.

“I… I don’t understand,” she said, voice cracking. “I was with you last night.”

Alaric withdrew his phone. “Check your devices,” he announced, opening the argument like a blade.

He passed the phone to Celeste. On the screen was a vivid image: Celeste in bed, naked, with a man she didn’t recognize. It was unmistakably real.

Her knees trembled. She tried to read his lips. “No… I—I thought it was you. I don’t know him.”

Almost instantly, the hall erupted into chaos as angry voices rose against Celeste.

“She’s a traitor!”

“Shame on her!”

“Put her to death!”

Alaric stood tall. 

“You are unworthy of my mark. Unworthy to lead. This pack deserves a proper Luna."

"Brielle, step forward.”

Celeste’s heart shattered as Brielle emerged from the throng, head held high, expression unreadable—but she did not refuse.

“How could you—?”

The words escaped hoarsely through Celeste’s quivering lips. But Brielle took her place at Alaric’s side, and even the pack cheered at the elevation of the younger sister.

Celeste’s soul convulsed. The pair in front of her—her mate and her sister—had sent her to ruin. Betrayal, heartbreak, disbelief: each stab intensified the burning shame.

Alaric’s proclamation sliced through the uproar: “I officially reject Celeste as my mate. She is expelled. And by law, that means her death.”

The crowd swallowed hard. Celeste felt the bond sever at her throat—a fire seared beneath her skin as the mark faded.

“My presence here means nothing,” Brielle whispered, though there was no warmth in her tone.

In that moment, Celeste realized the gathering cruelty: her pack—once loyal—now turned on her with venom.

“No,” she pleaded, tears streaming. “I won’t—It was you I spent the night with!”

Whispers of “Liar” and “We saw it” rose around her.

Pack leaders and warriors shook their heads in solemn agreement. The verdict was clear.

Celeste exhaled slowly. “I… accept your rejection.”

Each word was a dagger through her heart.

At once, the mark vanished. The mate-bond shattered into dust. Her identity stripped away in one brutal moment.

Alaric’s command came next: “Sit on the floor.”

Celeste stared, disbelieving. She—Luna-born, fierce warrior and daughter of an Alpha—was being commanded to the floor by the man she loved.

Before she could process the insult, Brielle shoved her sideways. Celeste fell forward, dress rustling as she crashed onto the cold stone.

Brielle’s smirk mocked her downfall. Around them, hands grabbed at Celeste—fists, scratches, every blow meant to humiliate. Her gown tore, her luxury shoes were discarded, her underthings exposed to the roaring crowd. Slaps and kicks rained until she could barely breathe, let alone defend herself.

The auditorium erupted in applause for Bourgondian cruelty disguised as justice. Celeste lay bruised and broken, her wolf trying futilely to soothe her wounds amid the deluge of pain.

Then—a thunderous voice cut through it all:

“Stop!”

A man strode in, tall and imposing, dressed entirely in black—suit, shirt, shoes—his curly hair, dark eyes, and leather presence exuding authority. The pack recoiled.