The Alpha My Sister Threw Away

Tonight’s moonlight was clean and white.

And I was on my way to do something filthy.

Adrian Blackmoor’s door stood in front of me.

I was wearing Celeste’s Luna gown, her veil over my face, her perfume on my skin.

His fiancée’s things.

My sister’s lies.

Before tonight, he had only been my sister’s fiancé.

Now I had to wear the name of his future Luna, walk into his room, and complete the Luna Soothing Rite that should have belonged to my sister.

Celeste had ordered the maids to press the veil over my face.

Mother had placed Luna Bloom against my lips with her own hand.

They told me it was necessary to preserve the marriage alliance between the Vale family and the Blackmoor family.

That was when I understood.

They had prepared for everything.

Even what to say if I did not come back whole.

This Alpha, rumored to have a wolf he could no longer control, stripped of the right to command, even chained in silver by the Council inside the Blood Moon Room—

whether he destroyed the gown or the girl wearing it,

they would smile and say, “See? Sending Mira was the right choice.”

Even if I was lucky enough to return to Vale House alive, what waited for me would not be a reward.

It would be a warning to keep my mouth shut.

A reminder that everything I had done tonight belonged to Celeste’s name.

A threat that every shameful part beneath the title of Luna would always be mine to carry.

Celeste wanted the title.

The power.

The glory.

Not the blood beneath it.

Tonight was the first night after the blood moon backlash.

The Council said this was when an Alpha was most likely to lose control.

It was also when he needed his Luna most.

And walking out of this room alive was only the first step.

I also wanted to escape the Vale family before it swallowed me whole.

The corridor was cold.

The chill from the black stone walls climbed around my ankles, but the Luna Bloom still burned inside me.

The heat pressed from my throat to my chest, not fierce, but impossible to put out.

The silver-white skirt dragged over the floor. Every step was soft, but it did not feel like mine.

The shoulders did not fit, and the silver thread scraped my skin, reminding me whose dress I was wearing.

The veil was not mine either.

Neither was the perfume.

Celeste’s white rose scent clung to my throat, my wrists, and the inside of the skirt, sweet enough to make me sick. She had made the maids spray it again and again, as though enough perfume could turn me into her.

When I reached the door, the old servant finally acknowledged me.

His manners were flawless. His voice was steady. To him, the person standing there was Celeste. There was no blood moon backlash tonight, no silver chains, and no girl forced to wear her sister’s name.

“Lady Celeste,” he said, “Alpha Blackmoor is waiting.”

My throat tightened.

I should have corrected him.

I should have said I was not Celeste.

But the veil was still on my face, the perfume still on my skin, the Luna gown still against my body.

Tonight, everything on me was lying for her.

I lifted my gaze to the door in front of me.

The Blackmoor crest was carved into the dark wood. A black wolf lowered its head, fangs half-bared, waiting for me on the other side.

But now that I was truly standing here, Celeste’s smiling contempt did not seem as convincing as it had before.

The scent slipping out from beneath the door did not belong to a ruined man.

Cold pine. Iron. Bitter herbs. Silver. And the heavy, restrained scent of a wolf forced under control.

It felt like a wounded wolf with a chain around its throat, bleeding, but still refusing to bow.

The old servant knocked.

Once.

Twice.

No answer came at first.

The corridor was quiet enough for me to hear my own heartbeat. I hid my hands in the folds of the skirt, gripping too tightly. Fine wrinkles gathered in the silver-white fabric.

Celeste would be angry.

She hated when people wrinkled her things. Especially the things that proved she was above them.

At last, the door opened.

No hand pulled it open.

It moved like some unseen force had pushed it from within, the hinges giving a low, rough sound.

The old servant stepped back.

“Go in, my lady.”

I went in.

The door closed behind me.

The corridor lights, the servant’s breathing, and every visible sign of order in Blackmoor Manor were shut outside.

Only the blood moon’s afterlight remained, along with the bitter scent of herbs and the man seated in the shadows.

The room held none of the luxury Celeste would have wanted.

No roses. No gentle candlelight. No romance prepared for a future Luna.

A silver tray rested against the wall, holding broken silver chains stained dark red at the ends. One bedpost had split down the middle, like something had torn through it by force. The curtains by the window were only half drawn, and the moonlight cut the room into cold white and shadow.

Standing by the door, I finally understood why Celeste had refused to come.

This was not a room where a woman came to receive glory.

This was a cage.

And for the first time, I was not sure whether I had been sent to the monster in it, or locked inside it with him.

The man in the shadows moved.

Only slightly.

Every muscle in my back locked.

Adrian Blackmoor sat in a high-backed chair beside the window. His black shirt was open at the throat, the sleeves rolled above his wrists. One wrist was wrapped in white gauze, dark blood seeping along the edge.

Moonlight touched his jaw and caught the faint gold in his eyes.

Not warm gold.

The gold of a wolf seeing prey in the dark.

“Celeste.”

His voice was low.

My stomach dropped.

One name, and I almost went to my knees.

He did not shout. He did not threaten me. He was terrifyingly calm, like any lie brought before him had no right to panic.

I remembered what Celeste had taught me. My voice had to be soft, not too quick. Not like mine. Like hers.

“Alpha Blackmoor,” I said.

The words came out so faint they nearly broke.

If Celeste had heard me, she would have frowned.

Her voice never sounded this afraid.

Adrian did not answer right away.

I felt his attention pass through the veil. First over the dress, then my wrist, then back to my face.

It was not the way a man looked at a woman.

It was not the way an Alpha looked at his future Luna.

It was more like a wounded but lucid wolf deciding whether the thing sent into his room was bait, medicine, or a blade.

“Come closer.”

My feet did not move.

The skirt suddenly felt heavy.

Celeste had said he would not be able to tell.

Mother had said if I made no mistake, the Vale family would be safe.

No one had asked whether it still counted as safe if I did not make it out alive.

“Celeste,” he said again.

This time, there was warning in his voice.

I finally took one step forward.

Then another.

The closer I came, the stronger his scent became. Pine, blood, silver wounds, and restrained wolf instinct tangled together, tightening my breath. The Luna Bloom burned deeper then, like his scent had lit it all over again.

Adrian remained seated.

He did not rise.

But the closer I got, the more I felt he was not simply sitting there.

He was holding something down.

Maybe pain.

Maybe something worse.

His attention fell to my wrist.

I tried to hide my hand inside my sleeve, but it was already too late.

“Your hand,” he said.

I went still.

Celeste had not taught me how to answer that.

Slowly, I held out my hand. My sleeve slipped back, revealing the faint red marks on the inside of my wrist and the thin shine of balm left on my skin.

Adrian finally stood.

The room seemed to sink with the movement.

I stepped back on instinct.

He saw it.

Gold flared in his eyes, then was forced back down.

He did not come closer at once.

He stopped two steps away from me.

Those two steps did not feel like distance.

They felt like a boundary he had drawn himself.

“Are you afraid of me?”

I wanted to say no.

But there were already too many lies tonight, and I no longer knew which answer was safest.

“No,” I whispered.

He watched me.

“Bad answer.”

The words caught behind my teeth.

Adrian took one step forward.

Pine and iron closed in. The Luna Bloom turned over inside me at the worst possible moment, heating my blood, shortening my breath, tightening my throat.

I hated the feeling.

Hated being sent here by someone else.

Hated that my body betrayed my fear before I could hide it.

Hated that I wanted to stand steady, yet even my breathing no longer felt like it belonged to me.

Adrian stopped in front of me.

Close enough that I could see the hollow beneath his collarbone and the tense line of a vein at the side of his neck.

He had to be in pain.

The blood moon backlash had to still be tearing through him.

Yet his eyes were frighteningly clear.

He did not touch me.

He only brought his face closer to the veil.

My whole body tightened.

He smelled it.

In that moment, I understood.

Celeste’s perfume was not protection.

It was a cover.

Too sweet. Too deliberate. Too false.

Adrian’s breath stopped just in front of my veil.

Then he laughed.

Softly.

Without a trace of warmth.

“Your sister should have chosen a better perfume.”

My blood went cold.

He knew.

The thought cut through me so sharply I almost lost my balance.

The drug was still in me, but panic was sharper. I tried to step back, but the skirt caught at my foot, and my body swayed.

Adrian raised his hand.

I thought he would grab me.

Or seize me and drag me into the corridor, so every Blackmoor servant could see the second Vale daughter in her sister’s dress and veil, sent into an Alpha’s room.

But his hand stopped in the air.

It stayed there for a long moment.

At last, he only caught the edge of my veil between two fingers.

The movement was slow.

Slow enough for me to run.

Slow enough that it felt like he was waiting for me to say stop.

But I said nothing.

I did not even know whether that word belonged to me.

The veil lifted little by little.

Cold air touched my face.

At last, there was nowhere left for me to hide.

Adrian looked at me.

There was no surprise in his eyes.

None at all.

He had known all along.

The perfume had failed the moment I opened my mouth.

I heard myself take a hard breath.

“Please,” I said, my voice so thin it barely sounded like mine. “I can explain.”

Adrian looked at me, the veil still caught between his fingers.

A piece of the lie had been peeled away.

He did not ask why I had come.

He did not ask where Celeste was.

His gaze lowered to my trembling wrist, to the thin shine of balm on my skin, and his eyes turned colder.

Then he spoke.

“Your name.”

I stared at him.

That was not the question I had expected.

“I—”

“Not hers.”

Two words.

Every answer I had prepared disappeared.

My throat tightened.

“Mira,” I whispered.

Adrian looked at me.

“Mira Vale.”

When my name left his mouth, the lie in the room tore open.

His attention stayed on my face.

“Who sent you, Mira Vale?”

My lips parted.

“Lady Celeste is—”

“Don’t.”

I stopped.

The gold in Adrian’s eyes had receded a little, but the pressure around him had not.

“Do not use her name to lie to me again.”

My fingers tightened in the side of the skirt.

Celeste’s skirt.

Adrian glanced down.

It was brief, but it cut through the dress, the veil, the perfume, and every frightened layer of my disguise.

“Did she send you?”

I did not answer.

Something cold moved across his face.

But that coldness was not aimed at me.

He slowly released the veil. The thin fabric fell back against my chest, almost weightless, yet it made it harder to breathe.

His voice dropped.

“The Luna Bloom.”

My wrist seemed to burn all over again.

I tried to hide it on instinct, but it was already too late.

Adrian looked at the trace of balm on my skin, and his eyes went colder than before.

“Who gave it to you?”