Celeste's POV
The scent of rain clung to the air, thick and suffocating, as I stood barefoot in the clearing. The damp earth pressed against my skin, grounding me even as my entire world crumbled. A hush had fallen over the gathered wolves, their glowing eyes locked onto me with something between pity and curiosity. They were waiting for the final blow, for the words that would tear me apart.
I already knew they were coming.
Still, my chest ached with the desperate hope that maybe—just maybe—Ronan would change his mind.
He stood before me, his tall frame rigid, muscles tense beneath the open collar of his shirt. His golden-brown hair was tousled from the wind, his expression unreadable. But I knew him. I knew every shift in his posture, every flicker in his hazel eyes.
And right now, they were cold.
"This isn't easy, Celeste," Ronan said, his voice heavy with forced regret. "You have to understand—I need a strong Luna by my side."
My throat tightened, my nails digging into my palms. "I am strong."
"Not strong enough." His words cut deeper than claws ever could.
The murmurs started then—quiet whispers, the rustling of wolves shifting uncomfortably. I could feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on me, suffocating me.
"I waited for you," I whispered, hating the way my voice cracked. "I believed in us, in our bond."
Ronan exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "I tried, Celeste. I really did."
I wanted to scream at him, to ask him when trying ever meant sneaking around behind my back. When did trying mean touching someone else? Kissing someone else?
Loving someone else?
The scent of her was all over him—Amara, the pack's fiercest female warrior. Unlike me, she was battle-hardened, ruthless, everything an Alpha could want in a mate. And unlike me, she hadn't been weak.
She was standing just behind him now, head held high, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders like silk. Her lips curled into the slightest smirk. She didn't even try to hide her triumph.
Ronan reached for me then, and for one stupid, fleeting moment, I thought he was going to take it back. That he'd see me, truly see me, and realize he was making a mistake.
Instead, he grasped my wrist, his touch firm but distant.
"I, Ronan Blackthorn, Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack, reject you, Celeste Nightbourne, as my mate."
The world tilted.
I heard gasps around me, felt the sharp sting of betrayal sink into my chest like poisoned daggers.
No.
It wasn't just the words—it was the bond itself, unraveling, snapping like a thread pulled too tight. The pain came swiftly, a searing agony that tore through my veins. I staggered back, clutching my chest, gasping for air that refused to come.
It felt like dying.
But worse than the pain was the shame.
Ronan had rejected me. My mate—the one who was supposed to love and protect me—had cast me aside like I was nothing.
I wanted to run. To disappear before I crumbled completely. But I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. My body betrayed me, forcing me to bear the full weight of the rejection.
And then—he did it.
He turned his back on me.
Just like that.
A sob clawed its way up my throat, but I swallowed it down. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Not him. Not her. Not the wolves watching with wide eyes and hushed whispers.
With the last shred of dignity I had left, I straightened my spine, ignoring the unbearable ache in my chest. I could barely stand, but I forced my legs to move.
I walked away.
Not because I wanted to.
But because I had no choice.
I had lost everything.