The Luna Arrangement

June I can’t stop smiling. I try — really, I do — but it keeps happening anyway, pulling at my mouth like my face has forgotten how to do anything else. My best friend, Sylvie Patton, notices halfway through fastening the clasp on my dress and lets out a quiet laugh. “If you grin any harder,” she says, “your face is going to cramp.” “I can’t help it,” I tell her. My voice sounds breathless even to my own ears. “I feel like I’m buzzing.” “You are buzzing.” She steps back, tilting her head as she looks me over. “I swear, June, you look perfect. I can’t believe you’re going to be our Luna!” Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Hopefully I’ll be a good one.” “Don’t say that!” Sylvie scolds me gently, grabbing me for a quick hug. “You’re going to be amazing. Everyone loves you already!” I glance at my reflection — flushed skin, bright eyes, hair actually behaving for once — and my smile softens instead of fading. Mira stirs beneath my skin, warm and content, like she knows something good is coming and sees no reason to be subtle about it. One week. Grant Sutton has been home for one week. It still feels impossible. High school crushes aren’t supposed to come back like that — taller, broader, carrying the weight of Alpha training in every movement. They aren’t supposed to walk into the packhouse and turn your entire world sideways with a single look. When he caught my scent for the first time, everything inside me had gone still. Then snapped. Mate. The bond had slammed into place so fast it knocked the breath out of me. Mira had surged forward, fierce and triumphant, like she’d been waiting her whole life for that exact moment. Grant had frozen. Then he’d smiled. Give me time, he’d said later, his voice low, lips pressed against my forehead, his hands warm and steady at my waist. I want to do this properly. The next day a pack-wide link went out announcing a formal surprise celebration. I had immediately reached out to Sylvie to borrow a dress. She squeezes my hands, snapping me back to the present. “You okay?” “I’ve never been better,” I say honestly. A bell rings down the corridor — the signal to gather. “That’s our cue,” Sylvie says, looping her arm through mine. “Come along Luna June… Future Alpha Sutton hates being kept waiting.” My heart stutters in the best possible way as we step into the hall. The packhouse is already full, wolves crowding shoulder to shoulder, voices low with excitement. The air hums with anticipation, thick enough to taste. This is a ceremony night — the kind people remember. Grant stands at the front. He looks calm. Commanding. Completely at ease in the attention. Pike presses close beneath his skin, sharp and watchful, and the bond between us hums softly in response. His gaze sweeps the room until he finds me. For one perfect second, his mouth curves — not for the pack, not for the elders — but for me. My heart lifts. Mira purrs, pleased. Grant raises his hands, and the room falls silent. “My pack,” he begins, his voice steady. “Thank you for coming tonight.” I barely hear the rest. My pulse roars in my ears. I imagine him reaching for my hand, imagine stepping forward beside him, imagine the relief of no longer carrying this secret alone. “This past week,” Grant continues, “has brought clarity.” My breath catches. “And with clarity comes responsibility.” He turns. Not toward me. At first, I don’t understand. My smile lingers, confused, as Grant extends his hand to a woman standing just behind him — tall, elegant, unfamiliar. “This,” he says clearly, “is Maren.” The room stirs. “I am honored to announce her as my mate.” The words slide past me without meaning. Grant takes her hand. Claims her. The bond inside me doesn’t break. It pulls — sharp, panicked, wrong. Mira slams against my chest, snarling in disbelief. That’s not his mate. That’s not— My smile shatters. Around me, the pack erupts — applause, cheers, congratulations — but all I can see is Grant Sutton holding another woman’s hand like it belongs there. He doesn’t look at me. Not once. Sylvie curses beside me and whispers my name, but I can’t answer. My lungs won’t work properly. My heart feels hollowed out, scooped clean by something precise and merciless. Grant stands before the pack and claims another woman. I understand then, with terrifying clarity: Whatever Grant Sutton promised me — whatever he let me believe — was never enough to make him choose me.