The Luna Arrangement

2.

June

I don’t remember leaving the hall.

One moment the pack is cheering, the sound crashing over me like waves, and the next Sylvie’s hand is locked around my wrist, pulling me through corridors I’ve walked a thousand times without ever noticing the way the walls close in.

“Don’t stop,” she murmurs. “Just keep moving.”

I do. I think. My feet feel disconnected from the rest of me, like they belong to someone else entirely. Mira is a frantic mess as well, pacing, snarling, slamming into the bond like she can force it to make sense.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Sylvie shoves open the door to her room and slams it shut behind us, locking it with a sharp, decisive click. The silence hits harder than the noise ever did.

I fold in half.

It’s not graceful. There’s no dignified collapse. One second I’m standing there, breathing too fast, and the next I’m crouched on the floor with my hands pressed to my chest like I can hold my heart together if I just try hard enough.

“June,” Sylvie says, dropping to her knees in front of me. “June, look at me.”

I shake my head. I can’t. If I look at her, I’ll say it out loud, and if I say it out loud, it becomes real.

“He—” My voice cracks violently. “He said it was me.”

Sylvie’s face twists, fury flashing hot and unrestrained. “I know.”

“He let me believe—” I suck in a breath that burns all the way down. “He smiled at me. He smiled like—like this was happening for us.”

Sylvie swears loudly. “That absolute bastard.”

Mira surges, responding to the anger, claws scraping against my ribs from the inside. The bond tugs again, sharp and nauseating, like something is being pulled too far without snapping.

“He claimed her,” I whisper. “He stood there and claimed her in front of everyone like I wasn’t even—” I choke on the rest.

Sylvie wraps her arms around me and doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She just holds me while I shake, while the humiliation creeps in slow and poisonous, while my brain replays every smile, every look, every stupid, hopeful second.

Finally, she pulls back enough to look at me. “Okay. Listen to me.”

I sniff, wiping at my face with the heel of my hand. “I don’t want to be here.”

“I know.” Her voice is firm now, focused. “So we’re going to fix that.” Fix. The word feels laughable.

“I can’t stay,” I say hoarsely. “I can’t walk out there again. I can’t— I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Sylvie nods like this is a problem she’s already solving. “Then you leave.”

The idea lands with a strange mix of relief and terror. “Leave.”

“Yes.” She stands abruptly, pacing the small room like she’s mapping escape routes in her head. “You can’t heal here. You can’t breathe here. And if you stay, he’s going to keep doing whatever the hell that was.”

As if summoned by his name, there’s a sharp knock at the door. Both of us freeze.

Sylvie’s eyes harden. “Don’t move.” She strides to the door and yanks it open just enough to glare through the gap.

Grant Sutton stands in the hall looking annoyed.

Not guilty.

Not ashamed.

Annoyed.

“June,” he says, peering past Sylvie’s shoulder like I’m something misplaced. “We need to talk.”

“No,” Sylvie snaps. “You really don’t.”

Grant sighs, like she’s inconveniencing him. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it doesn’t.”

“I’m not here to fight,” he says coolly. “I’m here to explain.”

That word — explain — flips something ugly and feral inside me.

I push myself to my feet and step into view. “Explain what?”

Grant’s gaze flicks over me, assessing, practiced. I can sense his wolf, Pike, stirring just below the surface, restless but not distressed. The bond lurches again, responding to his proximity whether I want it to or not.

“Tonight wasn’t personal,” he says.

Sylvie laughs, sharp and incredulous. “Oh my Goddess.”

Grant ignores her. “June, you have to understand—being Alpha means image. Expectations. The elders, the alliances—”

“So what... you picked someone prettier?” I ask quietly.

His jaw tightens. “Someone appropriate.”

The word hits harder than the ceremony did.

“I need a Luna who fits into my world,” he continues, as if he’s discussing logistics instead of tearing me apart. “Someone polished. Someone who understands how to move in the circles I’ll be expected to lead in.”

“And I don’t,” I say.

“You’re wonderful with children,” he says, as if offering a consolation prize. “You’re kind. Everyone adores you. But that’s not the same thing.”

Mira snarls.

Grant steps closer, lowering his voice. “The bond is still there, June. That didn’t change.”

My stomach twists. “Don’t.”

“We’re fated,” he says simply. “I’m not denying that. I’m just being realistic.”

Realistic. I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he adds. “We can still have something. Quietly. I can take care of you.”

The room goes deathly still.

“You want me to be your secret,” I say.

Grant shrugs. “I want you close. That should be enough.”

Something inside me snaps.

“No,” I say, the word ripping out of my chest. “I reject you.”

The bond surges violently, Mira throwing herself forward with everything she has. “I, June Archer reject you, Alpha Grant Sutton, as my fated mate. ” I repeat, louder, shaking with fury. “I don’t want you. I don’t accept you. Get out.”

For a heartbeat, the room holds its breath.

Then Grant laughs. It’s soft. Amused.

“That’s not how it works,” he says. “You don’t get to reject me.”

Sylvie moves fast.

She shoves him back with both hands, fury blazing in her eyes. “Get. Out.”

Grant stumbles a step, shock flashing across his face before it hardens into anger.

“This isn’t over,” he warns, pointing at me. “You can’t run from a bond.”

Sylvie slams the door in his face. The impact rattles the frame. We stand there for a moment, both breathing hard, my entire body buzzing with adrenaline and rage and heartbreak.

“I am so proud of you,” Sylvie says fiercely.

I sag against the door. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yes, you do.” She grabs her phone from the desk, fingers already flying. “You’re leaving.”

“Where?” I whisper.

Sylvie doesn’t hesitate. “Ashwood Falls.”

I blink. “What?”

“Sometimes at the shop, I make suits for Alpha Ronan Ashwood,” she says briskly. “Custom work. He pays well and doesn’t ask stupid questions. He mentioned once he needed help with pack education, structure, childcare—”

My heart stutters. “Sylvie—”

She continues typing, ignoring me. The room is silent except for the soft tap of her fingers against the screen.

Seconds stretch.

My chest tightens as her phone lights up. Sylvie reads the message once. Then again.

Her eyes lift to mine, wide and electric.

“June,” she says slowly, like she wants this to land.

The phone chimes again. She turns the screen toward me.

Send her immediately.

I have use for her.

For the first time since the ceremony, something inside me loosens.

Hope.