Cursed Luna, Rejected Mate

Chapter Two

Ayla

The aroma of burning sage drifts through the house. It curls like ghostly fingers around the wooden beams, rich and heady it is clinging to my skin, to my hair, weaving itself into my breath. Grandmother always burns sage before ceremonies like this. She says it clears the air and rids it of any bad auras. The smoke rises in lazy spirals, catching the faint light of dawn filtering through the cracks in the shutters. It’s a ritual as old as the pack itself, the scent is both comforting and unnerving.

But I don’t need sage to know what my fate is.

I wake before the sun, my dreams still pressing against me like a second skin, dreams of him. Lugh. His stormy grey eyes, his earthy and dark scent, spiced with something raw and untamed. Even now, awake and trembling in the dim light, I can still feel the way his presence swallowed me whole, the heat of his body branding mine. The dream lingers, very vivid and unrelenting in my memory, as though the Moon Goddess herself is etching his image into my soul. I can still hear the low rumble of his voice, the way it resonated deep within me, stirring something primal, something I can’t ignore.

I had sweet dreams, each rolling into each other. Blissfully erasing the image of the nightmare from my mind. I choose to ignore it, because unlike sweet dreams of my mate, the nightmare was a one time occurrence. It was probably a product of my nerves.

I know him before I even touch him. I know him the way my wolf knows the moon.

I roll onto my back, staring at the wooden ceiling. My heart is still racing and my pulse thrumming beneath my skin, the dream I had after the nightmare is unlike others, still vivid and detailed in my mind. The bond is growing stronger, I can feel it. It is not just an urge, it is an unrelenting, deep-seated craving in my bones. My wolf is alert and active now, getting sharper as the time for the ceremony approaches. She paces inside me, a sallied shadow reflecting my unrest. She knows what’s at stake tonight, and she won’t let me forget it.

Tonight, he will choose me.

I know this because fated mates dream of each other before they meet. The Moon Goddess binds us first in sleep. And the moment we cross paths in the waking world, it is undeniable. The scent, the pull, the fire beneath the skin, it consumes everything. It’s not just a connection; it’s destiny.

And I know he feels it too.

Every time I pass him, his muscles tense, his gaze lingers too long. His scent thickens, darker, spiced with want. It’s subtle, but it’s there, buried beneath his quiet grief, beneath the burden of his new title. I see the way his jaw tightens when I’m near, the way his hands clench into fists, as though he’s fighting to keep himself in check. He’s a storm barely contained, and I can feel the electricity in the air whenever we’re in the same room.

I remember the first time we truly crossed paths, years ago, when we were still preteens.

The air was heavy with the smell of roasted meat and wildflowers during the summer solstice festival. I was running through the crowd together with Selene, laughing, when I bumped into him. Even then, he was taller than I was, with grey eyes that seemed to pierce right through me. I rocked back, and he caught me, his grip firm around my arms. We just stood and stared for what seemed like an eternity, the sounds of the festival fading into the background. Then he let me go, muttered something that sounded like an apology, and vanished into the crowd.

He wasn’t supposed to take the title so soon. His father, the former Alpha, and his mother, the Luna, both fell in battle. Lugh survived, barely, his body left broken and bleeding on the battlefield. But he rose. He fought. And now, he stands alone.

A young Alpha with no heir. No Luna. No packmate at his side.

Which is why he must choose tonight.

I press a hand against my chest, exhaling slowly. I should feel victorious. This should be a night of certainty, of knowing that the bond I’ve felt for so long is real. But something gnaws at the edges of my thoughts, something restless.

What if he doesn’t recognize me?

I shove the thought away, but it seems it seems to be stubborn. It is supposed to be an unbreakable bond, undeniable. But what if it isn't good enough? What if the burden of his grief, his new role, is so much that he can't see what's right in front of him?

What if he chooses someone else, someone who doesn’t carry the taint of witch blood in their veins?

He will. He has to.

Selene lies next to me, rolling under the flimsy quilt where she releases a sigh. She stretches both arms above the head, her hair cascading dark like moonlight down the pillow. She looks up at me with sleepy violet eyes, still blinking.

"You're up early," she says sleepily, her voice hoarse from her slumber. She rubs her eyes, squinting at the faint light creeping through the shutters. "The sun’s barely up."

I swallow hard. "I couldn't sleep."

She groans, rolling onto her stomach. "It’s just a ceremony, Ayla."

I turn toward her, gripping the sheets. "Not for me."

She watches me for a long moment, then sighs, pushing herself up. I know what she sees; the tension in my shoulders, the way my fingers curl like claws into the fabric. Selene knows me too well to pretend I’m not on edge. She’s always been the calm to my storm, the voice of reason when my thoughts spiral.

I hesitate before whispering, “What if… what if our blood delays the bond?”

Her brows furrow. "What?"

"Our witch blood," I say. "What if it clouds things? What if he doesn’t see me the way I see him?"

She exhales sharply, reaching for the small wooden comb on the bedside table. Without a word, she motions for me to turn. I do, and she begins weaving her fingers through my hair, parting the strands.

"You’re more lycan than witch, Ayla," she says, her voice softer now. "You feel the bond, don’t you?"

"Yes," I breathe.

"Then so does he."

I focus on the rhythmic pull, the quiet movements, but my mind is still restless. Fear coils tight in my chest like a python with it’s prey.

"If he doesn’t recognize me," I murmur, "if he rejects me-"

"He won't." she interrupted firmly. "Even if he chooses to, it would destroy him. Rejecting a mate, Ayla, is the worst kind of torment. It brings weakness to the body and madness to the mind. No sane wolf would ever do it willingly."

I clench my jaw, she is right. The bond was sacred, something offered to us by the Moon Goddess herself. Rejecting that bond is to deny the very essence of our being.

But fear lingers, curling like smoke in the fringes of my thoughts.

Finishing my braid, Selene ties it off with a thin leather cord. I sit still for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to calm myself. The braid is tight, a small comfort against the chaos in my mind.

I think of Lugh.

The way his wolf stirs whenever I’m near. The way his hands tighten at his sides, like he’s holding himself back. The fire in his eyes when he looks at me, scorching and dangerous.

And I think of the way my own wolf responds: the heat, the pull, the deep ache for him. It’s unbearable sometimes. It makes my skin burn, my body hum.

He feels it too.

He has to.

It’s why he hesitates when I enter a room. Why his scent thickens when I pass by. Why, even when he keeps his distance, I can feel the war waging inside him.

There was one more moment, several months ago, when we met each other in the forest because I was collecting herbs for my Grandmother. The air was cool and crisp, and the scent of pine lay heavy around me. He was standing at the edge of the clearing, staring right at me. For quite a while, neither of us moved. Then he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the spark of electricity in the air, that his wolf was stirring, restless and wanting. He didn’t speak but his presence was overwhelming. When he finally turned and walked away, I felt the loss like a physical ache.

He is waiting. Fighting against instinct, against the grief of his parents’ death, against the burden of his new title. But tonight, he won’t wait any longer.

Tonight, he will take what belongs to him.

A loud knock resounds in the room.

Before either of us gets to react, the door flies open. Grandmother stands at the threshold, enwrapped in the soft glow of candlelight. Her silver hair hangs loose past shoulders thinly braided and woven with small bone charms.

Her gaze sweeps over us, lingering on me. "You’re awake," she murmurs. "Good."

She steps inside, moving toward the small wooden table near the hearth and places the tray she. A simple meal waits there: bread, dried meat, dark berries. I have no appetite, but I know better than to refuse. Grandmother’s rituals are not to be questioned, and neither are her commands.

She turns to me fully now, her sharp eyes scanning my face. “Your wolf is restless.”

I nod, unable to hide the truth from her. She sees too much, knows too much. Her gaze pierces through me, as though she can see the storm raging inside.

Her lips press together, unreadable. Then she lifts her chin. “Eat quickly,” she instructs. “We leave soon.”

Selene moves first, slipping toward the table, but I remain still. I can feel it, humming in the air. The pull. The inevitability of tonight.

I swallow hard.

Tonight, Lugh chooses his mate.

Tonight, he chooses me.