Claimed as the Alpha's Second Luna

Chapter 5

Alexander's POV:

Something was wrong with his wolf, and Alexander knew it was connected to the unfamiliar scent he remembered from the dark.

Alexander stood at the window of his study, staring out at the dark line of trees, but he wasn't actually seeing them. The moon was only half-full tonight, not enough to force a shift, but his wolf had been restless for days. Pacing. Growling. Pushing at the edges of his control.

It had never felt like this before.

Not in the ten years he'd led the Ironclaw Pack. Not during border skirmishes. Not during full moon runs. Not even when his father died. He had always been a man who commanded his wolf, not the other way around.

But now.

He closed his eyes, and fragments returned: heat, sweat, his own harsh breathing, and a woman telling him no.

A body beneath him. Soft. Small. Trembling.

His fingers dug into the windowsill.

He remembered two different scents. Elena always smelled of roses and vanilla. But beneath the aphrodisiac's bitter trace, there had been something else—rain, clean skin, and the charged air before a storm. A scent his wolf recognized even though his mind did not.

It was light and clean, like rain on bare skin and the breeze before a storm. Every trace of it drove his wolf wild.

Mine.

He opened his eyes and clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.

That morning, he'd tried to talk to Elena. Ever since he'd woken with scattered memories of a woman resisting him, guilt had been eating him alive. Elena had brushed it off. "You're my mate. I'm not going to blame you."

She was too good for him.

But the fragments kept returning, and none of them made sense.

The body beneath him had been too small. Elena was slim, but this woman had felt different: narrower hips, sharper collarbones, a waist he could almost span with both hands. She had told him no. Whatever else her body had done under the drug did not change that. Elena never sounded like that.

Elena never stayed silent.

He pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes.

It was a physical reaction, he told himself. That was all. My wolf lost control because of a physical reaction.

But even as he thought it, doubt churned in his gut.

Because in the haze, in the madness, he had bitten the side of a neck. He remembered the taste of skin, the pulse jumping under his tongue. And his wolf had howled in satisfaction. Not the quiet contentment he felt with Elena.

Something louder. Darker. More possessive.

He had never felt that way about Elena.

The thought filled him with shame.

He didn't have lunch with Elena that day. He sent a warrior with an excuse about pack business. He could not sit across from her while his wolf paced, searching for a private mate-scent utterly distinct from her familiar perfume.

He spent the entire afternoon on the training grounds, sparring with warriors until his muscles burned and his mind went quiet. It worked, mostly. Physical exhaustion temporarily drowned out the wolf's restlessness.

By the time he walked back to the main house, the sun had dipped low. The corridors glowed with warm amber light.

He turned the corner toward the living room.

And stopped.

A woman knelt on the floor.

She was scrubbing the wood floor with a wet rag, her back to him, dressed in the black maid's uniform. Her head was bowed. Dark hair was pulled back in a loose tie that fell over one shoulder. She was thin. Too thin. Her collar stood high, almost to her chin, as if she were hiding something.

Something about her made his wolf sit up.

Alexander frowned.

He didn't know why. She was just a servant. Probably one of the new ones Elena had brought in. He should walk past her and think nothing of it.

But his wolf wasn't listening.

The beast inside him pressed its nose against his ribs and inhaled deeply. Then a low rumble started in his chest, so faint no human ear could catch it, but he felt it vibrate through his bones.

Her.

His wolf didn't say the word. It snarled it.

Alexander's hands clenched into fists at his sides.

No. Absolutely not.

He watched the woman work. Her movements were controlled, but the stiff uniform irritated her: each time the fabric pulled across her chest, her shoulders tightened. She looked exhausted and guarded.

And the line of her back. The narrow waist. The curve of her spine. The way her dark hair fell.

A flash hit him. A fragment. The same hazy dark. The same desperate heat. A back beneath him. Small. Trembling. The same waist under his hands.

Blood rushed south so fast it made him dizzy.

"Are you new?" His voice came out rougher than he intended.

She froze.

Then she looked up and turned to face him.

Gray eyes. Wide. Full of fear. A face too thin, too pale, with shadows underneath that spoke of sleepless nights. Nothing about her stood out. She wasn't beautiful the way Elena was. She wasn't striking or bold or confident.

But his wolf looked at her, and every muscle in Alexander's body locked tight.

He couldn't breathe. Beneath the soap and floor wax, he caught the scent from his fragmented memories: rain, clean skin, and the charged air before a storm.

The same mate-scent from those nights.

His pupils dilated. He felt his wolf try to surge forward, try to close the distance, and it took every ounce of Alpha discipline to hold the beast back. Sweat broke out along his forehead. Its claws extended slightly, pricking his palms.

He had never fought this hard. Not against a rival Alpha. Not against a rogue. Not against anything.

She just sat there, looking up at him with those frightened gray eyes, and he wanted.

God, what did he want?

He wanted to grab that too-high collar, pull her up, see what she was hiding underneath. He wanted to bury his face in her neck and breathe until his lungs held nothing but her. He wanted to drag her into the nearest room and finish what his wolf had started in the dark.

He wanted to claim her.

"Yes," she said. Her voice was steady despite the fear in her eyes. "Luna Elena assigned me to work here."

The name hit him like cold water.

Alexander blinked. The golden haze retreated from the edges of his vision. He retracted his claws. He drew a sharp breath, then another, forcing his wolf deep into his chest.

Mate, his wolf snarled at him. That one. That one is—

Shut up.

He looked at her for two seconds too long. Her pulse jumped in her throat, and her shoulders drew tight. Beneath the household smells, that rain-clean scent pulled at his wolf again, though his mind still refused to understand why.

He nodded.

"Mm."

Then he turned and walked away.

He didn't look back. But inside, he was shaking.

He went to the edge of the territory, far from the main house and the mate-scent only he seemed able to perceive. In a clearing, he pressed his forehead against the rough bark of a pine tree.

His wolf was still going mad.

What is wrong with me?

He had Elena. His mate. His Luna. The woman he'd loved for ten years, the woman he'd built his life around. She was beautiful and loyal, everything an Alpha could ask for.

And yet.

One look at a frightened, gray-eyed maid and one breath of the private mate-scent around her had nearly cost him control in his own hallway.

He had never felt this way about anyone. Not even Elena.

And that was the worst part.

He punched the tree.

The bark split. His knuckles bled. He didn't feel it.

"I have a mate," he said aloud, to no one. To his wolf. To the Moon Goddess who was supposed to have already made his choice for him.

His wolf only paced in the pine-dark clearing, searching for the private scent that had vanished with her.

Alexander stayed in that clearing until long past midnight.

He didn't go back to the main house.

He couldn't.

He knew that if he returned to the corridor and perceived even the faintest trace of rain and clean skin, the mate-scent meant for him alone, he might not be able to keep his distance.

Elena's face would flash through his mind.

The guilt would crush him.