Chasing the rejected Luna

One thing Isabella knew she couldn't stop was s*x. She didn't mind f*****g the entire pack as long as they had good d***s not necessarily big and long, but just very effective. And right now as she tried to balance her weight well on her hind legs with the fat d**k driving into her with insane force, she knew she couldn't let it go. She was a f*****g slut. "f**k!" She screamed as he spanked her. The rough wood of the hut's outer wall bit into her shoulder blades, but she didn't mind the bite of the timber. The soldier pressing against her, a low-ranking border guard; Marcus or whatever his name was, was breathing heavily against her neck. His hands were clumsy on her waist, his wolf-driven strength eager and unrefined. "You're sure a bad girl huh? You know how to take it." He moaned breathless. She tilted her head back against the sun-baked wood, staring up at the canopy of pine trees, her body twisted in an awkward position. No wolf whispered in the back of her mind. No divine spark urged her toward her wolf. For a girl born without a wolf, a "dud" in a world built on teeth and claws, encounters like this weren't about love or fate. They were about taking what brief, meaningless pleasure she could on her own terms. She was just reaching down to tug him closer when a sharp, blaring horn ran through the afternoon quiet. The sound echoed through the valley, long, low, and unmistakable. A royal siren. Marcus froze instantly. The color drained from his face so fast he looked as though he had been struck by lightning. "Damn it," he gasped, backing away from her so fast he nearly tripped over his own boots. He frantically began pulling up his trousers and buckling his heavy leather armor belt, his hands shaking. "Marcus?" Isabella straightened her linen tunic, smoothing out the wrinkles with maddening calm. "Whatever is the problem?" "The inspection," Marcus choked out, his eyes wide with genuine terror. "The Alpha King... and the Crown Prince. They're entering the outer rim. Lockdown is immediate! If I'm not at my post when the Prince passes, he'll have my head on a pike!" "Then go," Isabella said, waving a hand at him. "I'd rather keep my afternoon than watch you lose yours." Before she could even roll her eyes further, Marcus had turned and sprinted down the narrow alleyway, his boots kicking up clouds of dust as he fled toward the main garrison. Isabella leaned back against the hut, letting out a heavy, irritated sigh. "Unbelievable," she muttered to the empty air, buttoning her collar. Leave it to the royal family to ruin a perfectly good afternoon. She took her time walking back down the dirt path toward her home, a quiet, isolated apothecary cabin situated on the edge of the border village. The streets were already erupting into muted chaos. Shopkeepers were frantically pulling in their hanging signs, mothers were hauling crying children indoors, and guards were lining the thoroughfare, standing at rigid attention. "Get inside, girl!" one of the guards barked at her as she passed, not even looking her way. "Lockdown's called!" "I live right there," Isabella shot back, jerking her chin toward the cabin. "I'm walking as fast as decorum allows." When Isabella pushed open the heavy oak door of her cabin, the sharp, grounding scents of crushed rowan root, dried lavender, and bitter copper instantly greeted her. Inside, her father, Santiago, was hunched over his oak workstation. His hands, gnarled and stained with berry juices and silver powders, were moving in a frantic blur as he ground dried roots into a heavy stone mortar. His breathing was ragged, a harsh, wet cough rattling his thin chest. "Isabella!" Santiago snapped his head up as the door closed, his grey eyes wide with alarm. "Where have you been? You need to bar the shutters. Now. The royal procession has crossed the southern border." "I know, Papa. The friend I went visiting practically jumped out of his skin," she said, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms. "It's just an inspection. Why is everyone running like the sky is falling?" "Because Alpha Rodrigo does not tolerate disorder," Santiago said sternly, his voice carrying a rare, sharp edge. "He is an Alpha of the old blood, Isabella. If a commoner so much as looks at him incorrectly during a lockdown, the guards won't hesitate. Stay inside." "Fine, fine," Isabella said, holding up both hands. "I'll hide like a good little dud. Happy?" Santiago didn't answer, only shot her a look that said he was far from it. Before Isabella could respond further, the heavy latch on the door clicked, and the door burst open again. "Isabella!" Annie rushed inside, breathless and flushed, her blonde curls disheveled. She slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, her chest heaving as she clutched her side. "Annie?" Isabella stepped forward. "What are you doing here? You live half a mile down the main road." "I was at the baker's when the horns blew!" Annie gasped out, holding a hand over her heart. "The guards locked down the crossroads. I couldn't make it home in time without getting dragged into a holding cell. Mr. Santiago, please tell me I can stay until they pass!" Santiago let out a weary breath, wiping his hands on a rag. "Of course, child. Go to Isabella's room. Keep away from the windows." "Thank you," Annie breathed, already moving. "Thank you, truly." Isabella led Annie down the narrow hallway into her small bedroom. The room was simple—a narrow bed, a wooden trunk, and a single glass window fitted with heavy oak shutters that overlooked the main dirt thoroughfare. As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut, Isabella threw herself back onto her bed, resting her head against her arms. "They ruined my afternoon," she groaned, staring up at the wooden rafters. "I was five minutes away from actual entertainment, and now I'm trapped in my own room because the big, scary alpha wants to go for a stroll." Annie, however, was not listening. She had crept over to the window, peering through the tiny gaps in the wooden shutters. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide with excitement. "Are you insane?" Annie whispered loudly, looking back at Isabella over her shoulder. "It's Crown Prince Rodrigo! Do you have any idea what people say about him? They say his wolf is the largest in the northern territories. They say he took down three rogue commanders by himself when he was only eighteen!" "I say he has terrible timing," Isabella grumbled. "He's gorgeous, Isabella!" Annie pressed her face closer to the slats. "I saw a glimpse of him at the spring festival two years ago. High shoulders, dark eyes, hair like midnight... he looks like he was carved out of granite by the gods themselves. Every unmated female in the Royal City would kill to be his Luna." "Then let them," Isabella said. "I hear the position comes with excellent jewelry and a chance of being backhanded before breakfast." "Isabella!" Annie hissed, glancing at the door as if the walls themselves might report the blasphemy. Isabella snorted, rolling onto her side. "Then every unmated female in the Royal City is a fool. Being a Luna just means you get a prettier gold cage. Look at the mates in our own village, Annie. Half the women are bruised, and the other half are silent, all because some sacred 'bond' told them they belong to a man." Annie's expression flickered, a sudden shadow crossing her face as her hand unconsciously drifted up to touch the high collar of her dress—hiding the faint yellowing bruises her own mate had left three nights ago. "It's different for royals," Annie muttered softly, though the enthusiasm had died in her voice. "The bond is absolute for Alphas." "The bond is a leash," Isabella said flatly. "Not everyone feels caged by it," Annie said, quieter now, almost to herself. "No," Isabella agreed, watching her friend's hand linger at her collar. "Just the ones who are." Before Annie could reply, a low, rhythmic thud began to vibrate through the floorboards. The procession was coming. The heavy, synchronized step of armored horses echoed down the dirt road, accompanied by the clinking of steel and the oppressive, crushing pressure of a high-tier Alpha aura. Even through the thick wooden walls of the cabin, the heavy air made the atmospheric pressure drop. Out in the street, Isabella knew every wolf in the vicinity was likely dropping to their knees, their inner wolves cowering in submission to their future King. Isabella felt nothing. Without a wolf to bow, the oppressive aura passed over her like a harmless draft of cold wind. "Do you feel that?" Annie whispered, her knees actually trembling where she stood. "Gods, Isabella, that's just him passing by. Imagine standing in front of him." "I imagine I'd ask him to move along," Isabella said. "He's blocking my view." Curiosity finally getting the better of her, Isabella swung her legs off the bed and stepped up behind Annie, looking over her friend's shoulder through the slats of the shutter. The royal guard came first, two dozen warriors clad in polished black leather and silver pauldrons, riding massive warhorses. Behind them rode the Alpha King, stern and graying. And beside him rode the Crown Prince. Annie hadn't exaggerated. Rodrigo sat atop a jet-black stallion, his broad shoulders filling out his dark wool tunic and leather armor. He possessed a sharp, brutal kind of beauty, a jawline cut from flint, dark, severe brows, and a posture that radiated absolute, uncontested dominance. He looked straight ahead, his expression cold and entirely detached from the terrified village surrounding him. Isabella leaned in slightly, staring at his broad back as his horse walked past her window. Just a man with a heavy title,she thought bitterly. Then, without warning, the black stallion paused. Alpha Rodrigo didn't turn his horse, but his head turned slowly, deliberately, toward the apothecary cabin. Through the narrow slats of the wooden shutter, his dark, piercing gaze snapped directly to Isabella's eyes. Isabella froze.