My Alpha Chose His Ex Over Me

Eva The moonlight feels wrong tonight. I've always been able to sense these things—the subtle shifts in the energy around me, the way the silver light seems to pulse differently against my skin. But standing here in the sacred grove behind the Walker estate, surrounded by the pack elders and their expectant faces, I know something is off. Grayson stands at the center of the circle, his tall frame tense as he prepares for the monthly transformation ritual. The pack wars left him broken in ways that never fully healed—his wolf is fractured, unstable without my moon-touched blood to guide the change. The moonlight catches the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that make him look more dangerous than the man who barely speaks to me at breakfast. "Eva." His voice cuts through the night air, rough with the effort of holding back the change. "I need you." It's always the same. He needs me, but never wants me. I step forward, feeling the familiar tingle in my fingertips as my moon-affinity bloodline responds to the call. The silver mark on my shoulder blade—the crescent moon birthmark that marks me as Cole family—begins to warm. This should be easy. I've done this ritual dozens of times over the past five years. But when I reach out to touch his arm, when I try to channel the moonlight through our blood-bond, it's like hitting a wall. The energy scatters, fragments, like someone is jamming a radio signal. Grayson's eyes snap open, gold bleeding into the gray. "What the hell—" "I don't know." My heart is racing. The moon-glow that usually flows so naturally from my hands flickers and dies. "Something's interfering." Around us, the pack members shift restlessly. Martha Walker, Grayson's mother and the iron fist that rules this place, steps closer. Her cold blue eyes fix on me with that look I know so well—the one that says I'm failing at my one job. "This has never happened before," she says, each word clipped with disapproval. I try again, pressing my palms flat against Grayson's chest. The mate-bond between us pulses weakly, like a dying lightbulb. Whatever this is, it's getting stronger. My abilities have been... difficult lately. Unpredictable. Grayson's transformation finally takes hold, but it's messy, painful. His wolf form is magnificent—all silver-gray fur and golden eyes—but I can see the strain in every line of his body. Without my abilities working properly, he's fighting the change instead of flowing with it. When he shifts back to human form, he's breathing hard. "We need to figure out what's causing this." Martha's gaze doesn't leave my face. "Indeed we do." My phone buzzes in my pocket. Sophia's name flashes on the screen, and I step away from the circle to answer. "Eva?" Her voice sounds strained. "I hate to call so late, but we have a problem. The Harvard Library project—someone outbid us. By a lot." My stomach drops. That contract was supposed to keep Moonlit Manuscripts running for the next six months. "How much higher?" "Three times our quote. I'm sorry, Eva. I know how much you needed this one." I glance back at the pack gathering, at Grayson speaking in low tones with the elders, at Martha's watchful eyes. Another client lost. Another piece of my independence slipping away. "Do we know who the other bidder was?" There's a pause. "Some collector. Very private. I'm still trying to find out more, but..." "But what?" "Nothing. Just... this isn't the first time recently. The pattern is weird, you know? Like someone knows exactly which jobs we're going after." A chill runs down my spine. "Keep digging. I need to know who's behind this." "Of course. Oh, and Eva?" Sophia's voice gets even quieter. "Is everything okay? You sound stressed." I almost laugh. Stressed doesn't begin to cover it. My marriage is a business arrangement. My son barely knows I exist because Martha keeps him at the estate while I live in my Boston apartment most of the time. My business is hemorrhaging clients. And now my one valuable asset—my bloodline abilities—is malfunctioning. "I'm fine," I lie. "Just tired." I hang up and turn back toward the group, but Martha is already approaching with purpose. "Eva, dear, we need to talk." She falls into step beside me as we walk back toward the estate. "About your... performance tonight." "My abilities are usually stronger than this. Something is interfering—" "Yes, so you said." Her tone suggests she doesn't entirely believe me. "The question is what." We reach the stone terrace where Elias, my five-year-old son, waits with his nanny. He's supposed to be asleep, but I can see his small face pressed against the window upstairs, watching. Even from this distance, I can see those distinctive gray-blue eyes—not quite Grayson's gold, not quite my blue. Martha has been making comments about those eyes lately. Little remarks that feel like tiny cuts. Martha's phone rings, and she steps away to answer. I catch fragments of her conversation. "Yes, everything is prepared... She'll arrive tomorrow... Of course, I understand the importance..." When she hangs up, she studies Elias with an odd expression. "Children can be so... surprising, can't they?" Martha says, watching Elias play. "Elias has some very interesting features. That particular shade of eyes, the way he tilts his head when he's thinking. Genetics can be so unpredictable." There's something pointed in her tone that makes me uncomfortable. "What do you mean?" "Oh, nothing specific, dear. Just that children sometimes show traits that skip generations. Or... come from unexpected places." But Elias comes running out onto the terrace before I can press further. "Grandma!" He throws himself at Martha's legs. "Is the pretty lady coming tomorrow? The one you showed me pictures of?" I freeze. "What pretty lady?" Martha's hand rests on Elias's dark hair, her fingers gentle. "Just a family friend, dear. Someone very special." My eyes meet Martha's over Elias's head. There's a secret there, something I'm not part of. Something that involves my son and this mysterious woman who's arriving tomorrow. The way she says it makes my skin crawl. I've seen that look before—Martha plotting something. "What's her name?" I ask. "This family friend?" Martha takes Elias's hand, already turning toward the house. "Lena Thorne. She's been away for quite some time." "How long?" "Ten years." Martha's smile is sharp. "She and Grayson were incredibly close growing up. Inseparable, really. They had such a beautiful friendship." The way she emphasizes 'friendship' makes it sound like anything but. "Grayson never mentioned anyone named Lena." "Didn't he?" Martha's eyebrows raise in mock surprise. "How strange. They spent every summer together as children. She was practically family. In fact, I always thought..." She trails off deliberately. "Thought what?" "Well, that's not for me to say. I'm sure Grayson will be thrilled to see her again. It's been far too long since we had someone who truly understood our family traditions." Elias tugs on her hand excitedly. "Grandma says she used to live here! And she knows magic stories!" "She knows much more than stories," Martha says, her gaze fixed on me. "Lena understands things about our family that some people never quite grasp." The barb hits its mark. In five years of marriage, I've never quite fit in here, and Martha never lets me forget it. "She'll be staying in the east wing," Martha adds casually. "The blue room." I watch them disappear into the house, my mind racing. In five years of marriage, Grayson has never once mentioned a childhood friend named Lena. Never talked about summers spent with someone who was 'practically family.' If she was so important, so close to him, why has he never said her name? And why does Martha look like she's about to win a game I didn't even know we were playing?