The Jilted Luna

Duel

The Red Moon Pack had only just started to recover after three long years of chaos, loss, and instability. Even now, they were far from steady, still trying to rebuild what had been broken and reclaim the respect they once held among the other packs. Every step forward felt fragile, as though one wrong move could send everything collapsing again.

What they needed most in a time like this was strength. Not just strength in battle, but strength in presence. Leaders who could stand tall and project confidence, reminding the world around them that the Red Moon Pack was not weak, not something to be underestimated or pushed aside.

And Victoria did not fit into that image.

No matter how Marcus turned it over in his mind, she simply did not represent power. She was uncertain, unpredictable, and that alone made her dangerous in a different way. At a time when the pack needed stability above all else, she felt like a risk they could not afford.

It was not just about Carlisle. The Alpha carried the weight of leadership, yes, but the Luna stood beside him as his equal in many ways. She was meant to guide the pack, to balance strength with wisdom, and eventually to give birth to the next Alpha, someone who would carry the future of their bloodline.

That future needed to be strong.

Thinking along those lines, Marcus felt his expression tighten, his brows drawing together as frustration settled in. The more he considered it, the more uneasy he became, and that unease slowly shifted into something sharper. Something closer to rejection.

He did not voice it aloud, but he did not need to.

Carlisle could feel it.

As Alpha, the bond he shared with his pack allowed him to sense their emotions, even the ones left unspoken. Marcus’s dissatisfaction reached him clearly, pulsing through that connection without restraint.

If not for his father’s influence, Carlisle knew the pack would never have accepted Victoria to begin with.

The memory surfaced easily.

His father returning, barely alive, carrying an unconscious girl in his arms. That same girl later revealed as his chosen mate. Not by fate alone, but chosen by his father himself.

The idea had never sat well with him.

Even now, part of him still believed she had taken advantage of the situation, stepping into a position of power at a time when the Red Moon Pack had stood near the top of their world. Back then, they had been feared. Respected. Untouchable.

Then everything fell apart.

After his father’s death, the pack lost its footing. Enemies closed in from every side, sensing weakness. Alliances that once seemed unbreakable dissolved almost overnight. No one feared retaliation anymore.

The burden of holding everything together had fallen entirely on Carlisle the moment he came of age.

He had not even been fully trained.

There had been no time. No guidance. No chance to ease into leadership.

Instead, he was thrown into it, forced to lead battles against relentless enemies. The vampires attacked without mercy, their numbers overwhelming, their tactics brutal. Every fight felt like it could be their last.

And through all of that, the bitterness inside him only grew.

Even recently, after spending those days with Victoria, he had almost forgotten the depth of that resentment. They had not spoken about anything that mattered. Not about the years apart. Not about the pain. Not about what had been lost.

They had simply given in.

Now, thinking back on it, his jaw tightened.

It did not sit right with him. The memory left a sour taste, like something he had not fully chosen. It felt as though he had been pulled into it, drawn in by something stronger than his own will. The thought that he might have been influenced, even subtly, unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

He hated that feeling.

Hated the sense that his control had slipped, that his body had acted without his mind’s permission.

After finishing the discussion about the Royal Family and the preparations needed before the convoy arrived, Carlisle found himself unable to sit still any longer. The frustration simmering inside him needed an outlet.

Without another word, he left the office and headed straight for the training grounds.

Marcus followed without hesitation.

He recognized the signs easily. The tension in Carlisle’s posture, the sharpness in his gaze. It was familiar. Carlisle needed to release the pressure building inside him, and there was only one way he ever chose to do that.

Through a fight.

Marcus did not mind. If anything, he welcomed it. If Carlisle needed someone to take the brunt of that frustration, he would step forward without complaint.

By the time they reached the training grounds, warriors were already beginning their warmups. The moment they noticed the Alpha and his Beta stepping into the open space, their attention shifted instantly.

The two men faced each other in silence.

The air between them grew heavy, charged with unspoken tension. Both carried their own thoughts, their own frustrations, and neither needed words to understand what was about to happen.

Carlisle tilted his head slightly, stretching his neck until a sharp c***k broke the silence. He rolled his shoulders, loosening the stiffness there. Across from him, Marcus moved lightly on his feet, testing his balance, shaking out his wrists as he prepared himself.

Around them, more warriors began to gather, drawn in by the promise of a fight. A spar between the Alpha and his Beta was never something to miss.

Just before they began, Marcus spoke, a grin tugging at his lips.

“My Alpha,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of playfulness, “how about we raise the stakes a little?”

Carlisle’s brow lifted, a flicker of interest crossing his face. “Go on.”

“If I win,” Marcus continued, “you follow my arrangements for a week. No arguing.”

A low chuckle escaped Carlisle, a rare smirk forming. “You’re confident for someone who always ends up on the ground. What happens when you lose again?”

Marcus did not even try to hide his grin. “I lose every time anyway. At least let me have something to look forward to if I win. Think of it as a reward for persistence.”

There was truth in that.

In most of their matches, Carlisle could overpower him without much effort. Marcus had only managed to win a handful of times, and even those victories came under unusual circumstances.

Still, Carlisle allowed it.

Not because he believed Marcus would win, but because it kept things balanced. A Beta without confidence would reflect poorly on the pack, and Carlisle had no intention of letting that happen.

“Fine,” he said. “You have your deal.”

That was all Marcus needed.

He moved instantly, pushing off the ground with force that left a clear imprint in the dirt. In a heartbeat, he closed the distance between them, his fist cutting through the air toward Carlisle’s face.

It never landed.

Carlisle caught his wrist with ease, his grip firm, his stance completely unmoved. With a quick twist, he redirected the force and sent Marcus airborne.

Marcus reacted on instinct. His body curled midair, rotating smoothly before he landed in a crouch, dust scattering around him. He did not pause. The moment his feet touched the ground, he moved again, circling to Carlisle’s side, aiming for a strike from behind.

Carlisle had not moved from where he stood.

He remained still, watching, his gaze sharp and calculating. Every motion Marcus made was tracked, analyzed, broken down in an instant. He was not just reacting. He was waiting for the right moment.

As Carlisle shifted slightly, preparing to counter, a voice suddenly cut through the tension from the edge of the training grounds.

“Carlisle!”