The Rejected Luna’s Forbidden Obsessions

Chapter Three

Chapter Three The Shape of Absence

The broken bond did not just fade away when the sun came up.

It settled deep into my bones like a second, broken heartbeat—feeling wrong, uneven, and completely constant. Every single breath I took carried the echo of what had been ripped out of my chest. My inner wolf stayed completely silent, curled up so tightly inside me that I sometimes wondered if she had simply decided to die rather than live with the emptiness. I moved through the large pack house like a quiet shadow that had forgotten how to disappear from the world.

Three days after the public rejection, the new Luna called for her very first formal pack gathering.

I was not invited. I went anyway.

The main hall smelled strongly of polished wood and fresh pine needles. Wolves filled the long wooden tables, keeping their conversations low and careful. She sat up at the high table right beside my former mate, wearing the deep crimson colors of the Luna’s station as if they had always belonged to her. When her eyes finally found me standing near the back wall, she did not smile at all. She just held my gaze long enough to make sure I understood the new rules, then looked away as if I had already stopped existing.

I stayed and listened through the entire meeting.

I listened while she spoke about border patrols and trade agreements in a calm, confident voice. I watched the pack nod and accept her words without a single hesitation. No one mentioned the woman who had stood proudly in her exact place only days before. The heavy silence surrounding my own name was much louder than any insult could ever be.

When the gathering finally ended, I slipped out through the side doors and walked out into the open training grounds.

The afternoon air was sharp, smelling of turned dirt and the sweat of working bodies. Younger wolves sparred hard under the watchful eyes of the senior warriors. I found an empty corner near the far wooden fence and began running through my familiar forms—blocks, punches, and slow, controlled movements meant to tire my body out enough that my noisy mind might finally quiet down.

It did not work.

I was on my third set of movements when a large shadow fell across the packed dirt right in front of me.

It was Conor.

He stood there with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression completely unreadable while the late afternoon light caught the bright gold in his eyes. He had been acting as Alpha in all but name ever since the night of the Blood Moon. The rest of the pack already deferred to him and his twin brother in ways they no longer deferred to my former mate. Power had shifted quietly from one hand to the other, and everyone in the pack could feel the change.

“You are overextending your left shoulder,” he said.

I dropped my arms to my sides, breathing heavily. “I am aware of it.”

“Then fix it.”

There was no softness or pity in his order. I adjusted the angle of my next strike. He watched me in total silence for several long minutes, and then stepped forward without any warning. One large, heavy hand closed firmly around my wrist, stopping my motion completely. The sudden skin-to-skin contact sent a sharp jolt right through the broken bond in my chest, making me almost gasp out loud.

“You are favoring the pain,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “The mark on your neck is still wide open. Every time you move like that, you are just tearing it open further.”

I tried to pull my arm free from his grip. His hold did not tighten up, but he refused to let me go either.

“Let go of me.”

“In a minute.” His gaze dropped down to the half-healed wound on my throat. Something dark and hidden moved deep behind his eyes. “The pack healer said you refused to let her treat it.”

“The healer is far too busy taking care of wolves who actually matter.”

Conor’s jaw clenched, the muscles flexing. For a split second, I thought he might argue with me. Instead, he simply released my wrist and took a single step back.

“Collin is going to bring you some healing salve tonight,” he said. “You will use it.”

It was not a polite request.

He turned around and walked away toward the main sparring circles without saying another word. I stood there alone with the ghost of his hot hand still burning against my skin. The broken bond thrashed weakly inside my chest, acting confused as if it had suddenly sensed something it no longer had any right to want.

That night, the knock on my guest room door came much later than I expected.

Collin walked right into the room without waiting for my permission. He carried a small metal tin of salve and a clean cloth. The tiny room suddenly felt much smaller with him standing inside it. He set the items down on the narrow wooden desk, and then looked down at me for a long, quiet moment, as if he were measuring how much of me was still left standing.

“Sit down,” he commanded.

I sat quietly on the edge of the narrow bed. He crouched down right in front of me, getting close enough that I could see the darker rings circling his golden irises. When he reached his hand up to gently brush my hair away from the wounded mark, his fingers were careful—almost gentle. The sharp contrast between that careful touch and the cold authority in his voice made my stomach tighten.

“This is going to sting,” he warned.

It did. The medicine was cold and sharp against my skin, drawing the throbbing heat out of the wound in slow, pulling waves. Collin worked completely in silence, his concentration absolute. I stared straight ahead at the wall above his head and tried very hard not to notice how steady his large hands were, or how the heavy quiet between us felt much thicker than any conversation.

When he finally finished, he did not immediately pull his hand away.

“You are not sleeping at night,” he stated.

“The broken bond will not let me.”

He thought about that for a second. Then, speaking so quietly I almost missed the words, he answered, “It will ease up. Eventually.”

I let out a single dry laugh, the sound cracking and completely empty. “Nothing about any of this is going to ease up.”

Collin’s sharp eyes lifted to meet mine. For a fleeting moment, something raw and dangerous flickered across his face—maybe anger, maybe hunger, or maybe a dangerous mix of both. Then it was instantly locked away behind the same unreadable, calm mask he always wore.

“Use that salve twice a day,” he said, standing up to his full height. “Conor will check to make sure you do.”

He left the metal tin resting on the desk and stepped back out into the hallway. The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind him with a soft thud.

I sat alone in the sudden quiet of the room, the sharp scent of the healing salve mixing with the faint, lingering trace of pine trees and cold steel that he always left behind him. The broken bond twisted around inside my chest, confused by the lingering warmth of a touch that had never belonged to the man who threw me away.

Outside my window, the pack house finally settled down for the night.

Somewhere up above me, the new Luna was sleeping peacefully in the rooms that used to be mine.

And somewhere in that exact same house, two powerful brothers who should have stayed distant strangers were beginning to look closely at the messy wreckage their blood had left behind.

I pressed my fingers lightly against the treated mark on my throat and closed my eyes tight.

The moon had taken everything I ever cared about.

But the twin Alphas, it seemed, were not finished collecting what was left of me.