His Defiant Luna: Awakening Of The White Wolf

At the sacred Full Moon Ball, I was supposed to receive the moonstone necklace and become the future Luna alongside my fated mate, Crown Prince Edward.

But in front of the entire pack, he snatched the necklace away and placed it around the neck of Cynthia—a low-ranking Omega who scrubbed the floors.

"Her scent is softer. She has a gentle heart," he announced, before tossing me a cheap silver hairpin as a deliberate insult.

In my past life, I fought back. I leaned on my noble family's power to force him to honor our engagement. I didn't realize that breaking an Alpha's pride was a death sentence.

After we married, he allowed Cynthia to starve me during my pregnancy and mix silver into my medicine, killing my unborn pup. Once he took the throne, he falsely accused my family of treason, exiling my father and brothers to the frozen wastelands to die. He crippled my wolf with crushed silver and locked me in a damp dungeon, where Cynthia eventually forced me to drink lethal wolfsbane. I coughed up black blood and died in agony—my family slaughtered, my dignity destroyed by the man I had loved.

When I opened my eyes, a violent wave of vertigo hit me. I was back at the exact moment Edward handed me that insulting silver hairpin.

This time, I didn't shed a single tear.

"I, Beatrice, reject you, Edward, as my mate," I declared calmly.

I turned my back on the Crown Prince. In this life, I will marry his crippled uncle, Prince Arthur, and watch them lose everything.

Chapter 1

Beatrice POV:

The vast, vaulted hall of the royal gothic castle was bathed in the thin, silvered light of the full moon. Curtains of deep red damask, heavy as lead, hung from the tall windows, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted boar, spiced wine, and the mingled pheromones of hundreds of werewolves.

This was the Full Moon Ball, our pack's most sacred gathering.

Our territory was bounded by forest and scent lines; beyond the familiar pine, there was only exile. At the head of our world stands the Alpha, the supreme leader whose strength shields us all. Beside him is the Luna, the mother of the pack—she tempers the Alpha's rage, nurtures the young, and navigates the tangled politics of the noble families.

Tonight, my aunt, Queen Eleanor, the current Luna, stood on the raised stone dais. In her hands she held a breathtaking necklace of pure moonstone. The symbol of the future Luna. Meant for me.

I stood before the dais, heavy silk pooling at my feet, ready to accept my fate. Everyone knew I was meant to marry Crown Prince Edward. My aristocratic bloodline was impeccable, my family's warriors the strongest in the kingdom.

Just as Queen Eleanor lifted the necklace, a voice cut through the expectant hush.

"Stop."

Edward's heavy boots scuffed the bottom step. His tall frame eclipsed the dais, casting a long, defiant shadow over the moonstone. His scent, usually fresh rain and cedar, had soured with an acrid note of rebellion.

He reached out and took the moonstone necklace from my aunt's hands. Then he turned and pulled a small, trembling girl from the crowd.

Cynthia. A low-ranking Omega. No noble blood, no status—the kind who scrubbed floors and ate scraps.

"Edward, what is the meaning of this?" Queen Eleanor demanded, her voice taut with suppressed fury.

Edward didn't look at me. He addressed the pack. "Cynthia's scent is softer," he announced, his tone carrying the natural authority of an Alpha. "Far better suited to soothe the pack. She has a gentle heart. She will wear the moonstone."

A collective gasp swept through the ballroom. Nobles whispered in shock.

He placed the sacred necklace around Cynthia's neck. She stared down, playing the shy, blameless victim.

Then Edward turned to me. He pulled a cheap, dull silver hairpin from his pocket and held it out.

"For your loyalty, Beatrice," he said, utterly dismissive.

Silver is the one substance that truly harms a werewolf. Even brief contact sears the skin; prolonged exposure or internal ingestion is catastrophic—the metal builds up in our tissue, never fully purges, and eventually destroys nerves, organs, and the ability to heal. Wearing silver jewelry is agony over time. Giving it to me was a pure, calculated insult.

As I stared at the cheap metal, a violent wave of vertigo crashed over me. Images flooded my mind—a dark, damp dungeon. The stench of my own rotting flesh. Black poison on my tongue. I remembered dying. I remembered this exact night from a past life.

I drew a sharp breath, but the oxygen seemed to never reach my lungs; my fingertips prickled. The devotion I'd clung to for years began peeling away like dead skin, leaving behind a cold, hollow clarity.

Deep inside, my inner wolf stirred. She didn't whine for Edward. She felt different—ancient, cold, immensely powerful. The legendary White Wolf bloodline, a rare gift from the Moon Goddess herself, was waking inside me. The shock of death and rebirth had shattered the cage that had kept her dormant through my first life.

I looked at Edward. At the man I had once died for. I felt nothing.

I reached out and took the silver hairpin. The metal stung my palm. I didn't flinch.

"Thank you, Your Highness," I said, my voice steady—loud enough for every wolf in the room to hear.

I stepped back, creating space between us.

"I, Beatrice, reject you, Edward, as my mate."

The words settled in the sudden stillness, each one a weighted stone dropped into a silent pool. The ballroom fell dead quiet.

Edward's eyes went wide. His jaw dropped. He had never expected me to surrender the power and title so easily.

"Beatrice, what are you doing?" he hissed, stepping toward me.

"Say the words, Edward," I demanded, my face completely blank.

His pride was too immense. He couldn't back down before the entire pack. He clenched his fists, eyes flashing anger and panic. "I, Edward, accept your rejection," he growled.

The moment the words left his mouth, the invisible tether between our souls didn't snap—it unraveled, thread by agonizing thread. The unraveling wasn't an attack my wolf could defend against; it was a void, an absence, and even the White Wolf couldn't fight emptiness. I gasped, my knees quaking from the sudden hollowness. Then, right after the pain, a profound relief washed over me. I was free.

Queen Eleanor watched, her face pale with fury. She saw my humiliation and Edward's foolishness. She slammed her hand against a stone pillar. "My head aches," she announced icily. "This ball is over." She turned and left the hall, her royal guards close behind.

I didn't stay, either. I turned my back on the whispering crowd and walked toward the heavy wooden doors. The night air outside was damp, carrying the smell of wet earth. A cold spring rain had begun to fall. I walked down the dark, gothic stone corridor, heading for the Queen's chambers.

"Beatrice! Stop right there!"

Heavy footsteps. Edward grabbed my arm and spun me around. His grip was tight, his Alpha strength bruising my skin.

"Let go of me," I said, my voice as cold as the rain.

He loosened his hold but blocked my path, his face twisted in an ugly scowl. "You are going to the Queen's chambers right now. You will tell her you overreacted, and you will convince her to accept Cynthia."

I stared at him, marveling at his selfishness. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I'll take care of you," he promised, his tone suddenly sweet and coaxing. "I'll grant you a high Beta title. You'll still have a place of honor in the pack."

A Beta—second-in-command, servant to the Alpha and Luna. He wanted me to serve the woman who had just stolen my place.

I offered him a polite, perfectly hollow smile. "Your offer is generous, Your Highness. But I know my place."

I stepped around him, leaving him standing alone in the dark corridor.

I walked out into the courtyard. The cold rain soaked my hair and heavy dress instantly. Mud seeped through my silk hem, plastering the fabric to my calves like a second, freezing skin. I walked to the stone steps outside Queen Eleanor's chambers and slowly lowered myself to my knees. The rain washed over my face. I let the cold sink into my bones. I needed this bitter theater. My aunt was a queen before she was family. If I marched in demanding justice, she would see arrogance. But if she saw me broken on her doorstep, her pride would demand she lift me up, and her guilt would turn her into my weapon. I knelt in the downpour, letting each drop sliding down my neck feel like a cold needle tracing my spine—awakening every ounce of hatred from my past life.