Yield No More,Alpha Caleb Howl Alone

My alpha, Caleb Waverly, has branded the word "yield" into my very soul.

"Yielding is the Luna's virtue," he'd hiss in my ear during pack meetings.

So when , Juliet Darkmore, locks eyes with me, her pupils dilated with hunger, I know what's coming.​

"Alpha," she purrs, pressing her chest against his arm.

"The new moon ceremony decorations... I think I could design something better than Clara's."​

Caleb's grip on my waist tightens.

"You heard your future packmate. Surrender the plans."​

The air crackles as his nostrils flare, inhaling Juliet's sickly sweet scent.

"She reminds me of your eighteen-winter self," he growls.

The night before our moonbond ceremony, Juliet saunters up to me, twirling a lock of my hair around her finger.

"Your mane is stunning," she whispers, her breath rancid with deceit.

"A shame it'll distract from the alpha's glory."​

Caleb's growl shakes the room.

"Chains. Now."

He drags me to the silver-inlaid chair, cuffing my wrists so hard blood trickles down.

"Show some patience, Clara," one packmate jeers.

"It's just hair!"​

Another sneers, "Must you maim her over a few strands?"​

"Juliet is delicate-can't you yield to your litter sister?"​

"Sister?" I snarl.

"She's a viper in sheep's wool!"​

Juliet lets out a fake sob.

"I shouldn't have praised your mane. Now you'll be a bald luna on the mating day." Her single tear falls.​

Caleb kicks my chair.

"You'd rather see her distraught? Juliet can't handle stress-you provoked this."​

I crash to the floor, the splintered wood digging into my back. "You're blind!"​

Juliet peeks at me, a smirk hidmanor behind her hands.

"But leaving Clara behind-"​

Caleb wipes her tears.

"She was born to yield to you."​

Their laughter echoes as they leave.

"Told you she'd cower! Pay up-she didn't even bare her fangs."​

I clutch the moonflight tickets hidmanor in my ragged dress. "You'll regret this, Caleb Waverly.

As I fasten the last silver clasp on my travel trunks, Caleb's howl rips through the link.

I brace for concern over my wire-scored wrists, but his first words singe my eardrums:

"Juliet craves that enchanted moonstone dowry in your vault. Yield it as tonight's apology."

"The old lunar priestess is gone-what use are her trinkets to a dead spirit?"

That dowry-crafted over decades by my grandmother.

My voice shakes: "You can't-those jewels are cursed with runes meant for my mating!"

Caleb cuts the link.

Seconds later, Juliet's packpost glows with a selfie: my moonstone collar around her throat, captioned "Caleb gave me his family's heirloom after the auction!" two hours ago, she stole what should've been my lunar blessing.

Even when my pack fell to rogue wolves, I never pawned those jewels.

Caleb knows they're my last link to the pack who raised me.

My palm splits under clenched fists, but the bandages over my wrist scars feel numb-just like the night he found me, broken by a silver whip, and vowed: "No alpha will ever mark you again, Clara. I'll guard you till the end of moons."

I turned down my aunt's offer to flee to the Northern Packs, believing his vow.

Now he hands my sacred dowry to who preens in a Purple lunar silk gown-the color I loathe, the style Juliet demanded.

For half a mooncycle, every wedding detail catered to Juliet's whim.

No one asked my preference, only echoed Caleb's mantra:

"Juliet rarely shows interest-can't you yield this to her?"

Yield I shall.