Unwanted Luna - Chapter #3 - by Nina Soelian

[Xander’s POV]

I watch from my window as my father's hand settles possessively on Daphne's back. Guiding her toward the house like she's something precious he's claiming.

My wolf snarls inside my chest and claws raking against my ribcage. Demanding I go down there and tear his hand away from her skin.

Instead, I grip the window frame hard enough that the wood creaks under my fingers.

I should feel satisfaction from breaking Connor's nose. The crack of bone under my knuckles had been perfect—the way his blood had sprayed, the shock in his eyes. The humiliation of being knocked down in front of the entire pack.

I'd wanted to do worse. Wanted to keep hitting until he couldn't speak, couldn't breathe.

Couldn't ever hurt her again.

But the victory tastes like ash now, watching how Daphne looks at my father. With gratitude. With trust. The same fucking blind faith she gave Connor for all those years, and look where that got her.

I turn from the window and pace across my room like the caged beast I am. Five steps to the wall. Turn. Five steps back. My wolf prowls beneath my skin, agitated and furious, wanting out.

Wanting her.

She's always been mine. She just never knew it.

I was twelve the first time I really saw her—not just another pup running around the pack grounds, but Daphne. She'd been crying behind the training shed, cradling something against her chest.

I'd planned to walk past, to ignore her like everyone else did. But then I'd seen the kitten, small and broken, and the way her tears fell onto its matted fur.

The weak orphan girl everyone mocked. But she wasn't weak, not really.

She shared her food when she barely had enough. Protected smaller ones from bullies even when it earned her bruises. Left wildflowers on graves throughout the territory. Including my mother's, a woman she'd never even met.

I'd knelt beside Daphne that day and helped her with the kitten. And when she'd smiled at me—that genuine, innocent joy lighting up her face—something in my chest had cracked open.

For three weeks, I'd found excuses to check on her. To make sure she was feeding properly and bullies stayed at bay from her.

For three weeks, I'd let myself imagine that maybe she could see past the future Alpha everyone expected me to be and just see me.

Then Connor noticed. Slayed the kitten and blamed me. Fed her lies about how I'd used her, wanted her just to destroy.

And she believed him.

When I tried to explain, she ran. When I cornered her, she told me she knew what I really thought of her. For fuck’s sake…

After that, I could only watch her cling to him like he was her savior. Watched him orchestrate her humiliation—"advices" that made her fail, then laughing about it with his friends.

And she fucking thanked him. Every. Single. Time.

So I turned harsh. Cold. If she wanted to believe I was cruel, I'd be cruel. My words became cutting, my dismissals brutal, just to see if it would wake her up.

It never did.

The worst night, the night that still haunts me, was her first heat.

I'd been returning from patrol when her scent hit me like a physical blow. Sweet and desperate, laced with pain and fear. I'd found her in the woods, delirious and burning, her pupils blown wide.

"Xander," she'd whimpered, reaching for me with trembling hands. "Please… Help me."

Her body had been so willing, arching toward me, begging so sweetly for relief. My wolf had roared with triumph.

Finally, finally she was asking for us. Wanting us. Weeding us.

But she wasn't in her right mind. The heat had consumed her rational thought, left only animal need. Taking her like that would have been no different than what Connor eventually did.

So I'd carried her to my room, planning to lock her inside where she'd be safe, where I could stand guard until the heat broke enough for her to be coherent.

Then I'd court her properly. Slowly. Gently.

Show her I wasn't the monster Connor had painted.

But my shitty little brother had found her in my room, vulnerable and desperate. And he'd used the opportunity I'd refused to take.

The next day, she'd thanked him with that same pathetic gratitude.

I'd punched through a wall that night. Put my fist through solid oak until my knuckles were broken and bleeding and my wolf was howling with rage.

My father had insisted on the mating afterward. Honor and responsibility, he'd called it. But I'd seen the calculation in his eyes, the way he'd watched Daphne during the ceremony. Even then, his interest was beginning.

And over the past two years, that interest has only grown.

I've noticed every lingering look, every manufactured excuse to touch her. The way his eyes track her movements when she walks through a room. How he finds reasons to be near her, to speak with her.

My father, who's sired two sons with different she-wolves but never took a Luna. Who's kept both women as glorified mistresses with privileges but no real title.

Suddenly interested in a wolfless omega who couldn't even keep his younger son's attention? No. My father never does anything without purpose.

Every move is calculated, every interest serves a goal. Whatever he sees in Daphne, whatever he's planning, it has nothing to do with protecting her and everything to do with using her.

But I won't let him have her.

Connor was just an obstacle—a spoiled idiot playing with toys he didn't deserve. His public rejection tonight might have devastated Daphne, but it freed her from a poisoned bond that was killing her slowly.

My father is different. He's the Alpha with absolute authority, with power and influence that could crush me if he chose. And he's already staking his claim, already wrapping Daphne in his protection like a net.

I slam my fist into the wall, feeling the plaster crack. Pain radiates up my arm, sharp and clarifying.

Daphne should have been mine from the beginning. Would have been, if she hadn't been so blind and naive.

If I'd been stronger, faster, better at showing her the truth.

But Connor's out of the picture now. The mate bond that Daphne should’ve recognized—the one I feel pulling at my chest every time she's near—can finally have a chance.

If I can get her away from my father first.

He thinks he's claimed her with his pretty words about protection. Thinks his Alpha authority will be enough to keep her grateful and compliant. Just like Connor kept her trapped with false kindness.

But he doesn't understand what I do: Daphne responds to protection, to kindness, yes. Yet what she's really searching for, what she's always been searching for, is someone who sees her.

Connor never saw her. He saw a conquest, a toy, a responsibility to be endured.

My father doesn't see her either. But I see her. I've always seen her.

And I'm done watching other men claim what's mine.