The Luna You Rejected E-Book

Mathias Scholz

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

I was chosen by fate.
He was the one who said no.

The bond snapped into place the moment I saw him—my mate, my Alpha, the one meant to stand beside me as Luna. But instead of claiming me, he rejected me in front of everyone who mattered.

In our world, rejection isn’t just heartbreak.
It’s exile.
It’s humiliation.
It’s survival.

Cast aside and stripped of the future promised to me, I’m forced to rebuild myself far from the pack that turned its back. I learn to live with the ache of the bond, the whispers of what I lost, and the strength I never knew I had.

But fate isn’t finished.

The Alpha who rejected me is starting to realize his mistake. Power shifts. Enemies rise. And the Luna he thought was weak is no longer waiting to be chosen.

Because I’m not the girl he rejected anymore.

I’m the Luna who learned to stand on her own…
and he may have lost his chance forever.

**The Luna You Rejected** is an emotional rejected-mate romance filled with heartbreak, power struggles, slow-burn tension, and a heroine who refuses to stay broken.

Perfect for readers who love:

• Rejected mate romance
• Alpha and Luna dynamics
• Emotional slow burn
• Strong female leads
• Second-chance tension

Leseprobe

MATHIAS SCHOLZ

The Luna You Rejected

Copyright © 2026 by MATHIAS SCHOLZ

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities is entirely coincidental.

First edition

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com

Contents

1. Prologue

2. Bottom of the Pack

3. Bloodline Day

4. Say It Louder

5. Ghosted

6. Streets Don’t Bow

7. The Girl Who Didn’t Break

8. Alpha’s Regret Hits Late

9. Queen of Nobody’s Permission

10. Run It Back

11. You Don’t Own Me

12. War in the Hallways

13. Blood Pays Blood

14. Luna in Name Only

15. Love Ain’t an Apology

16. The Pack Chooses Sides

17. Rejection Cuts Both Ways

18. Crowned by Fire

19. The Luna You Rejected

20. Epilogue

One

Prologue

chapter-seperator

I didn’t cry when he said it.

That’s the part nobody believes.

They expect tears, screaming, begging. They expect me to fold like I always do. The weak girl. The quiet one. The one they step over in the halls and shove aside in the pack house like I’m furniture.

But when his mouth opened and the words came out, something inside me went dead instead.

The bond snapped first.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It felt like a wire inside my chest getting yanked straight out. One second it was there—tight, burning, alive—and the next it was gone, leaving this hollow ache that made it hard to breathe.

“I reject you.”

Two words. Clean. Sharp. Final.

The forest went quiet after that. No birds. No wind. Even the ground felt like it was holding its breath.

I stood there with dirt on my shoes and blood drying under my nails, staring at the guy who had been haunting my dreams since I was old enough to know what mates were. The future Alpha. The king everyone loved. The same dude who laughed when his friends called me trash at school. The same one who never once told them to stop.

His eyes were cold now. Not angry. Not guilty. Just annoyed, like I’d wasted his time.

“You’re not fit to stand next to me,” he said. “You’re not fit to be Luna. Don’t embarrass yourself by pretending otherwise.”

The words landed harder than his fists ever had.

I felt my wolf slam against the walls of my head, screaming. She wanted blood. She wanted me to say it back. To reject him right there, tear the rest of the bond apart, and walk away free.

I didn’t.

Not yet.

Because pain does funny things to you. It slows time. Sharpens memory. I saw everything all at once—the nights I slept on the attic floor because I wasn’t allowed a real room, the plates shoved into my hands after pack dinners, the laughter when I got knocked into lockers, the whispers about how an omega like me should be grateful anyone even looked my way.

I saw him watching it happen. Doing nothing.

So I lifted my head.

My hands were shaking, but my voice didn’t.

“You don’t get to tell me what I’m fit for.”

His eyebrows twitched, just a little. Surprise. Good. Let him feel that.

“I didn’t choose you,” he snapped. “The bond made a mistake.”

I smiled then. Not because it was funny. Because something inside me had finally clicked.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “It did.”

That was the moment I decided I wasn’t going to break in front of him.

I turned and walked away before he could say anything else. Every step felt like glass under my feet. My chest burned. My wolf was curled up tight, hurt and furious, whispering things I wasn’t ready to hear yet.

Behind me, I could feel his stare. Confused. Maybe uneasy.

He should’ve been.

Because rejection doesn’t end things. It starts them.

I didn’t go back to class after that. Didn’t go home either. I cut through the trees until my lungs hurt and my legs begged me to stop. The pack house was full of people who’d already decided I was nothing. I wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of watching me fall apart.

I sat on a fallen log near the border and pressed my palms into my eyes until stars burst behind them.

That’s when the pain hit for real.

It rolled through me in waves—hot, vicious, mean. My wolf howled inside my skull, her voice cracking, furious and wounded and alive. I bit my lip hard enough to taste iron and forced myself to stay quiet.

Crying wouldn’t fix this.

Screaming wouldn’t either.

I thought about the way the pack would react when they found out. Some would laugh. Some would shrug. A few would say it was for the best. Nobody would ask if I was okay.

And him?

He’d go back to his life. His friends. His crown waiting for him like it always had. He’d tell himself he did the right thing. That I was too weak. Too small. Too broken to stand at his side.

Maybe he even believed it.

I stood up then, knees shaking, spine straight.

I wasn’t going to beg for a place that never wanted me.

I went back to the pack house long enough to grab my bag. Didn’t pack much. I didn’t have much to pack. A couple changes of clothes. My worn sneakers. The old hoodie I slept in when the nights got too cold. I left everything else behind. Let them keep it. Let them keep their walls and rules and fake loyalty.

I didn’t leave a long note.

Just a single page, torn from a notebook, shoved under the door where they’d find it eventually.

You don’t get to hurt me anymore.

That was it.

I crossed the border as the sun dipped low, the air thick and electric, like the world knew something had shifted. Every step away from the pack felt wrong and right at the same time. The bond’s absence throbbed like a bruise I kept pressing just to remind myself it was real.

I didn’t know where I was going.

I only knew I wasn’t coming back the same.

Because rejection doesn’t kill you.

It strips you down. It burns the weak parts away. It leaves you raw enough to rebuild yourself into something dangerous.

And one day—maybe soon, maybe not—I’d stand in front of him again.

Not as the girl he tossed aside.

But as the Luna he should’ve never rejected.

Two

Bottom of the Pack

chapter-seperator

I learned early that silence keeps you alive.

Not safe. Just alive.

The pack house wakes before the sun, and if you’re at the bottom, you wake before it does. I’m already on my feet when the alarms start screaming through the halls. The sound punches into my skull, sharp and ugly, but I don’t flinch. Flinching gets noticed. Being noticed is dangerous.

I move fast. Bare feet on cold tile. Hair tied back tight so no one can grab it. I light the stove, pull out pans, crack eggs with one hand. The kitchen smells like oil and heat and something burned from yesterday. That part’s on me. I didn’t move fast enough last night.

Plates line the counter. Big ones for the higher ranks. Smaller ones for the rest. None for me.

Someone shoves past me, shoulder slamming into my back. I stumble, catch myself on the counter before I fall.

“Watch it,” a voice snaps. Like I’m the problem.

“Sorry,” I say automatically.

The word tastes bitter now. It always does.

I finish cooking just as footsteps thunder down the stairs. Laughter. Loud voices. Confidence. They fill the room without asking. I step back, eyes down, hands clasped in front of me. That’s the rule. Take up as little space as possible.

One of the girls snorts when she sees me. “Still playing maid, huh?”

I don’t answer. I don’t look up. My pulse stays steady. This isn’t new. None of this is new.

The Alpha’s seat is empty. Good. When he’s not here, the tension drops just enough to breathe. I slide the plates onto the table, then retreat before anyone can find a reason to stop me.

I eat later. If there’s anything left.

By the time I leave for school, my hands smell like grease and my stomach aches with hunger. I throw on my hoodie—two sizes too big, sleeves covering my hands—and step outside. The air is cold and sharp. I like that. Cold doesn’t lie. It doesn’t pretend.

The walk to school is quiet. Trees on one side. Road on the other. This stretch of town knows me. I’ve bled here before. The cracks in the sidewalk remember my shoes.

School isn’t better. It’s just louder.

The halls are packed when I walk in. Bodies everywhere. Lockers slamming. Music blasting from someone’s phone. I keep my head down and move with the flow. I don’t talk unless someone talks to me first. Even then, I keep it short.

A shoulder hits mine hard. On purpose.

“Move,” someone says.

I do.

That’s survival. Know when to fight. Know when to vanish.

In class, I take the seat near the front. Not because I’m eager. Because it’s safer. Teachers notice the front. They don’t see what happens in the back rows. I pull out my notebook and focus on the board, even when whispers ripple behind me.

“She thinks she belongs here.”

“Look at her clothes.”

“I heard she sleeps in the pack attic.”

The words slide over me, but they don’t bounce off. They sink in. They always do.

I write notes anyway. My handwriting stays neat. Controlled. If I’m going to be invisible, I might as well be smart.

When the bell rings, I’m the first out. The halls turn hostile between classes. Elbows. Tripped feet. Someone yanks my backpack strap and laughs when I almost fall.

I don’t react.

Anger lives deep in my chest, coiled tight. It’s been there a long time. I don’t let it loose. Not yet. Anger without power just gets you hurt.

Gym is the worst. Always has been.

I change fast in the locker room, back turned, hoodie folded carefully so no one messes with it. I keep my eyes on the floor when I walk out. The coach calls teams. My name comes last, like always.

Someone groans. Someone else laughs.

“Guess we’re stuck with her.”

I grab a ball when the game starts. My grip is firm. My stance solid. I know how to move. I know how to dodge. I don’t show off. Showing off paints a target.

A ball slams into my shoulder. Hard. I stay upright.

“Out,” someone yells.

The coach nods without really looking.

I walk off the court, jaw tight. My wolf presses against my ribs, restless, angry. She hates this. Hates being told to shrink. I shove her down with practiced ease. Later, I tell her. Not now.

The last bell is freedom. Temporary, but real.

I don’t linger. I don’t stop at my locker. I head straight home, same route, same pace. The pack house looms ahead, all sharp angles and heavy doors. It’s supposed to be home. It’s never felt like it.

Inside, the air is thick with power. Rank hangs in the walls, seeps into the floor. It presses down on me the second I step in. I lower my head and move toward the kitchen.

“Hey.”

I freeze.

A hand grips my arm. Fingers dig in, not enough to bruise, enough to warn.

“You forgot to clean the hall last night.”

“I did,” I say softly.

The grip tightens. “You missed a spot.”

“I’ll fix it.”

“You’ll do more than that.”

I swallow. “Yes.”

The hand lets go. I don’t rub my arm until I’m alone.

I scrub floors until my knees ache. I clean rooms I’m not allowed to sleep in. I carry messages. I carry plates. I carry everyone else’s weight and pretend it’s nothing.

When dinner starts, I stay in the kitchen. I serve. I step back. I wait.

Laughter fills the dining room. Talk of strength. Of bloodlines. Of mates and futures and power. None of it is meant for me.

Someone drops a fork. “Pick it up.”

I do.

When they’re done, I scrape leftovers into containers. There’s half a piece of bread left. I tuck it into my pocket for later.