From Rejected Mate to Luna Chapter 106

Nathan's POV

Three days in the isolation room had given me clarity. My initial rage at being stripped of my birthright had crystallized into something far more potent—calculation. I sat on the edge of the hard bed, watching shadows creep across the floor as afternoon sunlight filtered through the reinforced window. The time for tantrums had passed. Now was the time for strategy.

When the guard brought my evening meal, I requested to see my mother. "Please," I said, my voice deliberately hoarse from what they would assume was emotional distress. "I need to speak with Luna Emma."

An hour later, the door opened. My mother's familiar jasmine perfume reached me before I saw her face, concerned and hopeful. Perfect.

"Nathan," she whispered, rushing to embrace me. I allowed myself to tremble slightly in her arms.

"Mom, I've been having nightmares," I confessed, forcing tears to well in my eyes. "Terrible dreams about Dad dying, about everything falling apart." I looked up at her, the perfect image of a broken son. "I was wrong. So wrong about everything."

Her fingers brushed my hair back, just as she'd done when I was a child. "Oh, sweetheart."

"The isolation, it's... it's making me see things clearly." I swallowed hard. "I don't even care about being Alpha anymore. I just want to make things right. I'll get therapy. I'll do whatever Dad wants."

Mother's eyes softened, exactly as I knew they would. "Let me talk to your father."

Two hours later, I stood in my father's study, eyes downcast in practiced humility as he laid out the terms of my release. I would remain in the east wing of the mansion under surveillance. I would attend therapy twice weekly. I would have no contact with Julia White or any members of Spring Valley pack.

"And you will not—under any circumstances—challenge my decision regarding the succession," he finished, steel in his voice.

"I understand, Alpha," I replied, the title feeling bitter on my tongue. "I only want to heal now."

Father studied me with narrowed eyes, but Mother squeezed his arm. "Robert, he deserves a second chance."

---

The family library housed centuries of werewolf knowledge. While ostensibly researching psychology for my "therapy," I found exactly what I needed in an ancient leather-bound volume hidden behind more modern texts. _Silver Tree Honey_—a toxin derived from a rare flowering plant that grew in silver-rich soil. Lethal to werewolves, it caused cardiac arrest but left minimal traces a standard autopsy could detect.

Through a darkweb contact, I secured a vial of the amber liquid, keeping it hidden in a hollowed-out psychology textbook. Meanwhile, I observed my father's daily routines. Every evening without fail, Mother prepared his special herbal tea—a blend to "calm an Alpha's heightened senses" after a day of pack leadership.

The perfect delivery system.

I positioned myself at the garden path early one morning, knowing Mother would return from her run at precisely 6:15. When she appeared, I pretended to be lost in troubled thoughts.

"Nathan? You're up early." Her forehead creased with concern when she noticed the dark circles under my eyes—carefully enhanced with a touch of eye shadow applied in the predawn light.

"The dreams again," I murmured. "About Dad. I keep seeing him clutching his chest, collapsing..." I shuddered convincingly.

"It's just anxiety, sweetheart." She placed a comforting hand on my arm.

"Maybe," I conceded, then hesitated as if reluctant to continue. "I studied cardiac health these days. There's this special herbal combination that strengthens the heart. I've been thinking... with Dad's workload and stress..."

I pulled out a notebook with highlighted sections on herbal medicine, watching her interest grow. "It's supposed to be particularly effective for our kind," I added. "Alpha wolves carry so much of the pack's emotional burden."

Mother studied the page I'd carefully prepared, with the real ingredients that would mask the toxin's taste. "This might really help him," she said thoughtfully.

I smiled, genuinely this time. "I thought it might be a way to show him I care. A first step toward healing our relationship."

---

The family dinner was my suggestion—a gesture of reconciliation. I chose Friday, knowing Father would be exhausted from the monthly territory negotiations. Mother, delighted by my apparent effort, prepared his favorite meal.

"I'll make Robert's tea extra strong tonight," she confided as we set the table together. "With those special herbs you suggested."

I nodded, feeling a curious detachment as I watched her bustle around the kitchen. When she stepped out to greet my father, I quickly added three drops of Silver Tree Honey to the steaming mug. The amber liquid dissolved instantly, leaving no trace.

Throughout dinner, I was the model of contrition. I engaged my father in conversations about pack traditions, appearing eager to learn from his wisdom. Mother watched with proud tears in her eyes, pleased by our apparent reconciliation.

"You've done wonderful work with the northern alliance, Dad," I said, the compliment calculated to soften him further.

Mother beamed, reaching for his tea mug. "Your special blend, dear," she said, placing it before him with love in her eyes. "With some extra herbs Nathan suggested for your heart."

He raised an eyebrow at me, the first hint of genuine warmth I'd seen in weeks. For a heartbeat, a memory flashed—hunting together when I was twelve, his hand on my shoulder, proud of my first deer. Something twisted in my chest, but I crushed it down as he lifted the mug to his lips.

"Thank you, son," he said after drinking. The words I'd once craved now meant nothing.

Twenty minutes later, my father rubbed his chest, frowning. "I feel strange," he muttered, rising unsteadily.

"Are you alright, dear?" Mother's voice rose with concern.

"Just need... my office..." He stumbled toward his study.

I followed, the perfect picture of filial concern. "Dad? Should I call Dr. Moore?"

Inside the study, he collapsed into his leather chair, gasping. Recognition dawned in his eyes as he looked at me—not of the poison, but of my true nature. He tried to speak, but could only manage a choked sound.

As the light faded from his eyes, I felt it—the rush of ancient power flooding my veins, the mantle of Alpha settling onto my shoulders. The sensation was intoxicating, electric, more powerful than I'd imagined.

"Help!" I shouted, my voice breaking perfectly. "Someone help! My father's having a heart attack!"

As security rushed in and Mother's wails echoed down the hallway, I allowed tears to fall freely. Beneath them, I was already calculating my next move. Eric would be a problem, but not for long.

The crown was mine at last.