"Hi, yes you aren't dreaming, it's the chubby Kelly," I say inwardly as I see the unhappy face expression of Jason who is disheartened. 

The guests laugh at us. They call our couple all sort of names. "The prince charming and the pancakes' eater Kelly" is one I can sadly remember."

"I, Jason Bentley of the South pack, reject you Kelly Thompson as my mate and the Luna Queen," he declared fiercely.

***
Kelly Thompson, an eighteen-year-old curvaceous and wolfless she-wolf, has been quietly admiring Jason Bentley, the heir apparent to the throne of the dominant South pack, for a number of years.

Unfortunately for Kelly, she doesn't get the same attention in return from Alpha heir Jason, as the handsome daughter of his old father's Gammas, Betty Nord, is already the love of the pack's future Alpha. But, the plump Kelly has an advantage over the skinny Betty because of a strong vow made by Jason's father, the Alpha King Don Bentley, that his son will marry the daughter of his Betas who gave their lives two years ago in a fight against the North pack's fiercest adversaries in order to preserve the life of the Alpha heir.

But clearly, nothing goes as smoothly as Kelly imagines.

The Rejected Curvy Luna Queen

The forest swallowed us whole, its canopy a shroud of whispered secrets and half-lit darkness. I led Paul Biansky and my son Eden deeper into its heart, our footsteps a silent dance atop the thick blanket of leaves. The scent of damp earth and ancient pines filled my nostrils, a familiar perfume that both calmed and alerted the wolf within me. 


"Keep your senses sharp," I murmured, my voice a mere thread in the vast tapestry of the woods. Eden nodded, his youthful face set in a determined mask as he scanned the underbrush. Paul, though new to our alliance, matched our pace with a soldier's discipline. 


We met Elara Windrider and Gamma Thorne at the forest's edge, where shadow played with light. Elara's presence was like a balm; her affinity with the wilds was evident in the way she moved—an extension of the breeze itself. Thorne, on the other hand, was a fortress of muscle and quiet resolve, his scar a testament to battles won and lost. 


Challenging the foe