A Luna's awakening: Twisted Fate, Tangled Heart

Seth's POV

The night bled silver through the curtains, a soft shimmer against the whiskey glass in my hand. I swirled the liquid absently, watching it catch the moonlight. The taste had long gone dull to me, but the ritual remained. It calmed the itch beneath my skin-that endless hum of wanting, waiting, scheming.

Fate had always favored those who dared to cheat her.

And I was nothing if not daring.

Across the dim room, the phone buzzed once. I didn't move. The vibration was subtle, deliberate. My signal. The old woman had taken the bait.

A smile curved my lips as I rose, setting the glass aside. I had spent weeks whispering through channels that only the desperate and the faithful still used, the kind of people who believed in signs, in divine nudges, in the Moon's will.

All it took was a single word, a single nudge in the right ear, and Alexander's grandmother, the pack's most revered elder had become my mouthpiece without ever realizing it.

"She's perfect," I had told her softly that night, my voice hidden beneath static. "The girl is kind, good with children, steady. Just what the young Alpha's household needs."

The old woman had heard the lie she wanted to believe. She had taken it as divine guidance. She had called the agency herself.

And now, Stella Bellingham was under the same roof as Alexander Calum.

The irony was exquisite.

I walked toward the window, watching the faint light spilling over the vast estate below. I could almost see her there-the girl with the trembling hands and lost eyes, the one who didn't even realize the kind of power sleeping in her veins. The power that could make me what I was born to be.

She was meant for him, yes. But what did fate matter when I could bend it?

The sound of heels echoed behind me, sharp and quick. The door opened, and she slipped in. Hazel.

Her perfume filled the room before her voice did. Sweet, cloying, and a little desperate. She was beautiful in that shallow way that made men stupid. That was why I had chosen her.

"You called," she said, shutting the door with her hip. Her red lips curved into something that wanted to be a smile. "You don't usually call twice."

I turned to face her, taking my time. "You were useful once. I need you to be again."

Her brows lifted slightly. "Still about Alexander?"

"Always about Alexander," I said, stepping closer until she could feel the weight of my presence. Hazel tried not to flinch, but I saw the tension in her throat. "You remember the plan."

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "You want me to make him fall for me again?"

"No," I said, voice dropping to a whisper. "I want you to keep him distracted. You'll remind him what it's like to be wanted without pain. You'll make him forget the human girl, long enough for me to make her mine."

Her smile faltered. "You mean Stella."

"Yes."

Hazel hesitated, searching my face for a trace of softness. "You really think she'll ever look at you the way she looks at him?"

For a heartbeat, the room went still. Then I smiled, the kind that made people uneasy.

"She will," I said simply. "They all do. In the end, they always do."

Hazel laughed once, hollow and brittle. "You sound like a man possessed."

"Maybe I am." I turned away again, watching the night through the window. "But not by love, Hazel. By purpose."

She took a step closer. "And what happens when he finds out you were the one who sent her there? That you're behind all this?"

I glanced at her reflection in the glass, my smile widening. "He won't. He's too blinded by his pride. Alexander sees only what he wants to see. That's his weakness."

Hazel's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. "And what about Stella's weakness?"

That question earned her a long, thoughtful silence. I imagined Stella again, her wide, uncertain eyes, the gentle tremor in her voice.

Her weakness wasn't naivety. It was compassion. That endless need to fix, to care, to believe in goodness even when surrounded by wolves.

It made her irresistible.

"She wants to heal people," I murmured. "Even those who hurt her. That's what will ruin her. And what will make her mine."

Hazel crossed her arms, uneasy now. "You talk about her like she's some kind of prize."

"She is." I faced her fully this time, eyes dark. "Through her, I'll have what I was denied. The pack. The power. The name."

"You mean the title," Hazel said softly. "Alpha."

The word hummed in the air like a promise.

I stepped close enough for her perfume to turn suffocating. "Do what I told you. Keep Alexander occupied. Stay close. If he pulls away, pull harder. Make him believe you're the only one who sees him."

Hazel nodded slowly, her throat tightening. "And what do I get?"

My hand brushed her jaw, a touch that wasn't quite tender. "Everything you can take before he breaks your heart again."

She left soon after, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The room fell silent again, but it wasn't empty. I could feel it - the echo of power stirring in the distance. Her power.

I moved to the table, spreading out the papers that mapped the hierarchy of the packs, the bloodlines, the prophecies whispered by those who still remembered the old ways. In the center, one name burned in ink: Stella Bellingham.

I traced it with my finger, the ghost of a smile returning to my lips.

"You were born to stand beside a king," I whispered. "You just didn't know the king was me."

Outside, the wind shifted, carrying the faintest echo of a howl across the valley. Somewhere deep inside me, something answered, low, dark, and hungry.

Fate had chosen Alexander Calum.

But I was going to rewrite her story.

And this time, the moon would rise for me.