Abandoned Luna: Claimed by Two

Aria's POV

I stood before the dressing table mirror, trying on makeup I'd never dared to touch before.

Glittery eyeshadow shimmered over metallic lip gloss, false lashes sweeping upward like wings.

Concealer covered every trace of exhaustion and heartbreak.

The woman in the mirror looked new. She was confident, sharp, and ready to fight back.

I was no longer the obedient, soft-spoken Luna everyone expected me to be.

I slid into a black leather mini skirt that clung to my hips and stepped into four-inch heels. The reflection smiled back, sharp and fearless.

Tonight, I wasn't hiding.

The night air brushed against my skin as I stepped outside, cool and electric, tasting like freedom.

"Club Shadow, please," I told the taxi driver, my voice lighter than it had been in years.

Club Shadow was the most exclusive werewolf club in the city.

It was full of smoke, loud music, and people who liked power.

Only high-ranking wolves were allowed to go in.

When I was Stephen's mate, he never let me near that place.

He always said a Luna should stay home and behave.

But tonight, I wasn't his Luna.

Tonight, I was going there to raise a glass to my own rebirth.

The taxi glided through neon-lit streets.

City lights reflected on the window like streaks of silver.

I tapped my fingers on my knee to the beat of the radio.

Every sound reminded me that seven years of my life had been wasted on lies, poison, and pretending.

When the taxi was almost at the club entrance, my phone started to vibrate hard.

The screen showed: Moonridge Pack--Beta Kael.

My stomach tightened.

"Miss Aria!" Beta Kael's voice sounded nervous. "Your mother just collapsed at the pack medical center. Her condition is very bad!"

The smile on my face disappeared. "What happened to my mother?"

"It's Miss Clara!" Beta Kael said quickly. "She made the Alpha King of Silverfang Pack, Damien Rothwell, angry. Things got out of control. When your mother heard about it, she fainted. The doctor said it might be life-threatening."

For a moment, I couldn't speak. My mind went blank.

Then one name echoed in my head.

---

Clara Graves.

She was my arrogant half-sister, the one who had always treated my mother like an intruder and me like a stain on the family name.

Her own mother had died years earlier, and my mother married my father after that.

But Clara never accepted it.

Then Kael's words came back to me. The words "mother" and "critical condition" broke my calm completely.

My mother was the only person who ever cared for me, and now she was in danger. Fear rushed back into my chest, cold and sharp.

"Turn around," I told the driver. "Take me to Moonridge Pack territory. Hurry."

The taxi turned sharply and sped toward the edge of the city.

The air inside felt heavy.

The excitement I had felt a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by fear and worry.

When I reached the medical center, it was already full of people.

Pack members stood in small groups, whispering to each other.

It was the same in every pack. News always spread fast, like a small-town rumor mill.

"I heard the Alpha King came in person."

"They say it's about future Luna Sally White. She was pushed off a cliff."

"Clara Graves messed with Rothwell's fiancée. She's done for."

I opened the door, and a strong smell of medicine filled the air.

My mother was lying on the bed, pale and weak, her breathing slow and uneven.

"Mom!"

Her eyelashes moved a little, and her lips trembled.

"Aria, don't go back. No matter what they say, don't agree."

Her voice was faint, and then she lost consciousness again.

The sound of heavy footsteps came from the hallway.

I turned around, my heart beating fast.

Alpha Gideon Graves, my father, stood at the end of the hall with anger written all over his face.

Behind him stood several pack members and Beta Kael, their faces a mix of concern, calculation, and thinly veiled fear.

"Aria, you're here," my father said flatly, his tone more weary than warm.

My voice turned to ice. "Where's Clara?"

Gideon hesitated, his gaze sliding away like a man about to lie.

Before he could answer, a deep rumble came from outside, like thunder before a storm.

The heavy iron doors opened with a loud clang, and a group of guards in black and silver uniforms walked in with steady steps.

The air grew tense with Alpha energy, a kind of pressure that made weaker wolves lower their heads.

Then he appeared.

Damien Rothwell.

The Alpha King of the Silverfang Pack. The man every pack in the north feared to cross.

He was taller than I expected, easily over six feet, with broad shoulders and a body that looked built for war.

His movements were quiet but full of power, like he didn't need to prove who he was.

His hair was the color of gold under the lights, a striking contrast to his black eyes. Those eyes were cold and sharp, the kind that could make even an Alpha lower his head.

His face was all hard lines and angles, a perfect mix of Roman beauty and danger.

I had seen his picture once in a pack report, but it hadn't prepared me for the real thing.

Standing this close, I could feel the weight of his presence pressing against my skin. He was thirty-two, young for a king, but there was something ancient in the way he carried himself, something that showed he had seen too much and cared too little.

He surveyed the room, his voice low and absolute.

"Clara Graves pushed my fiancée, Sally White, off a cliff. She fell. We don't yet know if she'll live or die."

The hall went dead silent, the only sound the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

"According to pack law," he continued, "blood calls for blood."

He paused, his gaze slicing through the air like a blade.

"I require a Graves to atone for this crime."

No one moved. The crowd seemed to shrink away from him.

Gideon stepped forward, forcing a respectful tone. "Alpha King, our pack member would never intentionally harm your fiancée. It must have been an accident..."

"I don't want excuses," Alpha Damien interrupted, his words sharp enough to cut glass.

"I only want one name. Clara Graves."

You could almost hear the collective heartbeat of the room stop.

I stood at the back, my pulse hammering in my ears.

When I looked at my father, I saw a quick gleam in his eyes.

Hours later, I sat by my mother's bedside, listening to the soft hum of the machines.

The smell of medicine and disinfectant filled the room, sharp at first, then strangely comforting.

I had been awake too long. My eyes were heavy, and the chair felt warmer with every minute.

For a moment, I let myself relax.

A faint sound came from the doorway.

"She's asleep," my father's voice said quietly.

"Do it."

I didn't even have time to move before a sharp pain touched my arm.

"Father?"

The moment the needle bit into my skin, the world didn't soften at the edges the way ordinary exhaustion did.

Instead, it hollowed me out-as if someone had scooped the strength from my muscles and replaced it with ice water that sloshed cold and foreign through my veins.

I remembered his hand at my neck.

Remembered the way he pressed Clara's perfume into my throat until it clung there like a second skin, cloying and false.

Remembered the calm in his eyes as he watched me sway-the patience of a man who'd already decided my resistance didn't matter.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, as if I were the unreasonable one for wanting to live. "The pack needs a Graves."

He was still the same. Always would be.

Forever favoring my sister, forever treating me as the spare-the one who could be sacrificed because someone else would always shine brighter.