After My Mate Left Me to Burn, I Became Luna

The soil beneath my fingernails was cool and damp, a grounding sensation that kept the ghosts of my past at bay. I knelt in the rows of lavender and chamomile, the morning sun warming the back of my neck. Five years. It had been five years since the fire, since the screaming, since the silence.

I adjusted the scarf around my neck—a habit born of necessity, not fashion. It hid the jagged, silvery scars where the scalded skin had healed poorly. My hands moved with practiced efficiency, pruning the dead leaves from a struggling valerian plant.

*Peace,* I signed to myself, a small, private gesture. *This is peace.*

But peace was a fragile thing. A sudden snap of a twig behind me made me flinch, my heart leaping into my throat. I spun around, clutching my trowel like a weapon.

It was only a squirrel.

I let out a shaky breath, my pulse thundering in my ears. The panic never truly left; it just slept lightly. My mind drifted back to the night Alpha Eliam found me. I had been a broken thing, bleeding and voiceless, crawling across the border of the Crescent Moon Pack territory. I expected death. Instead, I found a towering shadow that smelled of rain and cedar. He hadn't asked who I was or why I couldn't speak. He had simply scooped me up, wrapped me in his coat, and carried me to safety. He gave me a purpose when I had none. He gave me this garden.

A vibration in my pocket pulled me from the memory. I pulled out my phone. A text from Eliam: *'Pack meeting in ten. I need my best Healer there.'*

A small smile touched my lips. I wasn't just a mute refugee anymore. I was essential.

I dusted off my knees and made my way to the Pack House. The meeting hall was buzzing with noise—warriors boasting, elders grumbling, children laughing. As I entered, the noise didn't stop, but the crowd parted respectfully. They knew me now. The Silent Healer.

Eliam stood at the front, radiating power. His dark hair was swept back, his jaw set in that formidable line that made rogue wolves tremble. But when his eyes found mine, the hardness melted away.

"Before we discuss the border patrols," Eliam's deep voice boomed, silencing the room instantly. "I want to acknowledge a victory."

He beckoned me forward. My cheeks heated, but I walked to his side.

"The Smith pup, Leo, has made a full recovery from the wolfsbane poisoning," Eliam announced. "Thanks to Lara's new poultice blend."

Applause rippled through the room. I dipped my head, shy. Then, Eliam did something that still made my breath hitch, no matter how many times he did it. He turned to me, his large, calloused hands coming up.

*Thank you,* he signed, his movements precise and gentle. *You saved him.*

A collective soft sigh went through the room. The Alpha of the Crescent Moon Pack, the most feared wolf in the region, had learned sign language for a mute girl with no wolf of her own.

*It was my duty,* I signed back, my fingers trembling slightly.

Eliam stepped closer, his scent of cedar enveloping me, blocking out the rest of the world. His aura didn't crush me like Reece's used to; it felt like a shield, a warm blanket against the cold. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb brushing the edge of my scarf.

"You are more than your duty, Lara," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. "You are a gift."

My heart stuttered. I wanted to lean into his touch, to let his strength hold me up. But the scars on my throat burned with phantom pain. *Not yet,* my fear whispered. *Love is dangerous. Love burns.* I took a subtle step back. Eliam’s eyes dimmed for a fraction of a second, but he nodded, respecting my boundaries as he always did.

Later that afternoon, I drove the pack truck to the sanctuary on the southern border. It was a rehabilitation center Eliam had built for injured rogues—wolves who wanted a second chance, who were willing to work for their redemption. We needed extra hands for the harvest, and a group of community service workers from a neighboring territory was scheduled to arrive.

I parked the truck and grabbed my clipboard. The air was crisp, smelling of pine and impending winter. I checked the list of names, my finger tracing the paper. Most were petty thieves or trespassers.

A bus pulled up, the engine coughing smoke. The doors hissed open, and the 'volunteers' shuffled out, looking sullen and tired. They wore gray jumpsuits, the uniform of the disgraced.

I stood by the gate, ready to assign them to the apple orchard. I kept my gaze professional, scanning their faces. A heavy-set man. A teenager with a nose ring. A woman with a limp.

And then, him.

The clipboard slipped from my hands, clattering loudly onto the gravel.

He was thinner. His cheekbones were sharp, his skin sallow and gray. The arrogant posture of the future Beta was gone, replaced by a slump of defeat. But I would know those eyes anywhere. The eyes that had looked at me with cold indifference while I begged for my life.

Reece.

My breath trapped in my ruined throat. The world tilted on its axis. The smell of smoke and burning flesh filled my nose, vivid and suffocating. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.

He was looking down at his boots, kicking at a stone. At the sound of my clipboard hitting the ground, he looked up.

His eyes widened. The color drained from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse. His mouth opened, and for a moment, he looked as voiceless as me.

"Lara?" he whispered.

The sound of my name on his lips was a physical blow. It wasn't possible. He was supposed to be a Beta. He was supposed to be married to Ava. Why was he here, in a gray jumpsuit, getting off a bus of criminals?

He took a step forward, his hand reaching out—the same hand that had once held mine, the same hand that had rejected me. "Lara... is it really you?"

A high-pitched whine built in my chest, a scream that couldn't escape. Panic, hot and blinding, clawed at my insides. I stumbled back, my boots scraping against the gravel.

*Get away,* I wanted to scream. *Don't touch me!*

But only silence came out. Just the terrifying, suffocating silence.