Broken Luna Returns for Revenge

I was dead.

At least, that’s what the pack would believe soon enough.

The severance scroll was still clutched in my hand when I walked out of the Silvermoon Howlers territory for the last time, my neck still burning from Brexon’s claws, my heart nothing but an empty husk.

No warrior tried to stop me. No wolf even looked my way.

I was no longer Luna. No longer a mother. Just another rogue in the brutal world of Alphas and packs.

I tightened my grip on the small satchel—Nyra’s belongings. Her moonstone bracelet, her tiny cloak, the last scent she left behind. Brexon could keep everything else. The rank, the territory, the home we built together.

But he would never erase my daughter.

I walked until my legs ached, replaying everything—the clawing strike, the accusations, the disgust in his glowing eyes. Lyssa’s triumphant smile as she held her bastard pup as if it were royalty.

This wasn’t over.

My hands trembled as I summoned a low-level mindlink request, directing it toward one wolf I trusted.

The link opened.

"Arwen?"

“Levan,” I whispered, the weight of my ruin crashing over me. “I need you.”

A pause. Then a slow exhale.

"Where are you?"

“Doesn’t matter. I need a cart, a body, and a fire.” My voice hardened. “I need the entire realm to think I’m dead.”

Another pause. Then a dark chuckle.

"So you finally stopped bleeding for him."

My jaw tightened. “Just tell me you can help.”

"I can."

“Good. Make it convincing.”

"Done. You disappear now."

I cut the link and crushed the moonstone pendant used for communication, scattering its shards across the ground. Arwen of Silvermoon died tonight.

The plan was simple.

Levan—a gamma from an enemy’s pack, a wolf whose life I’d once dragged back from the brink—owed me more than a few blood debts. He secured everything I needed: a stolen travel wagon, forged runes of identity, and most importantly—a corpse.

The body belonged to a rogue female about my height and build. A nameless wolf who’d met a violent end in some border skirmish. Maybe I should’ve felt something.

But guilt is a luxury the hunted don’t get.

We drove toward the far edge of Silvermoon territory, to a forgotten cliff road where patrols rarely passed. Levan positioned the corpse in the driver’s seat, coated the wagon in oil, and pulled out a flint spark.

But before I disappeared from this world, there was one last thing I had to do.

One last call. To say goodbye. To him.

I pressed Alpha Brexon’s frequency rune. My heart thudded as the bond-stone pulsed.

Once. Twice. Then—

“The Alpha is busy,” a honey-slick voice purred.

My gut tightened. “Lyssa.”

Her laugh slithered straight down my spine. “Still clinging to hope?” she sighed. “Calling him one last time, praying he’d take you back? Pathetic.”

My jaw clenched. “Put him on, Lyssa.”

“Why?” she mocked sweetly. “So he can claw you again? Remind you of how great a disgrace to the Silvermoon Howlers you are?” 

I swallowed hard, fingers digging into the rune stone. “Enjoy your victory while it lasts.”

“Oh, Arwen,” she giggled, “I already have.”

I stayed silent, breath sharp, pulse thundering.

Then she said something that ripped the air out of my lungs.

“Strange, isn’t it,” she mused, voice thick with amusement, “how your little pup died… when Orrin was never sick at all.”

My world tilted. “What did you say?” I whispered.

Her laughter was pure venom. “We made it all up,” she sang. “And your noble Alpha? He believed every word.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Nyra died… for nothing. Brexon gave her lifeblood to a boy who didn’t even need healing. They let my daughter die for a lie.

The call ended, her laughter echoing like a curse.

My hand went limp. The stone slipped from my fingers and hit the ground. My vision blurred, shaking with a fury that felt more wolf than human.

I didn’t shift. I didn’t scream. I simply… burned.

Lyssa. Brexon. Every wolf who watched and stayed silent. They would pay.

Levan studied me carefully. “If we torch this, you vanish. There’s no returning to Silvermoon.”

I stared at the spark flickering in his hand. “I left that pack the moment they let my pup die.”

He tossed the spark into the cart. Flames exploded upward, devouring cloth, wood, and the body meant to become me. Heat clawed at my skin as I stepped back, watching the false Arwen turn to ash.

The patrolling warriors would eventually find the wreckage. Their reports would go straight to the Gammas and Deltas, and soon enough, word would reach Brexon—he would hear of his former Luna’s fiery death while sitting in his office. He would remain unmoved, showing not even a flicker of emotion, exactly as I expected.

But he was never the reason I did any of this.

I did it for myself. For Nyra. To reclaim every piece of my life I had wasted loving an Alpha who was never worthy of my devotion.

I left by dawn. 

Levan led me through rogue borders, slipping me between patrols until no Silvermoon could sniff me out.

A new identity. A new mask. But inside?

I was still Arwen. Still the Luna who lost everything. Still the one who would make them pay.

In a grimy inn deep within neutral lands, I stared at my reflection in a cracked mirror. I ran my hand through my newly dyed midnight hair. Brexon used to bury his fingers in my golden curls, whispering forever.

That woman was dead.

“It’s hell from here on,” I muttered.

The world believed Arwen of the Silvermoon Howlers had perished in flames.

But the creature rising in her place?

She was only getting started.