He Tried to Kill Me, Now I’m the Enemy Alpha’s Luna

The Council chamber seals shut behind me with a heavy, muted thud. It doesn’t echo, doesn’t ring out dramatically, yet the sound carries a finality that settles deep in my bones. This is not a door meant to be reopened once it closes.

The air inside is dense, layered with the familiar scents of ground stone, lingering ash, and that faint metallic tang that never fully leaves this place, no matter how often it’s cleansed. I keep moving. Pausing would only invite scrutiny, and hesitation here has always been treated as weakness. From the moment a Luna is chosen, she’s taught never to falter in this chamber—not even when the verdict has already been decided.

It takes me a few steps too many to realize Corvin is not at my side.

The awareness creeps in slowly, then crashes into me all at once. He stands at the center of the chamber, spine straight, hands folded behind him, engaged in calm discussion with the Elders. He looks exactly as an Alpha should here—authoritative, composed, untouchable. Not once does his gaze flick toward me as I approach.

I hadn’t expected the quiet ache that blooms in my chest when I understand what that separation signifies.

“Luna Mireya,” Elder Balthen calls out, his voice carrying effortlessly through the chamber. “You have been summoned to address concerns regarding the strength of your bond and your continued fitness to remain Luna.”

Fitness.

The word weighs more than the rest. I set my jaw and remain silent.

Without being told, I step onto the Moon sigil carved into the floor. The stone beneath my boots vibrates faintly, responding to my presence the way it always has. That reaction wasn’t granted out of courtesy or tradition. I earned it—through blood, endurance, and trials that nearly killed me. The stone remembers, even if the people standing on it no longer do.

Only then does Corvin turn.

Concern is carefully arranged on his face, measured and convincing. Anyone watching would accept it as genuine without question.

“You’re pale,” he says evenly. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” I answer.

The steadiness in my voice surprises me, and I cling to it.

One of the Elders shifts before speaking. “Over the last four moons, the Luna has failed to bring an Alpha heir to term. Each loss coincided with sanctioned blood rites performed under Alpha command for the protection of the pack.”

My chest tightens as I draw in a breath that feels insufficient.

“Did you give consent for these rites?” Balthen asks.

I part my lips to respond, but Corvin speaks first.

“She did,” he says smoothly. “Every time.”

I turn sharply toward him. “That’s not—”

His hand closes around my wrist.

The hold isn’t brutal, but it isn’t gentle either. It’s practiced, possessive, and painfully familiar. My stomach twists.

“You trusted me,” Corvin says quietly, his eyes locking onto mine. “Didn’t you?”

The bond reacts instantly, pressing down on me with its familiar weight, urging obedience, urging protection. For a fleeting moment, the instinct to shield him rises in my throat like it always has.

Then something pushes back.

I wrench my wrist free.

“I trusted you,” I say slowly, forcing my breath to steady. “Because you told me those rites were for the pack’s protection.”

The chamber falls into an uneasy stillness.

Corvin’s gaze darkens—just a fraction.

“You never told me what they would cost,” I continue.

A murmur ripples through the Elders. Balthen’s brow furrows.

“Clarify your statement, Luna.”

My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure they can hear it.

“How did Maelis benefit from my blood?” I ask.

The question slices cleanly through the room. Behind me, I hear Maelis draw in a sharp breath.

“That’s enough,” Corvin snaps.

“No,” I reply, turning fully toward her. “Every time I lost a child, Maelis grew stronger. Her wolf matured. Even her scent changed.”

The memories lock into place with cruel precision—the way her frailty vanished, the way her posture straightened, the way Corvin’s attention shifted, no longer protective, but appraising.

“That’s coincidence,” Corvin says harshly.

“Is it?” My voice trembles, but I don’t stop. “You told me my body was flawed, that the Moon had turned away from me. But my wolf never felt broken.”

I swallow.

“It felt drained.”

I face Maelis directly. “Tell them. Tell them what you did with my blood.”

Her eyes fill instantly, tears gathering just enough to look sincere.

“I never wanted any of this,” she whispers. “Corvin said there was no other way to secure the pack’s future.”

My stomach rolls.

“Maelis—” Corvin begins.

Balthen slams his staff against the floor. The crack of sound snaps through the chamber. “Alpha Corvin, answer clearly. Did you conduct blood transference rites, using the Luna’s pregnancies as conduits?”

The silence stretches, taut and unbearable.

Corvin hesitates—only for a breath, but it’s enough.

“Yes,” he says. “With Council sanction.”

The room seems to tilt sideways.

Sanction.

I drag in a breath that scorches my lungs.

“You used my children,” I whisper. “You murdered them.”

“They were never viable heirs,” Corvin responds coolly. “They were resources. Don’t dress them up as something they weren’t.”

Something inside me fractures completely.

My wolf surges forward, fury flooding my veins as the runes beneath my feet blaze silver. The chamber shudders; several Elders stagger back in alarm.

Corvin stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, my voice breaking. “They were alive.”

Maelis takes a cautious step toward me. “Mireya, please—”

“Don’t touch me.”

The growl in my voice stops her instantly. For the first time, the sweetness on her face cracks.

“You should be thankful,” she whispers venomously. “Your losses gave me a future.”

Before I can react, Balthen strikes the floor again. “Enough.”

The runes dim. The tremor fades.

“Luna Mireya,” he says heavily, “the Council must now determine whether your continued presence endangers pack stability.”

Corvin remains silent.

He doesn’t defend me. He doesn’t even look at me.

And I finally understand—this was never about my ability to bear children.

It was about replacing me.

“You’re stripping me of my title,” I say quietly.

Corvin meets my gaze at last. “For the pack’s sake.”

“And Maelis?” I ask. “What becomes of her?”

His jaw tightens. “She will complete the Heir-Binding Rite.”

“You can’t,” I breathe. “She’s not even—”

“She’s already carrying a child,” Maelis says evenly.

The chamber erupts.

The word carrying echoes in my head as cold spreads through my veins. Maelis smiles then—not softly, not with regret, but with open triumph.

Corvin moves to her side, his hand settling possessively at her back.

“The announcement will be made at the full-moon gathering,” he says. “Mireya will step aside quietly. If she refuses—”

He doesn’t finish.

He doesn’t need to.

Pain rips through my lower abdomen without warning, sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs. I gasp and drop to my knees, clutching myself as the runes ignite again, brighter than before. Torches flare white-hot.

“What is this?” Balthen swears.

Power floods me—not draining, not tearing, but answering.

My wolf howls.

Maelis stumbles back, her composure finally shattering. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

I lift my head, tears spilling freely now, and let out a fractured laugh.

“You’re wrong,” I whisper.

Then I raise my voice so every soul in the chamber hears me.

“My child still lives.”

Corvin stares at me as though I’ve risen from the grave.

And for the first time since the day he marked me, fear flickers unmistakably in my mate’s eyes.