I Was His Luna—Until He Buried Me Alive

The pack felt different before anyone said a word.

It wasn’t dramatic. No alarms. No open hostility. Just a subtle shift in the air, like the land itself had drawn a breath and decided not to exhale around me anymore. Wolves were sensitive creatures. They felt truth long before it was spoken aloud.

By dusk, they already knew.

I stood on the balcony overlooking the inner grounds, fingers curled around the stone railing as torches were lit one by one below. Pack members gathered in clusters, their voices low, their laughter restrained. When I passed among them, conversations slowed. Heads dipped—not in respect, but in uncertainty.

For the first time since I’d taken my place beside Corvin, no one called me Luna.

The sound of hooves echoed from beyond the gates just as the moon began its climb.

The guards straightened. Elder wolves stepped forward. A murmur rippled through the courtyard, sharp with recognition and something dangerously close to reverence.

She arrived on a black-coated stallion, her posture easy, unburdened, like she had never left. Her hair was loose, dark and thick, brushing her waist, catching silver where the moonlight kissed it. She wore no crown, no symbols of rank—she didn’t need them.

The Moon had already claimed her.

I felt it before I saw the mark.

It curved along her collarbone, pale and luminous, a crescent burn that pulsed softly in time with my heartbeat. The true mate mark. Undeniable. Alive.

Seraphyne Vale dismounted gracefully, boots touching Blackthorn soil as if it had been waiting for her all these years.

And behind her—

A child.

He couldn’t have been more than five. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. A faint shimmer of power clinging to his small form like static in the air. He scanned the courtyard with open curiosity, utterly unafraid.

When his gaze landed on Corvin, his face lit up.

“Father.”

The word rang through the silence like a bell struck too hard.

Corvin moved without hesitation. He crossed the courtyard in long strides, dropping to one knee before the boy, hands steady as he cupped the child’s face.

You don’t fake that kind of instinct.

My fingers tightened painfully against the railing.

Seraphyne watched them with a small, knowing smile, her gaze lifting slowly until it met mine across the courtyard. There was no surprise in her eyes. No confusion.

Only assessment.

As if she were finally seeing the thing that had been misplaced in her absence.

The pack bowed.

Not formally. Not on command. But instinctively, wolves lowering their heads to the Luna their blood recognized.

No one looked at me.

Corvin rose, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder, pride unmistakable in his posture. He turned, finally acknowledging the watching crowd.

“Pack of Blackthorn,” he said, his voice carrying easily. “Tonight, the Moon restores what was once broken.”

His gaze slid to me briefly. Empty. Polite. Finished.

“Seraphyne Vale has returned,” he continued. “With my son. With my heir.”

The words pressed into my ribs until breathing hurt.

Seraphyne stepped forward, laying a hand over the boy’s head. “This is Elion,” she said softly. “Born under the Blood Moon. Bound to this land.”

A collective inhale rippled through the wolves.

Blood Moon born.

Of course he was.

I descended the stairs slowly, each step measured, my spine straight even as something inside me cracked open with every heartbeat. I stopped several paces away, the distance between us suddenly vast.

“Welcome back,” I said, my voice steady by sheer will. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

Seraphyne’s smile widened just a fraction. “Long enough.”

Her gaze flicked to my hands, bare. To my neck. To the absence of a mark she had always known was missing.

Understanding settled in her eyes like smoke.

“You must be the one who kept my place warm,” she said gently. Not cruelly. Worse—casually.

I didn’t answer.

Corvin cleared his throat. “Elowen has managed the pack in your absence,” he said. “She’s been… capable.”

Capable.

Five years reduced to a word you might use for a steward.

Seraphyne inclined her head toward me, polite. Dismissive. “I’m sure.”

Elion tugged at Corvin’s hand. “Is this her?” he asked, tilting his head. “The lady you told me about?”

Corvin stiffened. “Enough.”

But Seraphyne crouched, meeting her son’s eyes. “Yes,” she said. “She is.”

The boy studied me openly, his gaze sharp in a way children’s rarely were. Then he frowned.

“She doesn’t smell like you,” he said.

The courtyard went still.

Seraphyne rose smoothly, her eyes never leaving mine. “No,” she agreed. “She wouldn’t.”

That night, the pack feasted.

I sat at the high table out of habit more than invitation, untouched food cooling before me as laughter rose around us. Corvin sat beside Seraphyne, their shoulders brushing, their wolves murmuring softly beneath their skins.

He never once reached for me.

Elders addressed Seraphyne directly, voices warm, deferential. Matters I’d overseen for years were discussed as if I’d never existed. When I spoke, responses came a heartbeat too late, eyes sliding past me to her.

By the third cup of wine, I understood.

They weren’t waiting for Corvin to choose.

They already had.

I rose before the feast ended.

No one stopped me.

The corridor outside the hall was cool and dim, the familiar stone walls suddenly foreign. I had just reached the bend toward my chambers when footsteps echoed behind me.

“Elowen.”

I turned.

Corvin stood there alone, his expression controlled, his wolf silent behind his eyes.

“She’ll take the east wing,” he said. “With Elion.”

I said nothing.

“It’s temporary,” he added, because lies were easier than silence. “Until things settle.”

“Settle,” I repeated softly.

His jaw tightened. “You knew this day might come.”

“No,” I said, finally looking at him. “I knew you were distant. I didn’t know you were a liar.”

The word struck. His eyes darkened.

“Lower your voice.”

“Why?” I asked. “Afraid she’ll hear the truth?”

He stepped closer. “You were never meant to last.”

The honesty was almost kind.

“The pack needed stability. You gave it. I won’t deny that. But this—” he gestured vaguely toward the hall, toward her, toward the bond burning bright enough for everyone to see, “—this is what the Moon intended.”

“And me?” I asked.

His silence answered.

Later that night, as I lay awake in chambers that no longer felt like mine, the Moon climbed higher, its light spilling silver across the floor.

Somewhere beyond the walls, wolves lifted their heads and howled.

Not for me.

Not anymore.