I Was His Luna—Until He Buried Me Alive

I woke before dawn to the sound of boots in the corridor.

Not hurried. Not secretive. Just the steady rhythm of people who believed they had every right to move through the east wing as if it already belonged to them.

When I opened my door, two maids were passing with folded linens, their eyes fixed carefully on the floor. A third followed behind with a basket of herbs and a jar of salve—wolfbane-free, the kind reserved for pups and Lunas.

None of it was for me.

I watched them disappear into the next corridor, the one that led to the rooms that had always been locked, always “under renovation,” always waiting for a future Corvin insisted we didn’t need to rush.

The future had arrived overnight.

By the time I dressed, the estate was already awake. The pack moved with a restless energy, the way wolves did when the hierarchy had shifted and their instincts were trying to catch up.

I went to the council chamber out of habit. Out of stubbornness. The chamber doors were carved with the Blackthorn crest—a wolf’s head crowned with thorns—and I had passed through them at Corvin’s side more times than I could count. Meetings, disputes, allocations, border negotiations. I had sat in the Luna’s chair and spoken with the authority of a woman who believed she belonged there.

Today, the guards at the door hesitated.

“Luna,” one began.

His voice trailed off as if the title had burned his tongue.

I lifted my chin. “Open it.”

They did, but not with the crisp obedience I was used to. Their hands were slower, their eyes cautious. Fearful of being seen deferring to the wrong woman.

Inside, the elders were already seated in a half-circle, their silver hair braided with charms and bone beads. Corvin stood at the head, one hand resting on the back of the Alpha’s chair, posture composed. Seraphyne sat to his right—an unspoken claim—while Elion perched beside her on a cushioned bench, swinging his legs as if council sessions were bedtime stories.

The chair I’d always taken was still there.

Empty.

I stepped forward, my footsteps echoing in the hush. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Elder Marius cleared his throat.

“Elowen,” he said, carefully, as if my name was the only safe thing left. “We weren’t expecting you.”

I forced a small, controlled smile. “That’s interesting. I’ve attended every council meeting for five years.”

Elder Nessa looked away. “Circumstances have changed.”

Seraphyne’s gaze found mine, calm and sharp. “It’s not personal,” she said softly. “It’s simply order.”

Order.

As if I were a chair being moved to make space for its rightful owner.

Corvin didn’t look at me. “Sit,” he said, gesturing vaguely—toward the lower benches along the wall.

Not the Luna’s chair.

A hot pulse of humiliation rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Wolves didn’t survive by giving their enemies the satisfaction of visible pain.

“I’ll stand,” I said.

Corvin’s eyes flicked to mine at last. A warning. I held it.

Elder Marius began anyway, voice formal. “We are here to discuss the renewal of the eastern border treaty, the redistribution of the riverlands, and the confirmation of succession.”

My spine tightened. Succession. Of course.

He continued, “With the return of Luna Seraphyne and the presence of the Alpha’s blood heir, it is time we restore the line as the Moon intended.”

Seraphyne laid a hand on Elion’s shoulder, her fingers gentle. The boy leaned into her touch instinctively, eyes bright.

Elder Nessa smiled at him. “He’s strong.”

“I can feel it,” another elder murmured. “The land responds to him.”

“The Blackthorn blood,” someone else agreed. “It’s been too long since we had a true heir.”

My nails dug into my palm. “So all of this,” I said quietly, “is about an heir.”

The chamber went still.

Corvin’s jaw flexed. Seraphyne’s expression didn’t shift.

Elder Marius sighed. “Elowen, you knew the burden of a Luna.”

“I knew the expectations placed on a Luna,” I corrected. “I didn’t know I was never one.”

The words fell heavy.

A few elders exchanged glances, uncomfortable.

Seraphyne tilted her head. “You went to the Scriptorium,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“And the Keeper told you.”

“She told me the truth,” I replied, refusing to look away. “The Moon never recognized me. My bond was forged.”

A sharp inhale came from somewhere to my left.

Corvin stepped forward. “That’s enough.”

“No,” I said, my voice steady but edged. “It’s not.”

His eyes darkened, wolf-shadow rising behind them. “You’re going to make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Harder?” I repeated, almost laughing. “You stole my place and called it order. You lied to my face for five years and called it stability. And now you want me to be quiet because the pack is watching?”

Seraphyne’s lips curved faintly. “They are watching,” she agreed.

It was a warning dressed as calm.

Elder Marius raised a hand. “Enough. This meeting is not for grievances.”

“It is for the pack,” Elder Nessa added quickly. “And the pack needs peace.”

Peace.

They always said peace when they meant submission.

Corvin leaned toward me, voice low enough that only I could hear. “Leave,” he said. “Before you embarrass yourself.”

My breath came shallow. “Embarrass myself?” I whispered back. “I built your alliances. I negotiated with rival packs. I bled for your territory when the rogues invaded. And you think the embarrassment is mine?”

His gaze hardened. “You did what you were allowed to do.”

Allowed.

As if my work had been a privilege.

Seraphyne rose then, smoothing her dress. The movement drew every eye in the chamber. She took a slow step forward, stopping just short of me, close enough that her scent wrapped around my senses—winter pine and moonlight, sharp and pure.

True mate.

True Luna.

Her voice was soft. “Elowen, I don’t hate you.”

That surprised me more than cruelty would have.

She continued, “I understand why you held on. Anyone would. But you’re standing in a place that was never yours, and the longer you cling to it, the more painful this becomes for everyone.”

“For everyone,” I echoed.

She nodded. “For the pack. For Corvin. For the child.”

And there it was, the subtle blade.

For the child.

My throat tightened. “You mean for me.”

Seraphyne’s eyes didn’t flinch. “You can leave with dignity,” she said. “Or you can be dragged out without it.”

The elders pretended not to hear. They stared at the table, at their hands, at anything except my face.

Corvin said nothing.

That was the moment I understood the full truth: this wasn’t Seraphyne returning to reclaim what she’d lost. This was Corvin and the council restoring a story they’d always intended to tell.

I had just been a placeholder in the chapters they wanted to skip.

I turned sharply and walked out of the chamber, my steps fast, my vision narrowing. I didn’t stop until I reached the quiet corridor leading toward the greenhouse—my one refuge in this estate. The place I’d poured my restless energy into, the only corner of Blackthorn land that felt like mine.

But when I pushed open the glass door, I froze.

The greenhouse was full of men.

Pack enforcers. Broad-shouldered, silent, their wolves pressed close beneath their skin. They were pulling up planters, tipping over pots, ripping flowering vines from their trellises. The air was thick with torn greenery and crushed blossoms.

One of them held a pot in his hands—an orchid I had nurtured for months—before smashing it against the stone walkway like it meant nothing.

“What are you doing?” My voice came out too sharp.

The men paused.

Then one stepped forward, head lowered slightly in respect, but not enough.

“Orders,” he said.

“From whom?”

He hesitated, glancing past me as if checking for permission to speak.

Then he said, “From the Luna.”

The words struck with sick clarity.

Not from Corvin.

Not from the council.

From her.

My chest tightened. I stepped forward, my gaze darting across the wreckage. A tag lay cracked on the floor, my handwriting smeared with soil. Another pot was overturned, roots exposed like ribs.

“Stop,” I said again, quieter. Deadlier.

The man’s jaw flexed. “We can’t.”

I looked at his face—one I recognized. A guard I had once convinced Corvin not to banish after a mistake. A man whose mother I had sent herbs to during winter sickness.

His eyes held a flicker of regret.

But his hands didn’t stop moving.

I turned slowly, breath steadying with effort, and saw her in the doorway.

Seraphyne stood there as if she belonged in this space more than I ever had. The moonlight behind her framed her silhouette, making her look carved from silver and shadow.

She surveyed the destruction with calm approval.

“Elion has allergies,” she said casually. “Certain blooms irritate him.”

I stared at her. “So you destroy everything?”

She shrugged slightly. “It’s only a greenhouse.”

Only.

My throat tightened, rage hot and pure. “You waited five years to come back,” I said, voice low. “And your first act is to erase me.”

Seraphyne’s gaze held mine, steady and cold now. “I’m not erasing you, Elowen,” she said. “You were never written into this pack’s true story.”

Behind her, footsteps echoed.

Corvin.

He stopped beside her, eyes scanning the wreckage. Something flickered in his expression—brief, unreadable—then hardened again.

“Let it go,” he said flatly.

I looked at him, really looked, searching for the man I’d believed in, the partner I’d protected, the Alpha who had promised me we were building something real.

All I saw was a stranger in my home.

And then his voice came soft, almost bored, like he was issuing an administrative order.

“Tonight, you’re leaving the estate.”

My breath caught. “Where am I supposed to go?”

His eyes stayed cold. “Anywhere but here.”

Seraphyne’s hand slid to Elion’s shoulder as the boy peeked around her legs, curious.

Corvin didn’t even glance at him when he said the words that made my blood turn to ice.

“If you refuse,” he added, “the pack will escort you.”

And I knew what that meant.

Not escort.

Removal.

The kind you didn’t return from.