I Was His Luna—Until He Buried Me Alive

I didn’t pack.

There was no point pretending this was a departure I’d chosen. Anything I took would only be proof I still believed I was allowed to leave like a person instead of being erased like a mistake.

By nightfall, the estate felt hostile in a way it never had before. Doors that once opened at my approach remained shut. Servants avoided my eyes. Wolves I’d dined with, fought beside, negotiated for—every one of them suddenly remembered something important on the opposite side of the corridor when they saw me coming.

Isolation wasn’t loud. It didn’t announce itself.

It settled.

I went to the armory first. The door was locked.

That alone told me everything I needed to know.

The Alpha’s private wing was sealed as well, guarded by two enforcers whose hands never strayed far from their weapons. They didn’t challenge me. They didn’t need to. The message was clear: whatever I did next, I would be doing it without protection.

Without witnesses.

I turned away and headed toward the old training grounds, the part of the estate closest to the northern forest. The air grew colder with every step, the moon already high enough to cast silver veins through the trees beyond the boundary stones.

The forest loomed like a living thing—ancient, dense, unforgiving. Wolves respected it for a reason. Too many had gone in chasing prey or pride and never come back.

That was where Corvin had said they would take me.

I heard footsteps behind me before I reached the edge of the clearing.

Three sets.

Measured. Deliberate.

I didn’t turn immediately. “You don’t need to pretend this is protocol,” I said quietly. “I know what this is.”

The footsteps stopped.

Then one of them spoke. “Alpha’s orders.”

I faced them at last.

Three enforcers stood in a loose line, their expressions unreadable. I recognized all of them. One had trained under my supervision. Another had been present when I’d negotiated peace with the Stoneclaw Pack. The third—young, tense—couldn’t meet my eyes.

“Escort,” I said flatly.

The first man nodded once. “Beyond the boundary.”

“And then?”

Silence.

The youngest swallowed. “We… wait.”

I let out a slow breath. The night air tasted sharp, metallic, like rain before a storm.

“Does Seraphyne know?” I asked.

The oldest answered. “She didn’t need to.”

That hurt more than if she had ordered it herself.

I stepped forward without resistance.

They led me along the narrow path that cut toward the forest’s mouth, the moonlight thinning as branches swallowed the sky. The deeper we went, the quieter the world became. No birds. No insects. Just the soft crunch of boots and the distant, restless shifting of unseen animals.

At the boundary stone, they stopped.

Ancient runes marked the slab, warnings carved deep into its surface. Beyond this point, the pack’s protection ended. Whatever happened past the stone was considered the will of the land.

One of the men cleared his throat. “You should remove your shoes.”

I stared at him. “Why?”

“Less noise,” he said. “And… better chance, if you run.”

Run.

So there it was.

I bent down slowly and slipped off my boots, setting them neatly beside the stone. The earth beneath my feet was cold and damp, needles biting into my skin.

I straightened. “You can tell Corvin something for me.”

The oldest enforcer met my gaze, jaw tight. “What?”

I smiled faintly. “That the Moon remembers who was honest.”

His expression flickered—confusion, maybe fear.

Then they stepped back.

No shove. No dramatic farewell.

Just three men retreating into the shadows, leaving me standing alone at the edge of the forest.

I waited until their footsteps faded completely before moving.

I didn’t run.

Running made noise. Panic. Easy mistakes.

Instead, I walked into the trees, placing each step carefully, listening to the forest breathe around me. The moonlight fractured through the canopy, painting the ground in shifting patterns that made distance hard to judge.

Minutes passed. Or hours.

Time dissolved into sensation—the scrape of bark against my arm, the ache creeping into my bare feet, the slow, steady thud of my heart.

Then I heard it.

A low growl, close enough that the sound vibrated through my bones.

I froze.

Another answered from deeper in the forest.

Rogues.

Drawn by unfamiliar scent. By weakness. By blood.

I backed away slowly, breath shallow, but a snapped branch betrayed me. The growl deepened, closer now, hunger unmistakable.

Movement flickered between the trees.

I turned and ran.

Branches tore at my skin as I bolted through the undergrowth, lungs burning, feet slipping on damp earth. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I could hear them—heavy bodies crashing through brush, their snarls sharp with anticipation.

A root caught my ankle.

I went down hard, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. Pain flared up my leg, hot and blinding. I scrambled, dragging myself upright just as a dark shape lunged from the shadows.

Claws raked my shoulder. Fire exploded across my back.

I screamed, the sound tearing out of me raw and broken, and stumbled forward again, vision blurring. Another blow sent me sprawling, my cheek hitting the ground, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

They circled.

I pushed myself up on shaking arms, every breath agony, my body already betraying me. My wolf—silent, distant—refused to rise. Whatever dormant thing lived inside me had never learned to fight.

So this was how it ended.

Alone. Unmarked. Forgotten.

A figure stepped from the trees.

For a heartbeat, I thought I was hallucinating.

He moved with predatory calm, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence cutting through the chaos like a blade. His eyes caught the moonlight, storm-gray and sharp, locking onto the rogues with lethal focus.

They hesitated.

That alone told me who he was.

An Alpha.

The first rogue lunged.

The man shifted mid-stride, bones snapping, fur rippling across his skin in a blur of motion. A massive wolf burst forward, larger than the others, his snarl echoing through the forest as he slammed into the attacker with brutal force.

The fight was over almost as soon as it began.

When it ended, the forest was silent again.

I sagged against a tree, my strength gone, blood soaking into the earth beneath me. The Alpha shifted back, human once more, his movements efficient, controlled.

He approached slowly, carefully, like I might disappear if he moved too fast.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low and rough.

I laughed weakly. “Funny. I was told the same thing.”

He knelt beside me, eyes scanning my injuries, his expression darkening. “Who did this?”

I swallowed, my vision dimming. “My pack.”

Something dangerous flickered across his face.

“Blackthorn,” he said, not asking.

I nodded.

He exhaled through his teeth. “They don’t throw away what’s still breathing unless they’re afraid of it.”

“I’m not worth being afraid of,” I murmured.

His gaze snapped to mine. “You survived the boundary. That alone makes you interesting.”

My strength gave out then. The world tilted, darkness creeping in from the edges.

The last thing I felt was his arms lifting me with surprising gentleness, his voice cutting through the fog as he spoke to someone I couldn’t see.

“Get her to the safe house,” he ordered. “Now.”

As consciousness slipped away, one thought anchored itself in my mind, sharp and unyielding.

They thought the forest would erase me.

They were wrong.