I Was His Luna—Until He Buried Me Alive

I drifted in and out of consciousness for days.

At least, I thought it was days. Time lost its edges when pain became the only reliable measure of reality. Sometimes I woke to the crackle of fire. Sometimes to the murmur of voices I couldn’t quite grasp. Sometimes to nothing at all—just darkness pressing in, heavy and warm, like the forest still had me in its grip.

When I finally stayed awake long enough to understand where I was, the first thing I noticed was the ceiling.

Wooden beams. Rough-hewn, old. Not pack architecture. No sigils. No polished stone floors or ceremonial carvings. Just a low roof, a faint smell of pine smoke, and the soft glow of moonlight filtering through a narrow window.

I turned my head and regretted it immediately.

Pain flared along my shoulder and ribs, sharp enough to steal my breath. I bit down on a cry and stared at my arm, wrapped in clean linen, faintly stained with blood.

“You’re awake,” a voice said calmly.

I looked toward the sound.

The Alpha from the forest leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, posture relaxed in a way that only truly dangerous men ever mastered. He had changed clothes since the fight—dark fabric, simple cut, nothing ornamental—but his presence filled the room regardless.

“You don’t look surprised,” I managed, my voice hoarse.

He tilted his head slightly. “You don’t look like someone who scares easily.”

I almost laughed. It came out more like a breath. “You saved me.”

“I intervened,” he corrected. “Saving implies intention.”

I studied him more closely then. Storm-gray eyes. Scar along his jaw, half-hidden in shadow. The faint hum of power beneath his skin, steady and restrained.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Aleth,” he said after a moment. “Alpha of the Ashen Ridge.”

Ashen Ridge.

A rival pack. Exiled by the Council generations ago for refusing to bend to lunar law. Wolves whispered their name with equal parts fear and respect.

“And you?” he asked.

“Elowen,” I said. “Former Luna of Blackthorn.”

His eyes sharpened. “Former.”

“They never bonded me,” I added quietly. “I was never recognized.”

Something in his expression shifted—interest, maybe. Or calculation.

He pushed off the wall and crossed the room, stopping beside the bed. “You crossed the northern boundary unmarked,” he said. “Survived a rogue attack without a wolf. And Blackthorn chose to discard you.”

“That about sums it up.”

He studied me in silence for a long moment. “You know what that looks like from the outside.”

I swallowed. “Enlighten me.”

“It looks like fear,” he said simply.

I closed my eyes, exhaustion pulling at me again. “They had no reason to be afraid.”

Aleth snorted softly. “They always do.”

When I slept again, the dreams were different.

No screaming. No claws.

Just the Moon.

She hung low and impossibly close, silver light pouring down over a forest that felt alive in a way it never had before. I stood barefoot in the clearing, unbroken, unbleeding, my skin humming with something I didn’t recognize.

You are late, the Moon seemed to whisper.

“I wasn’t invited,” I replied in the dream.

A pause. Then—

You were hidden.

I woke with my heart racing, my skin warm, my blood humming faintly beneath it.

Days passed.

My wounds closed faster than they should have. The gashes along my shoulder knit cleanly, leaving thin, pale scars. The ache in my ribs dulled to something manageable. Aleth’s healers said little, but their glances lingered on me longer each time they changed my bandages.

“You’re not fragile,” one of them muttered once, half to herself.

On the seventh night, Aleth returned with news.

He didn’t sit this time. He stood at the foot of the bed, his expression unreadable.

“Blackthorn announced your death,” he said.

The words didn’t land all at once. They scattered, sharp and cold.

“Death?” I echoed.

“Rogue attack beyond the northern forest,” he continued. “Your body was never recovered.”

I closed my eyes, a strange, hollow laugh bubbling up in my chest. “Efficient.”

“They held a Moon Burial Rite,” Aleth added. “An empty grave. Your name carved into stone.”

Something twisted inside me—not pain, not quite grief. More like… disbelief.

“They didn’t even pretend to look for me.”

Aleth’s gaze held mine. “They mourned convincingly.”

I laughed then. Really laughed. It cracked out of me, ugly and raw, startling even myself. Tears slid down my temples, but I didn’t wipe them away.

“So that’s it,” I said softly. “I’m dead.”

“As far as the packs are concerned,” he agreed. “Yes.”

Silence stretched between us.

Finally, he asked, “Do you want them to know you’re alive?”

I thought of the council chamber. Of Seraphyne’s calm smile. Of Corvin’s voice ordering my removal as if he were discarding an inconvenience.

“No,” I said slowly. “Not yet.”

Aleth nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. “Good.”

He turned to leave, then paused. “The Moon doesn’t erase what it hasn’t claimed,” he said over his shoulder. “If she wanted you gone, you’d be gone.”

After he left, I sat up carefully and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold beneath my feet, grounding.

Dead.

They thought I was dead.

I moved to the small mirror on the far wall and studied my reflection. I looked thinner. Paler. The woman staring back at me seemed sharper somehow, as if the softness had been burned away, leaving something lean and dangerous underneath.

“I died once,” I whispered to her.

She didn’t look afraid.

That night, Aleth took me outside.

The sky was clear, the Moon full and luminous, bathing the mountains in silver. We stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the valley, the world stretching vast and indifferent below us.

“Blackthorn will move on quickly,” Aleth said. “They always do. Corvin will formalize his bond. His heir will be presented to the Council.”

I said nothing.

“They’ll tell your story however it suits them,” he continued. “A weak Luna. An unfortunate loss. A necessary correction.”

I inhaled slowly, the cold air filling my lungs. “Let them.”

Aleth studied me from the corner of his eye. “And what will you do?”

I looked up at the Moon, her light washing over my skin, warm and electric. Something stirred deep inside me—not a wolf, not yet, but a presence that felt old and patient.

“I’ll learn,” I said. “I’ll heal. And when I walk back into their world…”

I turned to him, my voice steady, my resolve iron-hard.

“…it won’t be as a Luna.”

Aleth’s lips curved, slow and dangerous. “Good.”

Below us, the wind howled through the mountains like a warning—or a promise.

The Moon shone brighter, as if she were listening.