Luna's Road to Freedom

The door to our private chambers slammed open with such force that the ancient oak panels shuddered against the stone walls. Warren stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light from the hallway, casting our bedroom into shadow. In his hands, he clutched a folder—the same one Elena had shown him earlier.

"Warren," I whispered, rising from where I'd been sitting beside Stella's sleeping form. "Please, she needs rest."

He ignored me, stalking into the room with the predatory grace of an Alpha wolf on the hunt. His eyes—those warm amber eyes that had once looked at me with such love—were now cold gold, glittering with a fury that made my wolf cower.

"Explain this," he growled, throwing the folder at my feet. Papers scattered across the polished floor, numbers and symbols swimming before my eyes. "Explain why my daughter's bloodline signature doesn't match mine."

I stared at the documents, my hands trembling as I bent to pick them up. "I don't understand. This can't be right. Warren, you know Stella is yours."

"Do I?" His voice was dangerously quiet. "The scientific evidence suggests otherwise."

"Evidence?" I clutched the papers, scanning the forged data that Elena had somehow produced. "This is wrong! Someone must have tampered with the results."

"Are you calling Elena a liar?" He stepped closer, his Alpha aura pressing down on me like a physical weight. "The pack healer who has served the Jackson line for thirty years?"

"No, but—"

"Or perhaps you're suggesting Cheyenne altered the reports?" His laugh was hollow. "The woman who volunteered to help Elena research Stella's condition out of the goodness of her heart?"

I reached for him, desperate to make contact, to remind him of our bond. "Warren, please. You know me. You know our bond."

He recoiled from my touch, and the rejection burned worse than any physical blow. "I thought I did."

"Warren—"

"Enough!" His Alpha tone vibrated through the room, making the windows rattle. "I've called an emergency pack meeting for tonight. Be there."

---

The pack hall buzzed with tension as I slipped into the back row, keeping my head high despite the whispers that followed me. Warren sat at the front, his Alpha chair elevated above the others, with Marcus and Elena flanking him. Cheyenne stood just behind his right shoulder, her hand resting possessively on the back of his chair.

"Members of the Moonstone Pack," Warren's voice carried effortlessly through the hall. "I've called this meeting to address a matter of grave importance."

My heart hammered against my ribs as he explained Stella's condition, the room falling silent with each word.

"As you know," he continued, "we have one moonstone healing crystal in our possession."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Everyone knew what that meant—a Jackson heirloom, passed down through generations.

"However," Warren's eyes found mine in the crowd, cold and unrecognizing, "after careful consideration, I've decided to use the crystal to treat Cheyenne Hunt's condition."

The room erupted in shocked gasps. I stood slowly, my legs unsteady beneath me.

"Alpha," I said, my voice carrying despite its softness. "With respect, Stella needs that crystal. Without it—"

"I'm aware of the consequences," he cut me off sharply. Then, in a voice that carried to every corner of the hall, he added: "You know better than I do whether Stella carries true Jackson bloodline."

The words hit me like physical blows. Around me, pack members drew back, their eyes filled with suspicion and judgment.

"But she's your daughter," someone whispered.

"If she is," another replied, "why would he question it?"

I stood frozen as the pack's collective gaze turned to me, no longer seeing their Luna but a stranger who had betrayed their Alpha.

---

"Rachel, darling, let me help you with that."

Cheyenne's saccharine voice followed me through the corridors of the pack house the next morning. She'd moved into the east wing—"temporarily," she'd assured everyone, "to help with Stella's care."

I clutched Stella's medicine closer to my chest. "I don't need your help."

"Oh, but you do." Her smile never reached her eyes. "The pack is so concerned about you. Such a burden, raising a child who might not even be..."

"Be careful, Cheyenne." My wolf snarled beneath my skin.

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You should hear what they're saying about you in the kitchens. About how you must have been with another wolf before Warren claimed you."

"That's a lie."

"Is it?" She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Then why does Warren believe it? Why does he look at you like you're nothing?"

I turned away, but her voice followed me.

"I'm just trying to help, Rachel. After all, someone has to take care of the pack while you're... distracted."

As I walked away, I could feel her mind brushing against mine through the pack link—a subtle pressure trying to influence my thoughts, to make me doubt myself.

And somewhere in the distance, I heard Warren's deep laugh in response to something Cheyenne had said—a sound that once belonged to me alone.