My Husband Tried to Kill Me for His Chosen Luna

The silence that followed August's words through our mind-link was deafening. I stood frozen, unable to process the casual cruelty in his tone. Before I could respond, Demi's voice cut through the air again.

"Is that August on the phone?" she asked, her lips curving into a malicious smile as she pulled out her own phone. "Let me join the conversation."

My stomach dropped as she tapped the screen and held the phone up. August's voice filled the space between us, echoing from her speaker.

"Anastasia, what's going on? Why are you still there?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but Demi's eyes gleamed with triumph as she spoke first.

"Hey, baby. Your wife is being difficult. She's making a scene at our villa."

Our villa. The casual possessiveness in her voice made my wolf howl with rage.

"Anastasia," August's voice hardened through the link and the phone speaker simultaneously. "I told you to leave."

The receptionist and several staff members who had gathered nearby watched with wide eyes. This wasn't just a private humiliation anymore—August was broadcasting his betrayal to everyone present.

"August," I began, fighting to keep my voice steady. "You can't possibly—"

"I can and I am," he cut me off. Then I felt it—the crushing weight of his Alpha command pressing down through our bond.

"Submit."

The word reverberated through my mind-link with the full force of his Alpha authority. My wolf, who had been snarling with defiance seconds before, whimpered and lowered her head instinctively. The submission was involuntary, primal—a response built into every werewolf's DNA.

My knees buckled slightly as the command took hold. I gasped, fighting against the compulsion, but it was useless. An Alpha's direct command to his Luna was nearly impossible to resist.

"Oh, this is priceless," Demi laughed, her voice echoing through the phone's speaker. She held the phone higher, making sure everyone could hear. "Look at her, August. Your mighty Luna can't even stand up straight."

Sasha's hand gripped my arm, steadying me as I struggled against the command. Her touch anchored me, reminding me that I wasn't alone.

"You're hurting her," Sasha said, her voice quavering but determined as she stepped forward. "You're hurting my sister-in-law."

Demi's gaze shifted to Sasha, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "And who are you supposed to be? The cripple's spokesperson?"

"I'm Sasha Arnold," she said, her voice gaining strength with each word. "And you're a thief."

The word hung in the air between us. Demi's expression darkened, her pleasant mask slipping to reveal something ugly underneath.

"A thief?" she repeated softly. Then she snapped her fingers sharply.

The sound echoed through the courtyard, and suddenly five large men emerged from the shadows of the villa. They moved with practiced precision, forming a semicircle around us.

"These are my security team," Demi said with false sweetness. "They're here to make sure nothing... unfortunate happens."

I inhaled sharply, catching their scent. It wasn't the clean, earthy smell of pack warriors. These men reeked of the outside—of rogue territories and lawlessness.

"They're not pack," I whispered to Sasha. "They're rogues."

Demi's smile widened. "Very observant, Luna. August pays them well to handle... delicate situations."

One of the men stepped forward, his eyes cold as he assessed us. I pushed Sasha behind me protectively, but she surprised me by stepping out from my shadow.

"You can't do this," she said, her voice stronger than I'd ever heard it. "The Moon Goddess's Tear belongs to the true Luna."

Something dangerous flashed in Demi's eyes. Without warning, she lunged forward and snatched the velvet pouch from my bag—the one containing Sasha's precious healing artifacts.

"Let's see how much you need these," she hissed.

With deliberate cruelty, she upended the pouch over the stone pathway. The sound of glass vials shattering echoed through the courtyard as precious herbs and oils spilled onto the ground.

"No!" Sasha cried out, reaching for the scattered remains.

Demi's laughter rang out as she brought her heel down on a glass vial, grinding it into the pavement with a sickening crunch. The scent of crushed lavender and sage—herbs meant to soothe Sasha's traumatized wolf—filled the air.

"Oops," she said with mock innocence. "Looks like someone's healing journey just hit a snag."

I watched in horror as she systematically destroyed each vial, each carefully gathered ingredient that had taken months to collect. These weren't just herbs—they were Sasha's hope, her chance at recovery.

"Stop," I pleaded, my voice breaking as I watched the last vial crumble under Demi's heel.

She looked up at me, her eyes glittering with malice. "Make me."