Rejected Luna's Final Curse

Until a year ago, my widowed sister, Leona Reynolds, was found pregnant during her mourning period.

The pack was deeply ashamed and demanded to know the father. In the middle of a stormy night, Lukas Reynolds, the Lycan King, arrived in his sleek black SUV and carried Leona, clad in mourning attire, into the royal estate, shielding her from judgment.

The pack elders voiced their disapproval, but Lukas dismissed them with a cold remark: “The Luna has no heir, and the pack lacks stability.” Only Frederick Butler, the loyal Gamma, dared to challenge him further, standing outside the estate despite the pouring rain.

Lukas, furious, called him “a stubborn fool” and exiled him to a remote territory, stripping him of his rank.

After that, the elders began debating what title to bestow upon Leona—whether she should be named “Grace” or “Rose.”

When I received the news, I stormed into the estate with claws unsheathed, my heart heavy with a terrible hesitation.

Over the years, I had heard whispers—rumors that Conor Palmer, the former mate of Leona, had never consummated their bond and had died under suspicious circumstances after Lukas ascended the throne.

When I hesitated, Leona proudly stroked her rounded belly, covering her smirk with a delicate hand.

She laughed at my fear, my sincerity, and the years I had been deceived, serving as her pawn:

“Sister, Lukas always wanted me. But the fight for the throne was too dangerous. He couldn’t risk losing the support of our pack, nor could he risk me.

“So he arranged for me to bond with Conor as a shield and chose you, the illegitimate daughter, to stand in front.”

She glanced at my unsheathed claws, seeing through my forced bravado:

“Sister, did you know you could have had a child?

“But that day, you were left in the freezing water, and it happened to be my birthday.

“I told Lukas I wanted the honey cakes from the royal kitchens. He rushed to bring them to me, still warm.

“But I found them too sweet and didn’t take a single bite.”

The memory of those five years of bitter medicines seized my heart, the taste of herbs and blood rising in my throat.

Before I knew it, my claws had slashed through the beaded curtain.

Beads scattered across the floor, mingling with Leona’s screams as blood gushed from between her legs.

She hadn’t expected me to strike, and in her panic, she stumbled and fell.

Lukas rushed in, his hand striking my face with such force that I staggered.

I refused to let the tears fall, staring at him with a bitter smile, each word dripping with pain:

“Lukas, the next time I see her, I’ll kill her.”

At my words, any trace of guilt in his eyes vanished:

“You’re insane! Greedy and heartless!

“You can’t bear a child, so you won’t let anyone else have one either?”

I wanted to laugh, but tears streamed down my face instead:

“Lukas, did you really come for me that day?”

He froze, unable to speak a word.

The truth, delayed and rusted, cut through my heart like a dull blade.

From then on, except for pack ceremonies and relief efforts, I avoided Lukas and refused the bitter medicines that made me cringe.

Until six months ago, on my birthday, Lukas brought six-year-old Wade to me.

The summer heat was oppressive as I oversaw the inventory of gifts from pack members.

When Lukas arrived that evening, I thought he was here to apologize, that the child belonged to one of the elders.

He pushed the timid Wade toward me, his patience worn thin by my cold demeanor:

“This child is from a distant branch of the pack. He’ll bear your name. Now you won’t have to worry about gossip or losing your position. Even if Leona joins the royal estate, you’ll always be the Luna.”

I set down the ledger, meeting his gaze without flinching:

“You can take as many mates as you want, a hundred or a thousand. I don’t care.

“But if Leona enters the royal estate, it will be over my dead body.”

My defiance finally broke his composure. He turned and left, throwing over his shoulder:

“Coraline, you have a child now. I owe you nothing.”

The wind made the chandelier sway, the hum of insects mingling with Wade’s cries.

He wiped his tears and hit me with tiny fists:

“They say you’re a monster, that you took me from my mom because you can’t have kids.”

Samson Stewart, the loyal Omega, tried to silence him, but I shook my head and gestured for him to let the boy speak.

I didn’t know how to comfort a child, but I noticed a box of dried apricots from the southern territories.

Samson, an experienced Omega who had entertained many young wolves, brought a golden cricket box and crouched to amuse Wade.

After eating the apricots and tiring himself out, Wade fell asleep.

“When he wakes, send him back. His mother must miss him dearly.”

I put away the apricots, suddenly remembering how a similar treat had often accompanied my bitter medicines.

The note attached to the box bore elegant handwriting, the strokes oddly familiar yet unplaceable:

“Do not let your finite life be consumed by endless sorrow.”

The words stirred something in me, and I turned to Jane Diaz, my attendant:

“How many birthdays have I celebrated now?”

Jane paused, then smiled softly:

“Your Luna’s grace, you’re only twenty-three.”

I had bonded with Lukas at fourteen, spent three years in isolation, five years swallowing medicines, and one year locked in a deadly feud with Leona.

I smiled faintly, resting my chin on my hand as I watched the crippled cricket in the golden box, still putting up a brave front.

It reminded me of myself—pitiful yet absurd.

Now, as I came to my senses, snow began to fall outside.

Samson, noticing my pale face and labored breathing, signaled to his apprentice to quietly bring some firewood.

Before my falling out with Lukas, he had ensured the royal estate was always warm, knowing how the cold worsened my condition.

But now, the lack of medicine and firewood was his way of breaking my spirit, forcing me to submit.

I didn’t want to burden Samson or see the staff punished because of me.

But when the cold gripped me, it felt like shards of ice pierced every part of my body, bringing tears and sweat to my skin.

In moments of agony, I would kneel, humbled and broken, my pride shattered.

With the warmth of the fire and a bowl of herbal medicine, the sweetness of the apricots chased away most of the bitterness.

When I had thought of leaving, I had hesitated, unsure of where to go in this vast world.

But now, holding the medicine bowl, I glanced at the faded note on the apricot box and asked softly:

“Samson, is the southern territory cold?”

“That place is hot and humid, unbearable in summer! Why do you ask, Luna?”

No reason.

If the south is warm, then I’ll go there.

If there’s no snow, perhaps the pain will fade.

Then I won’t have to kneel for a handful of firewood, losing the last shred of my self-respect.