The Luna Betrayed by the Dravenwood Alpha

Aria’s POV

“Who’s going to the capital?”

The voice rang through the room like a whip, sharp and commanding. My heart gave a jolt as Alpha Kael stepped inside, his presence filling the space in that arrogant, unyielding way that always made it hard to breathe.

Elder Naomi straightened, her wolf aura firm, but her voice calm. “Aria will go.”

Her words made the decision sound simple, almost ceremonial. And so, I lifted my chin and gave a small nod, confirming it myself. “Yes. I will.”

Kael’s eyes narrowed, his gaze pinning me as though he could dig into the marrow of my bones. Then, without hesitation, he said, “Then I will accompany you.”

The words hit me like a stone to the chest. For a moment, I couldn’t even process them. He wanted to come with me? To the capital?

I let out a bitter laugh in my head. How ironic.

Just a few months ago, I had asked him to go with me. I had begged him to make time, to walk beside me on that journey. He had promised. But on the day of the flight, I had stood at the airport for hours. Waiting until the terminals emptied. Waiting until my hope crumbled. Midnight had come, but he never had.

Later, I found out why. Livia.

She had whispered to him about how she wanted to see the world—cities, packs, oceans—anything beyond the poor omega life she came from. And behind my back, he had booked tickets with her, flying across territories, spending nearly a month at her side.

And now, here he was. Saying he would accompany me.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I only knew the bitterness sat heavy in my throat.

“You don’t have to,” I said quietly, my eyes never leaving his.

But Kael, being Kael, smirked as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “No. I will. Because I know you. You’ll cry later, beg me to come. You’ve always been afraid to travel alone.”

His words were sharp with arrogance, laced with the dominance he always wore. Once upon a time, they would have cut me, and I might have clung to him despite the wound. But now, I only stared at him, silent.

Inside, my wolf stirred. She wanted to snap back, to tell him we were no longer that fragile, no longer the woman who couldn’t breathe without him. I wanted to tell him that I had learned how to do things alone. That he wasn’t my anchor anymore.

But I said nothing.

My silence seemed to unsettle him. His eyes lingered on me, searching, testing. At last, he sighed, turning away. “Fine. I’ll check on Livia now. She’s frightened.”

Of course. Livia was frightened. Always frightened. Always needing him.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to scoff. He could save her, coddle her, shield her from shadows if he wished. She had already taken everything else.

But then he turned back, his gaze sliding to his mother. His words, casual yet cutting, fell into the air like a blade, “Mother, take care of your daughter-in-law.”

For a moment, I froze. Daughter-in-law. My heart stuttered at the title. It was the first time I had heard it since he’d signed the break-off papers. Did he say it out of habit? Out of cruelty? Or was it his way of pretending Livia didn’t exist for the span of a heartbeat?

Elder Naomi flinched, her gaze flickering toward me, filled with sorrow. But I only forced a small smile, my lips curving in a way that wasn’t joy at all. “I’m fine, Alpha,” I replied softly, though the word was for him more than her.

His eyes met mine again. A storm brewed there—anger, guilt, maybe even something deeper—but he quickly masked it. “I’ll come with you to the capital,” he repeated, as if declaring it would make it true.

I gave him another smile, this one sharper. “Yes.”

The air grew heavy between us, our wolves silent in the tension.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Tomorrow, I’ll buy you your favorite sushi. The one from the shop near the plaza. You always crave it before a trip.”

A shard of memory pierced me, him feeding me that very sushi years ago, when we were inseparable, when he wanted to know every detail of my likes and dislikes. Now, it felt like a cruel echo.

I nodded once, curtly. “Goodbye.”

The word tasted final, though he didn’t seem to hear it that way. He lingered for a breath, as if waiting for me to call him back, to soften, to let him in again.

But I didn’t.