The Luna They Destroyed, The Queen They Lost

"Take the eastern trail, Clara," Sophia said, tightening the silver clasp of her fur mantle. "Adrian said the northern scouts need the reserve flares before the hunt begins."

Pine branches groaned under the weight of fresh snow. Around the base camp, dozens of noble wolves from the allied houses laughed around iron fire braziers, their breath misting in the freezing air.

"Why wouldn't he send an enforcer?" I asked, staring at the canvas bag she thrust toward me.

Sophia sighed, tilting her head with practiced pity. "Because Adrian wants the visiting alphas to see you contributing. Unless you'd rather sit in the warming tent all day like an invalid?"

"Adrian didn't mention this at breakfast."

"Adrian was busy briefing the hunt masters," she said. "He told me to coordinate the perimeter supplies. The ridge post is barely half a mile past the timber marker. Can you handle that, or do I need to ask a teenager to do it?"

"I know the ridge trail."

"Then don't keep them waiting," Sophia smiled, stepping back into the ring of torchlight. "Adrian hates tardiness."

The path was narrow, carved between sheer limestone walls. Within ten minutes, the chatter of the camp faded behind me. Within twenty, the first gusts of wind howled through the gorge, blinding and violent.

I reached the timber marker. The trail signs were missing, their wooden posts freshly snapped off at the base.

A sharp rumble echoed above.

I spun around just as a shelf of packed ice broke from the upper ledge, crashing down across the ravine entrance. Loose rock and heavy snow sealed the narrow crevice shut, cutting off the path back to the valley.

My chest tightened. I yanked my phone from my parka pocket.

The screen blinked: *No Signal.*

"Hello?" I shouted into the howling gale. "Is anyone at the ridge post?"

Only the screech of the wind answered. There was no scout station ahead—only jagged drop-offs and endless pine wilderness swallowed by the blizzard.

Sophia knew this sector. She had planned the hunt routes. She had sent me into a blind gorge just before an incoming front.

The cold sank into my limbs like needles. With no wolf form to insulate my flesh, hypothermia would set in within hours. I pulled my scarf over my nose and forced my feet forward, dragging myself along the frozen rocks in search of an animal trail that led down the mountain.

Branches tore at my coat. I slipped twice, skinning my palms against hidden roots, my boots sinking into knee-deep drifts.

Time lost all meaning. Every breath burned my lungs. The sun vanished completely, plunging the forest into pitch black.

It took seven hours of clawing through ice and brambles before the terrain leveled.

Through the blur of falling sleet, the faint amber glow of the main camp appeared.

"Adrian!" I croaked, my voice cracked from the biting air. "Ethan!"

No one answered.

The clearing was deserted.

The festive banners were gone. The grand tents had been disassembled, leaving behind only flattened rectangles in the snow. The iron fire pits were cold, filled with gray slush. Deep tire tracks showed where the convoy of luxury SUVs had driven away hours ago.

They hadn't waited.

They hadn't looked for me.

A lone maintenance worker was tossing the remaining firewood into the bed of a flatbed truck. He froze as I stumbled out of the tree line, shivering so hard my teeth clattered.

"Luna Clara?" He dropped a log, his eyes wide. "What are you doing here?"

"Where... where is my husband?" I gasped, clutching the truck's tailgate to stay upright.

"Alpha Adrian left with the pack cars around nine," the man stammered, avoiding my gaze. "Lady Sophia said you were upset. She told the Alpha you called a private cab and headed back to the city because you were jealous of her opening the hunt."

"She told him that?"

"Yes, ma'am. Alpha Adrian told everyone not to waste time waiting on someone throwing a fit."

"Did he send anyone into the woods?"

The worker looked down at the snow. "No, ma'am. He said if you wanted to act like a spoiled child, you could find your own way home."

A strange calm settled over the burning ache in my limbs.

"I see," I whispered.

The worker shifted nervously. "I'm heading out now. I can drop you at the highway gate, but my truck doesn't have clearance for the inner estate."

"The gate is fine."

The drive down the mountain was silent. The heater in the truck rattled, barely taking the chill from my stiff fingers.

By the time I reached the estate gates and walked the final mile up the winding driveway, dawn was breaking in pale, sickly streaks of gray. My soaked clothes clung to my skin like ice sheets. Mud caked the hems of my trousers, and blood had dried across my scraped knuckles.

I pushed open the grand double doors of the manor.

Warm air rushed over me, smelling of cinnamon and freshly brewed espresso.

Ethan stood in the entrance hall, a glass of orange juice in his hand. He was dressed in his pristine school blazer, his hair neatly combed. When he heard the latch click, he turned around.

His eyes swept over my shivering frame, my torn jacket, my blue-tinged lips.

There was no relief on his face. No rush to bring a blanket.

"You embarrassed Dad again," Ethan said flatly.

I stopped in the center of the foyer, water pooling on the polished marble beneath my boots.

"Ethan," I breathed, my voice barely audible. "I was trapped in a blizzard on the north ridge for seven hours."

Ethan rolled his eyes, taking a slow sip from his glass. "Stop being so dramatic, Mom. Aunt Sophia said you took off down the south road before the first horn even blew. You just wanted to ruin Dad's victory toast with the council."

I stared at him.

I looked at the slant of his jaw, the green of his eyes—the exact shade of mine. I searched for the child who used to bury his tear-stained face in my neck during thunderstorms, the boy who used to swear he would build me a castle when he grew up so no one could ever make me cry.

There was nothing left of him. The boy standing before me was a complete stranger, wearing the cruel, indifferent mask of his father.

Footsteps echoed from the grand staircase.

Adrian descended, adjusting his platinum watch. He looked rested, sharp, untouchable.

He didn't check my pulse. He didn't ask how I survived a winter storm without a wolf's heat.

"If you don't want to be part of this family, no one is forcing you," Adrian said, his voice flat as granite.

He didn't even stop walking. He passed by me as if I were a stray dog tracking dirt into his hall, heading straight toward the dining room where the smell of breakfast waited.

"Ethan, grab your bag," Adrian called over his shoulder. "We have the council debrief at eight."

"Coming, Dad," Ethan answered, setting his empty glass on the antique side table. He walked past me without a second glance.

I said nothing.

Not a single word.

I turned my back on them and climbed the stairs, one heavy, soaking step at a time, heading straight up to the north tower.

The drafty attic room was quiet. I peeled off my frozen clothes, wrapped myself in the thin wool blanket, and sat at the small wooden desk beneath the narrow window.

My laptop hummed as it powered on.

A notification popped up in the lower corner of the screen. An unread message from an overseas domain: *The International Institute of Lycanthropic Antiquities.*

I clicked it open.

*Dear Clara,*

*Following our review of your historical thesis on the matriarchal lineages of the First Bloodlines, the Board of Directors would like to formally extend an offer of senior fellowship. We are opening an excavation and archival project in the neutral territories of the southern coast. We require your expertise to lead the research on ancient female wolf bloodlines.*

*Full relocation, independent laboratory funding, and sovereign sanctuary are included in this appointment.*

*Please let us know your decision by the end of the week.*

I stared at the words on the glowing screen.

Before I met Adrian, this had been my entire world. I had dreamed of unearthing the lost history of our ancestors, of proving that female wolves held power long before modern alphas forged their patriarchal treaties.

I had buried that dream twelve years ago because Adrian told me an Alpha's wife belonged at home. He had called my passion an insignificant hobby.

For twelve years, every choice I made had been for him. Every breath had been spent begging for his approval, molding myself into what his pack demanded, until I had nothing left of myself.

I looked down at the keyboard.

I didn't pick up the phone to ask Adrian. I didn't knock on his study door to seek his permission. I didn't care what Ethan would say.

My fingers didn't hesitate.

I hit reply and typed two words:

*I accept.*

A soft chime confirmed the message had sent.

Downstairs, the front door slammed as Adrian and Ethan left for the council chambers.

A moment later, my phone buzzed on the desk. An incoming message from an unsaved international number flashed on the screen:

*We have received your confirmation, Lady Clara. Your transport arrives at midnight on the third day.*