When the Luna Became Rogue

Two days before the ceremony, I woke early to check on my Luna gown. The pack elders had been working on it for months—each stitch a blessing, each bead a prayer for the Silver Creek Pack's future. My fingers trembled slightly as I approached the sewing room. This would be my first time seeing it completed.

The door swung open silently under my touch. For a moment, my mind couldn't process what my eyes were seeing.

Shreds of white silk and lace hung from the dressmaker's dummy like flayed skin. The intricate beadwork that had taken Elder Mira's arthritic fingers weeks to complete lay scattered across the floor. Red paint—or something that looked horrifyingly like blood—splashed across the walls in violent arcs.

"No," I whispered, my voice breaking in the silence. "No, no, no."

I stepped forward, my bare feet crunching on broken glass from the shattered vials of ceremonial oils. The scent of lavender and sage—meant to bless my union with Nixon—now mixed with the acrid smell of paint and something else. Something malicious.

"Need help cleaning up?"

I whirled around to find Lana leaning against the doorframe, a pair of scissors dangling casually from her manicured fingers. Her lips curved into a smile that never reached her eyes.

"What have you done?" My voice shook with rage as I gestured to the ruined gown.

Lana examined her nails, the metal scissors catching the light. "Just trying to help. I noticed a loose thread yesterday when I was passing by." She looked up, her eyes glittering with mock innocence. "You know how important attention to detail is for a Luna, right?"

I stared at her, unable to believe her audacity. The gown wasn't just fabric and thread—it was the physical embodiment of my acceptance into the pack, blessed by every elder, touched by every member who had wished me well.

"You did this on purpose," I said, my wolf stirring beneath my skin.

"Prove it." Lana shrugged, tossing the scissors onto the worktable where they skidded to a stop beside a half-empty paint can. "Or better yet, tell Nixon. See if he believes you over me."

Something inside me snapped. I grabbed her arm, my fingers digging into her skin. "We're going to his office. Now."

Lana didn't resist as I dragged her through the pack house. Pack members stopped and stared, but none intervened. They could smell the paint on her, see the satisfaction in her eyes, but pack hierarchy prevented them from acting without an Alpha command.

"Alpha Nixon!" I called out as we approached his office. "I need to speak with you!"

I pushed Lana forward into his office. Nixon looked up from his desk, his expression darkening as he took in the scene—my disheveled appearance, Lana's smirk, the red stains on my feet.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"The ceremonial gown," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "She destroyed it. Look at her—she's still holding the scissors!"

Nixon's gaze flickered to Lana, then back to me. Something shifted in his eyes—something cold and dismissive.

"Lana was only trying to help," he said flatly.

I stared at him in disbelief. "Help? She shredded it, Nixon! She destroyed months of work by the elders!"

"Enough!" His hand slammed down on the desk, making me jump. The room suddenly filled with his Alpha aura—heavy, oppressive, suffocating.

My wolf whimpered inside me, instinctively responding to the dominance display. But I fought against it, refusing to back down.

"She's lying," Lana whispered, her voice taking on a wounded quality. "I was just trying to fix it. Sloan has always been... unstable."

Nixon's eyes flashed with anger—not at Lana, but at me. "Sloan," he growled, his Alpha Tone vibrating through the room. "Stop causing drama."

The command hit me like a physical blow. My knees buckled as my wolf was forced into submission by the Alpha's power.

"You will wear the spare dress," he continued, each word pressing down on me like a weight. "And you will apologize to Lana for these accusations."

I tried to speak, tried to protest, but the Alpha command held me in its grip. My wolf cowered, unable to resist the authority of an Alpha.

"I'm sorry," I choked out, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

Lana's smile widened as she watched me struggle against Nixon's command. "Apology accepted," she said sweetly.

Nixon nodded, satisfied with my submission. "Good. Now clean yourself up. We have guests arriving tomorrow, and I won't have you embarrassing this pack further."

As I turned to leave, fighting back tears of humiliation and rage, I caught a glimpse of something in Lana's eyes—something that chilled me to the bone.

This wasn't just about a dress or a ceremony. This was about breaking me completely.