When the Luna Became Rogue

I watched in horror as Lana's fingers danced across my tablet screen, her nails clicking against the glass like tiny knives. My life's work—five years of research, countless experiments, and hope—all stored in that small device now in the hands of my tormentor.

"This is what you've been protecting?" Lana's voice dripped with disdain as she scrolled through my encrypted files. "Wolfsbane antidotes? Rogue rehabilitation protocols? How... boring."

"Nixon, please," I begged, my voice cracking. "That research could save lives."

He barely glanced at me, his attention fixed on Lana's every movement. "It's just data, Sloan. You're being dramatic."

"Just data?" I whispered, disbelief washing over me. "That's everything I've worked for—everything I've—"

"Oh, look at this," Lana interrupted, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Encryption keys. How clever of you, little Omega."

My heart stopped as she highlighted the encryption program—my final safeguard.

"Delete it," she said casually, looking up at Nixon. "It's just cluttering the memory."

"Nixon wouldn't let you," I said, more to convince myself than anyone else.

But he did.

"Go ahead," he said with a shrug. "If it's causing such drama, maybe it's better gone."

Lana's smile widened as she pressed the delete button. The tablet pinged softly as years of research disappeared forever.

"No!" I lunged forward, but Nixon caught my arm, holding me back.

Lana wasn't finished. She lifted the tablet high above her head, her eyes locked on mine. "Your precious work needs a proper burial."

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it against a nearby granite boulder. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the forest as my tablet—my legacy—splintered into a thousand pieces.

"Lana!" I screamed, struggling against Nixon's grip. "You have no idea what you've done!"

But Nixon was laughing—actually laughing—as if it were the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

"Lighten up, Sloan," he said, his arm still around my waist. "It's just a tablet. You can always start over."

The casual dismissal of five years of work hit me like a physical blow. Something inside me cracked—not just my heart, but something deeper, more primal.

My wolf, usually so quiet and subdued, suddenly howled in agony within my mind. The sound was so loud I could barely hear anything else—a keening wail of loss that tore through my consciousness.

"Sloan?" Nixon's voice sounded distant, underwater.

I couldn't answer. My wolf's grief was overwhelming, merging with my own until I couldn't tell where hers ended and mine began. We were one in our mourning—for the research, for Malachi, for everything we'd lost.

The forest tilted sideways as my knees buckled. I felt myself falling, the ground rushing up to meet me. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges.

"Sloan!" Nixon's voice sharpened with annoyance rather than concern. "What's wrong with you?"

I tried to speak, tried to tell him that something was breaking inside me, but my body betrayed me. Convulsions wracked my frame as my wolf thrashed against the confines of my skin.

"She's having some kind of fit," I heard someone say. "Probably stress."

"Great," Nixon muttered. "Just what I need before the ceremony."

Strong arms lifted me—not Nixon's, but Beta Marcus's. Through my haze of pain, I saw Nixon already turning away, his arm around Lana's shoulders.

"Take her to the infirmary," he ordered over his shoulder. "I'll finish the run with Lana."

---

The infirmary was quiet at midnight. I lay alone on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling. The pack doctor had given me something to calm my nerves—a sedative that made the room spin gently around me.

I'd been abandoned here hours ago. No one had come to check on me except the night nurse who'd left me with a glass of water and a sympathetic smile.

"Your wolf is grieving," she'd whispered before leaving. "Let her mourn."

But how could I mourn properly when everything I'd built was gone?

A sharp pain lanced through my mind—different from the emotional agony I'd been feeling all day. This was invasive, deliberate.

*White Wolf.*

I sat up straight, my heart pounding. Someone was in my head—a mind-link I didn't recognize.

*Who are you?* I thought back, fear coursing through me.

*Gabriel Rivers.* The voice was rough but not unkind. *I've come with a message from beyond the border.*

A Rogue. I should have been terrified, but something in his mental presence felt... familiar.

*What message?* I asked, my guard still up.

*The Legacy of Malachi waits at the Twisted Pine on the Wildlands border.* His voice softened with reverence. *He left it for you before he died. It is time to come home, White Wolf.*

My breath caught in my throat. Malachi's name, spoken aloud after so many years of silence.

*How do you know about Malachi?* I demanded.

But Gabriel was already fading from my mind, his presence retreating like mist before the dawn.

*Come to the border at midnight tomorrow,* were his final words. *What he left for you will change everything.*