You Needed a Perfect Luna, So I Stopped Dying for You

For five years, my alarm had gone off at five in the morning.

By five-fifteen, I was at my desk cross-referencing patrol logs from the four border sectors. By six, I had Rowan’s daily Northern Brief printed, tabbed, and highlighted on his mahogany desk, complete with council dossiers and supply chain updates. At six-thirty sharp, I was seated at the head of the dining table for the mandatory Alpha-Luna breakfast, pouring his black coffee and reviewing the day’s schedule before the elders arrived.

Today, I didn't get out of bed until seven-thirty.

I stayed wrapped in a thick wool blanket in the corner suite at the far end of the hall, listening to the muffled chaos downstairs.

Footsteps rushed past my door every few minutes. The intercom in the hallway buzzed repeatedly, followed by the sharp, impatient tone of Rowan’s voice echoing up the central staircase.

"Thomas, where is the eastern sector supply manifest?" Rowan called out from the formal dining room. "The northern delegates are sitting down in twenty minutes."

"I don't have it, Alpha," Thomas answered, his voice strained and frantic. "It's not in the main folder."

"Check the morning brief. The summary is always attached to page three."

"There is no brief, Alpha. The folder on your tablet is empty."

A long silence followed. I stood near my door, the wood cool beneath my fingers, listening as the reality sank in.

Rowan had genuinely believed those files compiled themselves. He thought the council summaries, the budget revisions, and the border dispute summaries appeared out of nowhere every dawn by magical convenience. He had never once asked how long it took to draft them.

When I finally walked down the corridor toward the kitchen to make tea, the dining room double doors were wide open.

Rowan stood at the head of the table, his phone pressed to his ear, flipping through three mismatched folders with increasing irritation. His tie was slightly crooked, and two council elders sat across from him looking visibly impatient over untouched plates of eggs.

Then the side door opened, and Cassia walked in.

She wore a crisp cream silk blouse and tailored slacks, carrying a sleek leather folder under her arm. Her dark hair was pinned up neatly, her perfume drifting into the hall with a sweet, heavy trail of vanilla and jasmine.

As the daughter of our senior border general, Cassia had grown up running through these halls with Rowan. For years, she had watched my position with a quiet, hungry envy.

"Good morning, Rowan," Cassia said smoothly, stepping into the room without knocking. "I heard from my father that the northern briefing was missing."

Rowan lowered his phone, exhaling a breath of relief. "Cassia. Did Thomas reach out to you?"

"No, but I know how disorganized things get when routine slips," she said with an easy, confident smile.

She walked straight to the empty high-backed chair at Rowan’s right—the chair that belonged exclusively to the pack’s Luna. She pulled it back and sat down without hesitation.

I stopped in the hallway shadow, watching through the crack in the door.

Cassia opened her folder and spread several printed charts across the wood. "I pulled the basic troop movements from my father’s office. It’s not Selene’s usual breakdown, but it will get you through the morning session."

"Thank you," Rowan said, sitting back down and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what happened. Selene didn't leave anything on the desk."

Cassia reached over, placing a hand lightly on his forearm. Her voice dropped into a sympathetic, practiced purr.

"You shouldn't be too hard on her, Rowan," Cassia murmured, glancing toward the empty seat at the other end of the table. "She’s probably just feeling overwhelmed and looking for a little attention. You know how women get when they feel neglected. She wants you to chase her."

Rowan didn't agree with her.

He didn't nod, and he didn't laugh. But he didn't remove her hand from his arm either, and he didn't correct her. He simply stared at the paperwork in front of him, letting her dismiss five years of my labor as a petty marital tantrum.

"Thomas," Rowan said, looking up as his secretary hurried into the room. "Have the car brought around to the front. Cassia will accompany me to the regional council review."

Thomas hesitated, his eyes darting toward the Luna’s empty place setting. "Alpha... that is a joint leadership appearance. The protocol requires—"

"The Luna is indisposed," Rowan cut in, his tone flat and cold. "Cassia is representing the border command. Let’s move."

I stood in the quiet hallway as they gathered their coats and walked out. Rowan didn't glance toward the stairs. He didn't send Thomas to check on me. He simply replaced me in the span of ten minutes and moved on with his morning.

A strange, quiet stillness settled in my chest.

For the first time in five years, I didn't feel the urge to run after him with the missing files. I didn't feel the desperate need to prove my worth.

I turned around, walked into the kitchen, and poured a cup of hot water.

***

The entire day passed without a single ritual.

I did not channel the morning dawn blessing for the western farmlands. I did not visit the pack nursery to lay hands on the newborn pups, nor did I sit in the sanctuary to feed the territory’s spiritual hearth. I stayed in the library, reading by the window, eating a quiet lunch of bread and soup.

When evening fell, I walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap.

I looked at my hands beneath the running water.

Usually, by sunset, my fingers were white, numb, and trembling with an icy ache that never went away. My skin was always cold to the touch, no matter how many layers I wore.

Tonight, my fingers were flushed with natural color. The bone-deep chill that had lived in my joints for three years wasn't there.

Then, deep in the center of my chest, something shifted.

It was faint—barely a flutter, like a spark catching on dry tinder—but it was unmistakable.

My wolf, who had been lying completely motionless in the dark corners of my mind for months, gave a slow, gentle stretch.

My heart skipped a beat.

I grabbed my coat and slipped out the back entrance of the packhouse, walking quickly through the trees toward Miriam’s clinic.

The old healer was locking up her herb cabinets when I opened the door. The moment she saw me, she set her keys down and pulled me toward the examination stool.

"Did you collapse again?" she asked, already reaching for the silver diagnostic gauge.

"No," I whispered. "Test me."

Miriam pricked my index finger, pressing the drop of blood into the rune dial.

The silver needle shuddered, sweeping past the red warning mark where it had sat yesterday morning. It climbed slowly, ticking upward until it rested at forty-one percent.

Miriam stared at the gauge, her jaw dropping. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," I said, a faint, disbelieving laugh catching in my throat. "I did absolutely nothing all day."

"Your core stabilized," Miriam breathed, looking up at me with wide, stunned eyes. "It actually went up by two points in twenty-four hours. Selene... the damage isn't permanent yet. Your wolf is responding to the lack of drainage."

I sat in the quiet clinic, the realization washing over me like cold water.

All these years, I had blamed the major solstices and the Moon Blessing ceremonies for my failing health. I had thought the massive rituals were the only things killing me.

I was wrong.

It was the daily, endless bleeding. The tiny morning prayers, the afternoon blessings, the continuous siphon of my energy to keep Rowan’s territory running smoothly without costing him a single drop of his own strength.

The pack wasn't just using me during holidays. They were consuming me by inches, every single day, while Rowan called it devotion.

***

When I returned to my room, the house was dark. Rowan was still at the coalition banquet with Cassia and the elders.

I walked to the desk, pulled out my master duties ledger, and laid it open under the lamp.

Five years of daily obligations were written in neat, precise columns:

*06:00 – Morning Bond & Border Channeling*

*09:00 – Healing Ward Maintenance*

*11:30 – Alpha Energy Support (Administrative)*

*15:00 – Pack Hearthfire Vigil*

*20:00 – Night Ward Alignment*

I picked up a heavy red pen from the drawer.

Rowan thought my absence was a temporary sulk. He thought Cassia could step into my shoes without a cost. He truly believed the territory ran on his charm and his military titles alone.

I held the pen over the paper.

Slowly, firmly, I dragged a thick red line through the entire first page, crossing out every single daily blessing, every ward anchor, and every administrative duty I had carried for him.

I closed the ledger with a sharp snap.

Let's see what happens when the perfect Luna disappears.