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

Rowan spent the entire following morning locked in the council chambers, trying to contain the fallout from the gala.

Between the Ironwood clan threatening to revoke their grain treaties and Lord Gregory demanding formal reparations for the seating insult, Rowan had no time to monitor my movements. Cassia was running between the administrative wing and the print office, pale and frazzled, clutching clipboards as if they might shield her from the elders’ wrath.

I walked past the chaos without a word, slipped out the eastern service gate, and made my way straight to the clinic archives.

Miriam was in the dispensary measuring dried herbs when I pushed open the heavy wooden door to the records room.

"Selene?" She turned, wiping her hands on her apron. "What are you doing here? Rowan’s scouts were in the courtyard ten minutes ago looking for you."

"Let them look," I said. "I need the rest of my mother’s treatment logs. The final six months before she collapsed."

Miriam’s hands tightened around her measuring scoop. For a second, she looked as though she wanted to refuse. But she saw the flat determination in my face, sighed, and unlocked the iron grating that led to the underground storage shelves.

She brought out a faded canvas folder tied with frayed cord and set it on the zinc table between us.

I untied the string with steady fingers and spread the yellowed parchment under the overhead lamp.

The first three months of Elara’s final year were identical to mine. There were the same sharp drops in core wolf energy, the chronic fatigue, the recurring lung hemorrhages after major territory wards were reinforced. Her baseline numbers had fallen to thirty-five percent.

Then I hit the entries dated twenty years ago, in the middle of autumn.

On October twelfth, Elara had suddenly stopped attending the morning dawn blessings. On October thirteenth, she canceled the sanctuary hearth vigils. On October fourteenth, she refused to channel the border wards.

Beside those three dates, Miriam’s predecessor had penned three consecutive diagnostic readings:

*Core recovery: 38%.*

*Core recovery: 42%.*

*Core recovery: 47%.*

In seventy-two hours of doing nothing, my mother’s wolf had started to heal.

"She knew," I whispered, the cold reality settling deep into my bones. "She realized the daily blessings were draining her. She stopped."

Miriam stood beside the table, her head bowed, staring at the floorboards in heavy silence.

I turned to the next page, eager to see what had happened after that third day.

The paper was gone.

The top half of the sheet had been ripped away along a jagged, violent line. The only thing remaining on the ragged lower edge was a short, scribbled note written in smeared black ink:

*October 16th – Emergency intervention required. Forced restoration of bond authorized by command.*

I stared at the jagged paper, the ink burning into my retinas.

"Forced restoration of bond," I read aloud, my voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "What does that mean, Miriam?"

The old healer took a step back, her hands trembling slightly against her apron. "Selene, put the folder away. You have seen enough."

"What does it mean?" I demanded, pressing my palm flat against the torn page. "My mother didn't relapse from an illness. She tried to walk away. She figured out that the pack was draining her to death, and when she refused to give them her life, they forced her back into the circuit."

"The Luna bond is not just a title," Miriam whispered, her voice tight with strain. "When you take the mark and accept the territorial mantle, your core is tethered to the pack’s spiritual network. If an Alpha uses the command frequency through the blood wards, he can compel the Luna’s wolf to open the channel, whether the woman wants it or not."

The room seemed to shrink around me.

Gideon hadn't just watched my mother die. He had pinned her down with Alpha command and forced her failing wolf back into the grinder so the territory wouldn't lose its protective wards.

And now, Rowan was preparing to do the exact same thing to me.

"I won't let them do it," I said, stepping back from the table and pulling my coat tight around my shoulders. "I'm not going to sit in my room waiting for Rowan to corner me. Tomorrow morning, when the regional elders gather for the coalition briefing, I am walking into the great hall and announcing my total withdrawal from the Moon Ritual."

Miriam’s face drained of every trace of color.

She lunged forward, catching my forearm in a tight, desperate grip. "Are you insane? You cannot say those words in public!"

"Why not?" I countered, pulling against her hold. "If I make it an open declaration before the entire northern council, Rowan cannot hide behind private pressure. He won't be able to force me onto the altar without exposing what the ritual actually does to the Luna!"

"You think public exposure will save you?" Miriam asked, her voice cracking as her eyes darted frantically toward the narrow basement windows. "Selene, look at me. Did anyone see you take these files? Did Rowan see you coming down the trail?"

"No. He's occupied with the Ironwood delegation."

"Are you sure?"

Before I could answer, a sharp, metallic tang drifted through the ventilation grate near the ceiling.

It wasn't the clean pine and rain scent of our home territory. It was heavy, sharp, and laced with the bitter smell of unfamiliar wolves.

Enforcers.

Two distinct signatures were circling the perimeter of the clinic, their footsteps light and coordinated, staying low beneath the tree line. They weren't Rowan’s regular household guards. They were high-level trackers from my father’s regional detachment.

My father had already placed watchers on the clinic. He knew I would look for the truth.

"They're outside," Miriam whispered, terror flashing across her wrinkled features. "Gideon’s men have been stationed along the tree line since dawn yesterday. They were ordered to report if you requested your mother’s death records."

My heart hammered against my ribs, but my jaw locked in place.

I took the torn ledger page, folded it into a small square, and shoved it deep into the inner pocket of my coat.

"I don't care who is watching," I said, turning toward the back exit that led into the dense forest path. "I have five days before the Blood Moon alignments begin. I am not going to die in a locked room like she did. Tomorrow morning, I publicly renounce the ceremony."

I reached for the iron latch on the door.

Miriam grabbed my wrist with both hands, using all the strength left in her frail body to yank me away from the wood.

Her fingers dug into my skin, her eyes wide, wild, and pleading. She wasn't just afraid for my safety; she was terrified by a memory that had haunted her for twenty years.

"Listen to me, Selene," Miriam choked out, her voice trembling with absolute certainty. "Your mother tried the same thing. Three days later, they forced her back."