Alpha’s Regret: His Luna, His Heirs, His Redemption

POV: Olivia The welcome feast dragged past midnight. I wiped tables, stacked plates, and kept my head down. Every time I glanced up by mistake, he was watching me from the high table. My chest burned. I looked away fast, shoving another cup into a tub already full. If I could just reach the servants’ stairs without crossing the hall, I’d vanish into the quiet. Sleep might not come, but at least I’d escape the clawing ache in my chest. The elders rose to toast again. Laughter spiked. All eyes turned toward the dais. I slipped. Down the side corridor. Past the pantry. Past the armoury door with the warped hinge. Into the narrow passage leading to the yard. My breath fogged in the cooler air. Pine and wet stone seeped through the cracks in the door. A hand slammed against the wall beside my head. I froze. He was already there—blocking the exit. Coat unbuttoned, tie gone, night carving hard edges into him. His heat swallowed the chill. “Running from me?” His voice was low, almost

POV: Olivia The gown was too fine for my hands. Mae slipped it over my shoulders, and the silk whispered down my body, cool as moonlight. White and silver threads caught the firelight, glittering like stars—too rich for a girl who usually wore plain cotton and an apron stiff with soap. I stared into the cracked mirror. I almost didn’t recognise the reflection. “Hold still,” Mae muttered, tugging the laces tight. Her fingers moved quickly and sharply, like she didn’t want to be caught helping me into something that wasn’t mine. “It’s… beautiful,” I whispered. “It’s a Luna’s gown,” she said flatly. “Not yours.” Heat climbed my neck, but the smile still tugged at my lips. “It could be.” Her eyes flicked up, sharp enough to cut. “Don’t do this to yourself, Liv.” I pressed my mouth shut, but hope pulsed too bright inside me. “He promised.” Mae’s mouth twisted. She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned me toward the mirror, pinning the last fold of silk into place. The gir

POV: Olivia I ran. The silk gown tangled around my legs, snagging on roots, silver embroidery shredding into ribbons. Stones and thorns cut my bare feet until blood slicked the earth behind me. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The air cut like knives—cold, sharp with pine and damp earth. My chest was hollow, the bond that once hummed inside me now silent. Behind me, the hall still roared with laughter and applause. Even out here, I swore I could hear the whispers chasing me into the night: The latent—of course. She thought she could be Luna. Pathetic. Each word dug claws deeper. Branches whipped my arms, scratched my face. My breath tore ragged, lungs raw. My knees buckled, but I pushed until the packhouse lights vanished, swallowed by the trees. Only then did I collapse. My knees hit dirt. Cold seeped through torn silk, blood soaking into the ground. I stayed there, doubled over, shaking, hair falling into my face. Salt filled my mouth—I hadn’t even realised I was crying until th

POV: Olivia The days blurred. I didn’t count them. I couldn’t. Time meant nothing once I fled the Red Moon borders. There was only distance—step after bleeding step until the packhouse was nothing but a shadow I couldn’t hear or smell anymore. I made it as far as the city gates with nothing but torn shoes and desperation. Work was the only thing anyone would trade me for a roof. The innkeeper’s wife set me to the lowest tasks—scrubbing pots until my hands split, sweeping floors until my back ached, folding linens until my fingers cramped. When there weren’t enough chores, she sent me to polish boots in the yard until my knees bruised. The pay was meagre, but it bought bread, a cot in the servants’ quarters, and—maybe most valuable of all—the illusion of belonging. I kept my head down. I didn’t ask questions, and nobody asked mine. For a while, it was enough. --- Then the sickness came. At first, I thought it was hunger or spoiled food. But the nausea struck without warning—so

POV: Olivia The clinic smelled nothing like the pack infirmary. No wolfsbane. No blood. No tang of silver scalpels. Just antiseptic and the faint lavender scent of the hand sanitiser Hana carried everywhere. I sat on the exam table with paper crinkling under me, hands clamped tight in my lap. My stomach churned, though I couldn’t tell if it was nerves or nausea. The room was too clean. Too human. Out in the hall, a receptionist tapped on a keyboard. Somewhere in the city, sirens wailed, echoing faintly through the thin glass. For the first time in my life, there was no Alpha’s shadow pressing down on me. No pack eyes watching every breath. And still—I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had followed me here. “Deep breath,” Hana said gently, snapping on gloves. Her dark hair was tied back, her expression professional, though her gaze softened when it met mine. “We’ll start simple—blood pressure, reflexes, all the boring bits.” Aria leaned against the wall in her blazer, arms