Awakened: The Luna’s Revenge After Exile

“Selena Hale, do you confirm that you wish to permanently remove your name from the Silver Moon Pack registry?”

The clerk’s voice was even, official, as she looked up from the parchment.

My fingers tightened around the receipt form, but my tone stayed calm. “Yes. I confirm.”

“Once this is processed, you will no longer exist in the records of the pack. No one will be able to trace you back here. Are you certain?”

“I’m certain.”

She nodded briskly. “Very well. It will take thirty days to finalize. From that day on, you will no longer be recognized as part of Silver Moon Pack.”

“Thank you.”

I took the stamped slip from her hand, slipped it into my bag, and walked out of the office. My heels clicked against the polished stone floor until the sound faded into silence.

By the time I reached my car, the weight of it settled in: I had just erased myself from the only place I had ever called home.

*******

Back to a week ago:

I stood in front of the mirror, fingertips hovering over my stomach as though afraid the moment would vanish if I touched it too firmly.

My reflection smiled back at me, tentative at first, then warmer, brighter, until my cheeks flushed with the kind of joy I had almost forgotten I could feel. A child. Damian’s child. Our child. The thought made my chest ache with a happiness so sharp it bordered on pain.

My name is Selena, and I am the Luna of Silver Moon Pack. My husband, Damian Hale, is its Alpha—the most powerful man I know. To the world, he is strength and command, a leader born of fire and loyalty. To me… he has always been something softer, though sometimes I wonder if it was only in my imagination.

We have been married for three years. Three years of watching him come home late, three years of quiet dinners where conversation was scarce, three years of learning how to smile even when his eyes slid past me as though I were nothing more than part of the furniture.

And yet, for every moment of coldness, I clung to the fragments of warmth. The way he had once looked at me when I healed his injuries during the war. The way his voice softened on the rare nights when he whispered my name in the dark. I held on to those scraps like they were proof that one day he would truly be mine.

But if I am honest, the pack has never accepted me. Their smiles are too polite, their bows too stiff, their whispers too sharp when they think I cannot hear. Every corner of the pack house reminds me of why. Of her.

Kourtney.

Her ghost lingers everywhere—in the portraits his parents never took down, in the gifts stored away but never discarded, in the way the older wolves still speak of her as though she were the Luna who should have been. She was my stepsister, the golden girl of our family, the one who fit effortlessly into every room while I struggled to be seen. And though she is gone, the memory of her presses against me like a weight I can never shake off.

But today… today I finally had something of my own.

I stood in front of the mirror, my fingers trembling against my flat stomach. Pregnant. The word still felt unreal, like a secret spell spoken only to me.

The doctor had said it so plainly this afternoon: You are pregnant.

For a long moment I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even blink, as if the world had stopped spinning. Then warmth had spread through me, flooding my chest, my throat, my whole body until I was smiling through tears. A baby. Damian’s baby. Our future.

He had never marked me, not once in these three years. I told myself it was patience, that he needed time, that the pressure of leading the pack left no room for traditions. But now… now he would have to see me differently. With this child, there would be no more shadows of Kourtney between us.

I pulled out my phone and typed quickly:

Minutes later, a single reply lit up the screen.

It wasn’t much, but my heart leapt anyway. He was coming home. Tonight, I would make everything perfect.

I changed into a simple dress and padded downstairs. The butler spotted me immediately, bowing.

“Luna—”

“I’ll be cooking tonight,” I said, cutting off her protest.

Her eyes widened. “The Alpha has forbidden—”

“It’s our anniversary. Just this once. Please.”

She hesitated, then dipped her head. “As you wish.”

Once she was gone, I rolled up my sleeves and went to work. The kitchen smelled of roasted lamb and honey bread before long, scents I knew would please him. I hummed under my breath, clinging to the fragile hope that tonight might finally change everything.

Still, doubt gnawed at me. The house was too quiet. The walls seemed to echo with whispers I couldn’t silence. What if he never lets go of her? What if he never truly sees me?

I shook my head sharply. No. Tonight would be different. Tonight I would give him everything—food, laughter, news of our child. Tonight, he would not look past me.

By seven, the table was set, candles lit, the dishes steaming. I slipped into a silk gown, let my hair fall in soft curls, added a hint of color to my lips. I rarely dressed like this, but I wanted him to see me. Really see me.

Eight o’clock passed. Then nine.

The food grew cold, the wax of the candles pooling on the tablecloth like tiny deaths. I sat alone, my hands clenched together, watching the door with a mixture of hope and dread.

At ten, the lock finally clicked. Relief surged through me, and I rose quickly, smoothing my dress. His scent drifted in, sharp and familiar.

Then I saw him.

Damian staggered across the threshold, his shirt untucked, his hair disheveled. The sharp bite of alcohol clung to him, heavy and sour.

My heart stuttered. He never drank. Not Damian.

Before I could speak, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close with a grin that didn’t belong to the man I knew.

“Kourtney, you’re back.”

The name ripped through me like claws. For a heartbeat, the room blurred, the walls closing in as though the house itself mocked me. He hadn’t mistaken me for anyone else. He had called her name.

My phone buzzed violently in my hand. I tore myself from his grasp, fumbling to unlock the screen.

An unknown number. One message.

On the night of your anniversary, your husband was with me.

The sender’s name at the bottom burned into my vision, even as tears filled my eyes.

Kourtney.

Could it be that she’s back? A shiver ran through my heart before I could stop it.