Bound By the Moon

The night of her eighteenth birthday was supposed to be the happiest of Emily's life.

“Growing up, my mother used to tell me that mates are the Moon Goddess’s greatest blessing,” I whispered, the words barely audible over the scrape of the broom against the cold stone floor. “She said they are your protector, your other half—the one who will love and cherish you until eternity.”

The memory lingered, sharp and piercing, like a knife twisting in a wound. My mother had believed them, fervently and without question. I had once believed them too. But she was gone now, taken too soon, buried beneath the soil of Silverfang Pack’s graveyard, leaving me with nothing but her memory and a hollow ache in my chest.

And every time I remembered, I wanted to laugh. Bitterly. Because it had all been a lie.

The rag in my hands slipped for a moment, water dripping onto the floor in timy streams. My hands were raw from scrubbing, my knees aching where the stone dug into them, but I forced myself to continue. Each motion was controlled, a rhythm I had learned in years of servitude, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying the cruel night I had learned what “mate” truly meant.

I had been eighteen, standing in the clearing beneath the silver glow of a full moon. My heart had thumped wildly as the Moon Goddess’s gift became tangible—Maxwell, tall and commanding, Alpha of Silverfang Pack, our destinies supposedly intertwined. The bond surged, intoxicating and undeniable, as if the universe itself had pulled me toward him.

The pack had gasped, murmuring with awe. The elders nodded solemnly, the way they did when acknowledging sacred rites. For a brief, beautiful moment, I had believed my mother’s words.

But then Maxwell smiled—not with warmth, but with scorn.

“I, Alpha Maxwell of Silverfang Pack,” he said, voice slicing through the night like a blade, “reject you, Emily, as my mate.”

The words hit harder than any blow, stealing my breath, twisting my bones. The crowd erupted in laughter, and whispers filled the air. I searched his face for some flicker of mercy, but there was none—only a sharp, mocking grin.

“You?” he spat, scanning me as though I were filth. “Weak. Pathetic. An embarrassment to my pack. You think the Moon Goddess would pair me with this?”

I wanted to scream. To fall to my knees and plead. But the bond, once a warm, protective cord, twisted inside me and silenced my voice. My wolf whimpered, retreating into the hollow of my soul, leaving me cold and raw.

That night, Maxwell stripped me of my rank. He cast me into the shadows of the pack, labeling me an omega, a slave, a nobody. My dreams had died beneath the cruel laughter of the very pack that once should have been my family.

Since then, life had become a cycle of exhaustion and pain. I woke, worked, and slept, always under the weight of humiliation. My body obeyed; my spirit fought quietly, secretly, refusing to shatter entirely.

The kitchen was quiet now, dim torchlight flickering against the stone walls. Most of the pack had gone to their own quarters, leaving me alone with the night and my chores. The floor was cold beneath my knees, the stone pressing into bruises long faded on the surface but never gone beneath. Every scrape and scuff told a story of years spent obeying, enduring, surviving.

Sometimes, I imagined the world outside these walls—green forests stretching endlessly, wind carrying scents of freedom, sunlight warming my skin. But such thoughts were dangerous. The pack would hunt me down if I dared to dream too vividly.

A faint memory surfaced: my mother, sitting by the fire, brushing my hair as the flames cast dancing shadows across her gentle face. “Emily,” she had said, voice soft and melodic, “your mate will love you, protect you, cherish you. Even when the world fails, he will be your light.”

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Her voice, once a comfort, now felt like a blade twisting deeper.

Lies.

All lies.

And yet, even in the hollow of my despair, a small spark of hope refused to die.

I glanced around the kitchen, eyes catching the faint silhouettes of other omegas sweeping the hallways. Some avoided my gaze; others whispered behind their hands, their words barely audible. One younger girl peeked from behind a column, eyes wide with curiosity and fear.

“Emily… are you okay?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

I forced a smile, the kind that hurt my cheeks to hold. “I’m fine,” I said softly, and she nodded before scurrying away.

Small kindnesses like that were rare, but they reminded me that not all hope was gone. Still, the harsh reality of the pack weighed heavily, suffocating, constant.

By the hearth, the remnants of the day’s work lay scattered: water buckets, pots, scraps of food. I sank to my knees again, scrubbing furiously, feeling the familiar ache in my muscles. My mind drifted to a simpler time, before Maxwell, before rejection—when my mother would read to me from old stories of the Moon Goddess and her chosen mates.

I remembered laughing, warmth spreading through my chest, her hands holding mine as she said, “One day, your mate will come, Emily. You’ll feel it in your soul.”

I swallowed hard, the memory sharp and painful. I had wanted to believe her, wanted to feel that bond. But life had shown me otherwise.

The night grew colder. Shadows deepened, stretching across the walls like dark fingers. I rose to my feet, brushing damp hair from my face. My hands were cracked and raw, my wrists stiff from the day’s labors. The stone floor felt unforgiving beneath my bare feet.

I moved toward the small servant’s quarters, each step echoing in the emptiness. Outside, the forest whispered through the windows—branches scratching, wind sighing. I imagined running into it, letting the earth swallow me, leaving this life behind.

I stopped at the door, hand hovering over the latch. A small, forbidden thought crept into my mind: what if I could escape? What if the pack never caught me?

My heart pounded with longing and terror. I could almost feel the grass under my feet, the wind in my hair, the freedom I had never known. But fear held me back. Maxwell’s guards were vigilant. Any misstep could cost me my life.

And yet… the desire to be free, to love, to live, refused to fade.

Curling onto the thin mattress in my quarters later, I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. My body ached with exhaustion, but my mind refused rest. I thought of the girl I had been—the one who laughed with her mother by the fire, the one who dreamed of love and belonging.

I whispered a prayer into the darkness, voice barely more than a sigh:

“If you are real… if you are there… show me something true. Something that will prove my mother wasn’t wrong.”

Silence answered.

And still, a small, stubborn piece of my heart dared to hope.