Cursed Luna, Rejected Mate

AylaThe aroma of burning sage drifts through the house. It curls like ghostly fingers around the wooden beams, rich and heady it is clinging to my skin, to my hair, weaving itself into my breath. Grandmother always burns sage before ceremonies like this. She says it clears the air and rids it of any bad auras. The smoke rises in lazy spirals, catching the faint light of dawn filtering through the cracks in the shutters. It’s a ritual as old as the pack itself, the scent is both comforting and unnerving.But I don’t need sage to know what my fate is.I wake before the sun, my dreams still pressing against me like a second skin, dreams of him. Lugh. His stormy grey eyes, his earthy and dark scent, spiced with something raw and untamed. Even now, awake and trembling in the dim light, I can still feel the way his presence swallowed me whole, the heat of his body branding mine. The dream lingers, very vivid and unrelenting in my memory, as though the Moon Goddess herself is etching his im

AylaWe slip away from the main grounds, past the edge of the square, down a path that leads toward the old gathering stones. It's quieter here. The trees form a canopy above us, leaves whispering in the breeze. Dappled light dances on the path. I walk behind him, almost breathless.When he stops, I step beside him.“I don’t do this often,” he says, looking at the sky. “I’ve seen what the bond can do to people. It can ruin them. Break them.”His voice is distant, thoughtful. I search his face, but I can’t find warmth there, only restraint.“But… you kissed me.” My voice is small.His gaze flicks to mine. “I did.”There’s a pause. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to mine again.This kiss is not gentle or brief. It's deep, slow, and filled with something I can’t name. The bond snaps fully into place. I feel it in my bones, in my blood. Our wolves reach for each other, twining together in that unseen place only we can feel.When he pulls back, I’m breathless and shaken.“So you

A ToastAylaIt’s hidden behind the loose stone in the third panel along the east wall, about two handspans off the ground. I discovered the hollow when I was thirteen, and I haven’t spoken of it to a single living person, not even Selene. Certainly not Selene.I get to it by walking down the back corridor instead of into the main hall. The party’s still going on. I can still hear the murmur of drums and the crowds beyond the building, someone laughing too loudly at something, and it makes things easier. No one is paying attention to the hallways. No one is paying attention to me.The stone comes free with a slight struggle. It always does, of course; the mortar at the top edge catches. I prise it loose with both hands, rest it against my knee, and reach in.The potion rests in a bottle smaller than my thumb, sealed with black wax I pressed myself three weeks ago. The glass is plain, deliberately so, unnoticeable if someone should happen to find it. The liquid within is almost clear, l

Selene My forehead throbbed right between my eyes, a dull, heavy ache that made me blink every time the sun hit the metal signs across the street. I sat on an upturned wooden crate behind the bakery, tucking my fingers deep into the armpits of my oversized coat to keep them from shaking.I raised my hand, my thumb rubbing along my jawline, then down the bridge of my nose. My skin felt thick and strange under my fingertips, like I was wearing someone else’s face over my own. I couldn't remember the name of the tavern I had walked past an hour ago, or why my shoes were covered in forest mud instead of river silt.Martha came out the back door carrying a basket of stale loaves, dropping one into my lap without a word."You’ve been sitting there since the morning bells rang, girl," Martha said, wiping her floury hands on her apron. "Are you going to buy something or just look at the stones?"I picked up the loaf, my fingers sinking into the hard crust. "I don't have any coin, Martha.""Th

AylaThe silver bands did not go easily onto our fingers. Lugh’s knuckles were swollen from the training rings, the skin over the joints yellowed by old bruising. When he held his hand out to me before the high table, his elbow remained locked. His arm stayed so stiff that I had to move forward into his space just to push the cool metal home. His hand was cold. His skin smelled faintly of the river water he had used to scrub the horse sweat from his neck before the elders arrived.Elder Thomas stood behind the hearth. The skirt of his wool wrap swept the cold ashes as he mumbled the lineage rite. He talked about the northern borders, the winter stores, and the strength of a house needing an heir before the spring melt brought the river traders back up from the south. He kept his palms flat on the surface of the stone altar. His voice was raspy from the draft that always settled into the lower logs of the hall during these months.Lugh looked over the elder’s shoulder. His eyes were f