MOVING PICTURE

MAYA

The scrubbing didn't help. Even after I’d raw-brushed my skin with cold water, I still felt the phantom slither of Maria’s tongue on my thigh, her fingers violating my body while she brandished that parchment like a death sentence. It killed a part of me, knowing the legal deed to Crimson Ridge belonged to her bloodline. It proved Edward wasn't just a monster; he was a practical, ambitious man who had let me die eighteen years ago because he needed her inheritance more than he needed Princess Philomena.

I pulled a fresh, heavy linen nightgown over my head, shivering not from the cold, but from the realization that I was living in a den of wolves more calculating than I had ever imagined.

I needed to get out of this stifling attic room. I needed space to think about how to destroy a Luna who couldn't be divorced without stripping the Alpha of his power.

I slid the iron bolt back and stepped into the long, dark corridor. The grand mansion was dead quiet, the silver moonlight spilling through the high, narrow windows, casting long, eerie shadows on the stone floor. My bare feet made no sound as I walked toward the grand staircase.

I had planned to sneak into Edward’s private study—the old study that used to be my father’s—to look for legal loopholes or rival pack alliances. But as I reached the massive hallway that separated the Alpha’s suite from the old throne room, I froze.

Opposite the heavy double doors of the Alpha’s master bedroom was a massive, ornate framed painting that stretched almost to the ceiling. It was covered in a heavy velvet shroud that standard pack law dictated should never be removed. But tonight, it wasn't the shroud that caught my eye.

The heavy, gold-leafed frame was vibrating.

A low, rhythmic shaking hummed through the air, distinct against the silence of the night. It wasn't the wind. The windows were sealed tight, and the air was dead still. There was no earthquake, no heavy machinery.

The picture on the wall began to shake.

It was my picture on the wall. Or rather, the picture of the woman I used to be—Princess Philomena.

I stood in the center of the hallway, paralyze, watching the massive frame rattle violently against the ancient stone structure, making the heavy velvet shroud sway like a pendulum. It was as if the woman beneath the cloth was screaming, beating her fists against the canvas, desperate to rip her way out and tear the house down with her.

"It will stop."

I jumped, gasping, and spun around. Two older human servants—not wolves, but high-ranking house staff—were standing a few feet away, holding fresh laundry. Their faces were pale in the moonlight, but they were looking at me with total resignation, not shivers of fear.

"We just have to wait," the other servant said, her voice completely flat. "It happens every 12th of July. Ever since the Alpha’s ex-wife died."

I stared back at her, forcing my internal ghost into a cage of stony silence. "Why 12th July?" I managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"She died on that day, many years ago," the woman replied, shifting the basket of sheets to her other hip, completely unfazed. "She was a princess, Philomena was. Her spirit has been angry since the day Luna Maria struck her down."

My heart did a violent, painful drop against my ribs. Even the human servants knew. Even they knew Maria had murdered me, yet standard pack history claimed Philomena had succumbed to a sudden, tragic illness.

The servants turned away, continuing down the hallway, leaving me alone with the angry ghost of who I used to be. The picture frame kept shaking, the rhythmic rattling echoing through the high ceilings like a countdown timer.

I should be scared. A rational street orphan, pregnant with an heir in a house filled with killers, should be terrified by a supernatural manifestation. But somehow, I was not. I was calm. That vibration was a resonance of my own rage, a echo of the fire burning in my own soul. It wasn't my enemy; it was my memory.

I walked closer, standing directly in front of the shaking canvas. "Patience," I whispered, reaching up to touch the vibrating gold leaf. "We are almost ready."

The picture kept shaking all through the long night and into the entire next day, making a constant, low, maddening noise that vibrated through the structure of the mansion. I locked myself inside my attic room all through the day, refusing to come out, allowing the fear I was supposed to be feeling to act as my mask.

It was evening by the time Alpha Edward returned from his meetings, the heavy front doors slamming downstairs with an echo of authoritative force.

He hadn't even reached the top of the grand staircase before Maria’s voice shrieked through the house.

"I have pleaded that you take this evil picture out from my house, Edward!" Maria snapped, her voice trembling with sheer, unadulterated terror. "I cannot take another second of this maddening noise!"

She had burst from the Alpha’s suite, standing in the hallway opposite the shaking frame, pointing at the covered painting as if it were a loaded weapon.

I, standing near the shadows of the staircase landing, had no idea Maria was even in the house. I thought she had gone out after our encounter in the morning, because while the picture on the wall moved and made the loud, rattling noise all day, Maria had said nothing. She hadn't even come out of her room, which was typical unlike her—Maria loved to command and dominate the common areas of the mansion.

"I locked myself inside all through the day!" Maria added, her chest heaving, a sheen of cold sweat on her pale face.

"Like you always do whenever Philomena’s picture moves, Maria," Edward replied coldly. He walked past her without even glancing at the covered painting, heading straight toward his study.

"I cannot help it!" she shrieked after him. "It is haunted, Edward! It is full of evil!"

Edward stopped, turning back to face his wife, his amber eyes narrowing with irritation. "But why should her picture make you so scared, Maria? Everyone in the house has gotten used to the moving picture on the wall... except you. Are you finally admitting that your conscience cannot handle the sound of the woman you buried?"

"Do not test me, Alpha," Maria threatened, her eyes glowing red for a split second before she backed down, visibly struggling to maintain control over her fear. She glared over at me, standing near the stairs, and I gave her a timid, wide-eyed look of fake confusion, watching but saying absolutely nothing.

I noticed that Alpha Edward actually came in with four female soldiers from the pack’s elite guard unit. They stood silently near the bottom of the stairs, dressed in practical, dark combat gear. Edward looked over at me and nodded toward them.

"They will be protecting you at night, Maya," Edward said, his voice deep and resolute. "Since you get scared sleeping alone, as you complained earlier. They will be stationed in the adjacent room to keep you safe from... nightmares."

I lowered my eyes, acting grateful, but before I could utter a single word, Maria stepped forward, blocking my path.

"No," Maria commanded, her voice shaky but filled with Luna authority. "I refuse. These soldiers answer to the Alpha, not to me. If someone is going to secure the heir’s room, it will be me. I will be spending the night with you, Maya."

She looked over at me, a desperate, greedy light flashing in her eyes behind the mask of duty.

I know what that means. The ghost in me roared with silent disgust. She doesn't want to protect me from the picture; she wants to use my body again to quench the sick hunger I had triggered in her eighteen years ago.

Edward didn't argue. He looked from Maria’s terrifyingly intense gaze to my pale face, and I think he truly thought she was just being nice—doing her duty as Luna to protect the mother of his heir from supernatural fears.

"I am not being nice, Edward," Maria lied smoothly, though her voice trembled, still terrified of the vibrating picture behind her. "I am just scared protecting her from the picture on the wall. I cannot be alone in my own room while that thing rattles against the stone, and I will not have strangers handling the woman carrying your bloodline."

"Fine," Edward agreed, waving the female soldiers off. "If the Luna wants to keep you company, Maya, that is her right. They will take the adjacent room instead."

That same night, the mansion was dead silent, except for the low, maddening rattle of Philomena’s frame echoing through the hallways. Maria had locked my door from the inside, throwing the iron bolt, sealing us in the attic room.

"Get on your knees, street rat," she commanded, the moment the latch clicked shut. Her fear of the ghost in the hallway had melted away, replaced entirely by a predatory hunger.

I didn't resist. Resistance got you killed in this house. Cooperation got you power. I wanted to see her break. I wanted to see her pathetic need destroy her pride.

For hours, I knelt beside the bed, performing the silent, degrading work. I licked Maria’s pussy, my tongue working over her sensitive skin until it got so dried, my mouth aching. I used my ten fingers to finger her hard, burying them deep inside her vagina as she demanded, her hips bucking against my face, her ragged breaths filling the quiet room. She took everything I had, her nails digging into my scalp, forcing me to continue until she finally collapsed against the pillows, panting, completely consumed by her own perverse pleasure.

Finally, after I had drained her, I crawled back into my own narrow bed, exhausted, about to sleep, wanting nothing more than to erase the memory of the past few hours.

Just as my eyes began to drift shut, the heavy iron bolt on the door clicked.

Alpha Edward walked into the small room. He looked from me to his wife, who was currently thanking the goddess that he didn't catch her fingering my pussy, nor even when I was fingering hers, her naked body hidden beneath the sheet.

"Maria," Edward said, his deep voice filling the quiet attic. "Return to your own room. The picture has stopped shaking. I will keep Maya company tonight."

Maria shot up from the mattress, her eyes wide with panic, but she had no ground to stand on. She had used "fear" as her excuse to be here, and if the picture had stopped, her excuse was gone.

She scrambled off the bed, pulling her silk robe around her body, glaring at me with poisonous jealousy before scurrying out into the corridor without another word, slamming the door behind her.

Edward didn't get into the twin bed with me. He didn't lock the door. He simply pulled the wooden chair near the bed, sat down, and reached out to hold me. He held me tight, his massive hand wrapping securely around my shoulders, anchoring me to him in the dark.

He didn't ask for sex. He didn't touch my gown or try to release his own need. He only held me tight, his heartbeat steady against my side, his heavy, protective weight enveloping me as a low rumble of comfort erupted from his chest. He stayed like that, holding me against his warmth, until I finally slept off.

As I drifted into unconsciousness, a cold, calculated thought echoed in my mind. Edward still loves me. He is keeping the promise he made: he isn't using me as a servant, and he is going to have sex with me properly, as his wife, in a few days to come. He wants a legitimate, regal Luna, not just a breeder.

Maria thought that legal deed was her shield. She didn't realize that in her desperate need to consume me, she had just given me the ultimate weapon. I knew her weakness. I knew how to make her grovel.

Edward is coming back to me, Philomena. And this time, when we take the throne, I will make sure we burn every piece of paper Maria’s family ever signed. Patience. We are almost home.