His Dearly Beloved Luna

~ Sylvia ~

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The reminder on my smartwatch vibrates hard enough to make my wrist tingle.

MEDICATION TIME.

I pretend I don’t see it.

Outside the cab window, the world slips past in streaks of green forests, quiet roads, and familiar mountains. Home. Or at least the place everyone insists on calling home.

The watch vibrates again.

MEDICATION TIME.

“I heard you the first time,” I mumble.

The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror before returning his attention to the road.

With a sigh, I unzip my purse and reach for the orange prescription bottle that never leaves my side. The plastic is cool against my palm. I shake it once, listening to the tiny rattle inside.

For some reason, that sound always calms me.

Maybe because after eleven years it has become part of my heartbeat.

The taxi bounces over a pothole.

My fingers tighten instantly.

If I dropped this bottle…

No.

I don’t even let myself finish the thought.

I twist off the cap, tap two white tablets into my hand, and swallow them dry.

Big mistake.

Bitterness coats my tongue immediately, and within seconds the familiar feeling of nausea crawls through my stomach. I close my eyes, breathing slowly through my nose until the worst of it passes.

But it never really disappears It simply settles inside me, heavy and permanent, like a burden I’ve learned to carry.

Then the bottle goes straight back in my purse. Always into the same front pocket.Always within reach.

I rest my head against the cool glass, watching my reflection blur together with the scenery outside.

Most people would be excited to return after six years away.

I wish I felt anything close to excitement but coming back only reminds me that nothing waiting for me belongs to me anymore.

Not the mansion.

Not the pack.

Not even my mother.

She married Alpha Marcus years ago, and somewhere along the way I stopped being her daughter and became another responsibility she couldn’t quite get rid of.

Because if I mattered even a little…she would’ve been waiting at the airport.

But instead, I spent nearly an hour sitting beside my battered suitcase, watching children leap into their parents’ arms while couples reunited with kisses and laughter.

And every time the automatic doors opened, I looked up. Every single time but no one came.

Eventually I accepted the truth, hailed a taxi, and read the address from an old note because even the route home had become unfamiliar.

Which was funny.Because you’d think someone returning to her own house would know where she lived.

But I don’t. Because it stopped feeling like home a long time ago.

My real home disappeared years ago.

So did my father and my brother.

The taxi enters pack territory, and the difference is immediate.

The cracked sidewalks disappear.

Buildings become larger.

Gardens replace empty lots.

Expensive cafés spill onto polished streets while luxury boutiques display dresses worth more than my entire wardrobe.

Which advertises to all who enter that this is pack territory, where the wealthy live and the weak don’t belong

I stare out the window, wondering which category everyone will put me in the moment they see me.

Probably the same one they’ve always used.

The sick girl.

The human-looking wolf.

The Alpha’s disappointment.

The driver catches my eye in the mirror.

His golden irises give him away immediately.

A shifter.

He must have picked up my scent the moment I climbed into the cab.

Whatever he smells softens his features.

He looks away, but it’s too late. I already saw the pity in his expression.

I’d almost rather he looked disgusted because pity always hurts more.

A few minutes later we were almost at my mother’s house.

Not mine.

I stopped believing I had a home the night flames swallowed everything that mattered.

Years ago I lost my family and the only home where I was loved without conditions. Everything after that felt borrowed, including the woman who gave birth to me.

I’m sure to her I wasn’t a daughter anymore.

I was responsibility. A burden she couldn’t leave behind.

While contemplating the cab slows, pulling me from the memories.

As towering iron gates rise ahead, stone pillars twisted into the shapes of wolves staring down from above. as if they were guarding the gates. Additional stone pillars stand on each side flying the Timberwolf Pack crest. Beyond them, I catch a glimpse of perfectly trimmed gardens and the winding driveway leading to the Alpha’s mansion.

Three guards occupy the checkpoint.

One steps into the road and raises a hand.

The taxi rolls to a stop.

“State your business.” He orders.

The driver lowers his window. “I’m dropping off a passen…...”

“I live here,” I interrupt leaning forward before he can explain further. Leaning forward, I meet the guard’s eyes. “I’m Sylvia. Alpha Marcus’s stepdaughter.”

For the first time, he actually looks at me.

His gaze drifts from my face to my clothes, then back again.

And a strange look flickers across

his face. Disbelief. Maybe amusement.

“So you’re the Alpha’s stepdaughter.” He asks

It isn’t a question.

It’s an accusation wrapped in sarcasm.

“Yes,” I answer.

The younger guard beside him snorts.“Sure you are.”

The first guard folds his arms across his chest and mockingly says “And I’m the real Alpha masquerading as a guard.”

I exhale slowly as I realise nothing has changed since I left.

“Call the house,” I request evenly. “They’ll confirm it.”

“We’ll do that.” He says as he taps the roof of the taxi with two fingers. “After you step out.”

“I have identification.” I try to say.

“Out.Now.” he barks.

The driver shifts awkwardly in his seat, avoiding my eyes. Which already indicates he’d already decided this isn’t his problem.

And I don’t blame him because why should he help when he doesn’t even know me.

I push open the door and step onto the pavement. My legs still feel weak from the medicines' effects, but years of pretending otherwise trained me to keep my posture straight.

The younger guard circles to the trunk and without warning, he yanks my suitcase free from the trunk

“Hey, some of my belongings are fragile!” I try to say.

But he doesn’t listen and drops it forcefully onto the concrete.

“Crunch.” My stomach drops.

“My suitcase!” I rush forward a step before stopping myself.

He shrugs lazily.“It Slipped.”

“It didn’t.” I snap.

He smirks.“Guess gravity doesn’t like you.”

I stare at the battered case, wondering what broke.

Probably the picture frame.

Probably the last photograph I have of my father and Lucas.

I bite the inside of my cheek until the sting keeps the tears away. I refuse to cry not here. Never here.

Then the mangled-faced guard begins circling me with slow, deliberate steps, studying me the way wolves inspect an outsider wandering onto their territory.“You don’t smell like a pack wolf. You barely smell like a wolf at all.”

I don’t respond. There’s no point explaining myself to someone who has already decided I don’t belong.

His boots scrape against the pavement as he stops directly in front of me.

“I’ve worked this gate for years,” he says. “Never seen you once.”

“I’ve been away,” I say.

“So you claim.”

“My education kept me overseas,” I add.

His eyes narrow.

“The Alpha’s stepdaughter could never arrive in a beat-up taxi carrying her luggage by herself.”