Murderer. Traitor. Luna in name only.

Clara’s POV

I woke with my knees curled to my chest, skin prickled by cold. I had spent the night half on the carpet, half tangled in the remains of my own wedding dress, silk pooled around me like the shroud of a corpse. My head pounded; my mouth tasted of rust and defeat. I didn’t know what time dawn had broken—I only knew, by the way the sunlight sliced across the stone, that it was already far too late for hope.

My body ached in places I didn’t know could hurt. Muscles screamed as I tried to move. Not from any violence Taehyung had inflicted—not from bruises or even that bite on my neck—but from exhaustion, heartbreak, shame.

I peeled myself up from the floor. The movement sent a snarl of pain up my spine. The bite throbbed—hot and swollen—a grotesque tattoo of the night before. My lip pulsed where his fangs had split the skin. Every breath pressed the memory deeper.

My reflection, in the tall mirror by his wardrobe, nearly finished me.

Bare feet planted in a puddle of moonlight, I stared. My hair was a wild snarl—the color of burnt honey, tangled and matted with old blood. My eyes, always bright before, were ringed red and swollen and shadowed, staring back hollow and furious all at once. My neck was livid where he had marked me, a bloody gash surrounded by bruised flesh. The dress… gods, the dress. Wrinkled, hem torn, bodice torn where rough hands had clutched. I looked every bit the pariah they believed I was.

> Congratulations on your new fucking life, Clara Carter.

Through the numbness, something else flickered—rage. A stubborn glimmer. I stood up taller, refusing to cry again. If they expected me to break, I would make them disappointed.

I ran my fingers under my jaw, probing the wound. It stung. I hissed but didn’t wince. At some point, I’d become someone who didn’t flinch easily. I traced the shape of my collarbone, felt it—sharpened by hunger, by fear. Was I still the same girl? Was she gone forever?

A heavy knock thundered through the room.

I didn’t jump. I made myself stand there. Let them find me upright, unbowed.

The door swung open, banging into the stone with a violence that was almost childish in its promise.

He stood there—Taehyung Blackwood. Tall, dark, an unyielding wall of muscle in a crisp charcoal shirt. Shadows seemed to curl around him, even with sunlight behind his back.

He didn’t smile, didn’t even bother to mask his contempt.

“Get up,” he said, each word a command honed by years of being obeyed.

I turned from the mirror. “I already am.” Voice steady. My fingers were trembling, but my tone was cold.

He stalked across the room, closing the space between us. He smelled like smoke and winter, the air shifting with every angry step. “Don’t play games, Clara. You’re expected downstairs.” He tossed a dress onto the bed—a simple black one, high-necked and severe.

I stared at it, then at him. “You want me to dress up for your pack? Parade me around like your favorite new trophy?”

Something flickered in his eyes. Anger, yes, but also something darker that almost scared me.

“You’re my Luna, whether you want it or not,” he spat. “Put the dress on. You have ten minutes.”

A wild, reckless urge grew inside me—I’d had enough shame, enough dying for one night.

“I’m not your puppet,” I said quietly. Every muscle in me tensed, half-expecting a slap. But I stood my ground, naked defiance in my eyes.

For a moment, he just stared. Then he stepped in so close, our breaths mingled. “You’re whatever I say you are.” He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “And if you push me, I’ll show you how much worse it gets.”

I didn’t flinch. “Then why not kill me, Alpha? Why the games?”

His hand snapped up, choking the words from my throat. Not enough to cut air, just enough to show me who owned me. “You think death is the worst I can do? You don’t know hell yet, Clara.”

He let go, lips curling into a smile that was all teeth. “I regret not killing you the night I found you,” he said, venomous.

I held his gaze. “One day, you’ll regret treating me like this. That’s a promise.”

His eyes narrowed; for a moment—just a fractured heartbeat—it was almost as if he saw me not as prey but as… a problem. Something difficult. He didn’t like it.

He turned away sharply, slamming his fist on the dresser and snarling under his breath. “Put the dress on. Disobey me again, and I’ll make you wish you’d never learned to beg for mercy.”

He was gone in an instant, the door left open like an insult.

—

I pulled the black dress on. It fit perfectly, the fabric heavy and stiff, smelling faintly of camphor and secrets. As I twisted my hair into a loose, messy braid, I met my gaze again in the mirror.

They want a Luna? They’ll get one. But not the kind they wanted.

The halls outside were packed with tension and old stone. Two guards—both broad-shouldered and wolf-eyed—fell in at my sides, not touching but close enough that my skin crawled. We marched in silence, my bare feet making no sound on the rug. Their boots echoed in time with my heart.

Servants paused, stepping quickly out of the way, their eyes flicking to my bruised neck and then darting away. Warriors watched, one or two with open hostility, most just hungry for drama. I caught someone whispering “Omega” as I passed; another spat at the floor.

Murderer. Traitor. Luna in name only.

I let their judgment roll over me. Just another weight to carry.

When we reached the dining hall, the doors stood open to an audience. Sunlight slashed across the long table. The gigantic fireplace burned with a fire that seemed mostly for show, since no heat reached these icy walls.

Every seat was filled—pack council, elders, she-wolves in smart suits, the warriors who probably still had blood under their nails from last week’s raid. Taehyung sat at the head: black suit, rings flashing wickedly at his knuckles, expression carved from granite. He looked up as I entered—everyone did.

Only one seat sat empty.

The Luna’s chair. At his side.

I paused for a single heartbeat. No one moved to welcome me; most just glared with thinly veiled contempt.

I walked to that chair, chin high, back perfectly straight. I felt their stares clawing at my skin, but I didn't falter. Each step was an act of war.

I took the seat—my seat—without looking at anyone, not even him.

The tension thickened. The table was silent except for the soft, deliberate scrape of Taehyung moving his knife against his plate.

I wasn’t even given a cup, a plate, not a slice of bread. The message was clear: not welcome, not trusted.

Slowly the council resumed their low, pointed conversations. Still, their words dripped poison.

A she-wolf two seats down—the Beta's daughter, with hair like ice and a smile like a knife—leaned toward her companion, voice raised just enough for me to hear.

“A murderer in Luna silk. What an honor,” she cooed.

A ripple of laughter, sharp and mean.

A broad-shouldered male sneered, “Be careful, Clara. There’s silverware near your plate. Don’t want you acting on your killer instincts, do we?”

Taehyung was silent. No snarl, no defense. Just stone.

I curled my fists in my lap, willing myself not to cry. Not in front of them. Never again.

But something inside me snapped.

I looked up and let my gaze land squarely on the she-wolf who’d spoken. Made her squirm under it.

“If I were actually a murderer,” I said, voice clear, cold, “you’d be wise not to speak to me like that.”

The laughter froze. The Beta’s daughter’s smile dropped. Around the table, the pack council shifted, watching me anew.

Even Taehyung’s knife stilled mid-slice.

The silence was heavy, charged.

I picked up the goblet in front of me—empty, just for show—and held it high, a mock toast. “To the pack,” I said quietly. “May your bark always cover your bite.”

I sipped air, set it back, hands steady.

After that, no one spoke to me. Not directly.

The rest of breakfast was a quiet, vicious affair. They talked about raids, about a council member’s mate giving birth, about new territory won from rival packs. Nothing about the dead Luna. Nothing about me. I was a ghost, a cursed painting in the wrong hallway.

Taehyung’s voice rumbled once. “Your schedule will be arranged, Luna. You’ll learn your duties.” He never looked at me.

I felt his gaze, though. Felt his rage pressing in from all sides, waiting to see if I’d snap or break.

But if this was hell, then I would make it suffer me.