Time Off

(Clara's POV)

"The Hunt. Win The Hunt, and I'll let you go." Damien's voice was offhand, as if he was certain I wouldn't dare accept.

The Hunt—the pack's oldest tradition. Once a year, contestants survived three days and three nights in the Northern Wastes, hunted assigned prey, and returned alive with a trophy.

The victor could make one request of the Alpha that could not be refused. It was pack law—ironclad.

Over the years, countless top-tier warriors had died in The Hunt. An Omega entering was, in everyone's eyes, suicide.

He was deliberately setting an impossible condition. He wanted me to back down and stay—his obedient little pet.

"Deal." I didn't hesitate.

Damien's expression shifted instantly, shock flickering across his features.

But he buried it just as fast, grinding out a single cold word: "Deal."

At that moment, Wendy descended the stairs and threaded her arm through Damien's.

"Perfect timing." Damien glanced at me. "Allow me to make proper introductions. Wendy, this is Clara, the pack's chief strategist—she handled all the events. Clara, this is Wendy, my future Luna."

My future Luna. Those words burned.

I bent at the waist and gave a formal Omega greeting—right hand over my heart, head bowed.

"Please, no need for that." Wendy reached out to feign steadying me, a smile on her face. "Damien's told me all about you. He said without you, there'd be no one to handle all the pack's dirty work. You must be exhausted."

Dirty work.

I felt eyes on me. Two Omega servants stood in the corner of the hall with tea trays. A head poked around the corridor and ducked back. Someone peered from behind the staircase railing.

They were all waiting—waiting for me to break, to cry, to explode, to give them something to gossip about.

But I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I didn't even feel angry.

Watching Wendy cling to Damien's arm, my breathing actually became easier than it had been in years. I could finally breathe.

Three days. Just three more days.

At the Moon Goddess Altar, Damien had asked for three years—Luna status or the end of our bond.

Three years were up. He'd given me his answer. Since he was no longer the man who'd sat at my bedside with bloodshot eyes, I needed to take back every scrap of love I'd ever given him.

My dignity would not allow me to be anyone's mistress.

"Serving the pack is my honor, Miss Wendy." I kept my composure, neither servile nor defiant, and handed over the thick leather-bound itinerary. "This is the complete schedule for the upcoming Moonlit Trail."

The Moonlit Trail—the pack's annual ancestral memorial ceremony. One of the most important rituals in all of Black Moon, traditionally led by the Luna or the Alpha's designee. For the past three years, that had been me. Starting this year, it was hers.

I sensed Damien's gaze on me. He was pleased by how cooperative I was being.

Wendy took the heavy binder, flipped through two pages, and immediately frowned. "This many steps? I can't possibly remember all of this."

Damien reached over and gently closed the binder in Wendy's hands. "Don't worry. You don't have to learn it." His voice was low and indulgent. "I'll arrange everything. All you need to do is show up."

My fingers tightened.

When I'd first taken over the Moonlit Trail, there were seventy-two pages in the ceremony manual. He gave me three days to memorize it.

I got one prayer sequence wrong, and he'd said in front of the entire pack: "You can't even manage this much. How have you survived this long?"

I went home and copied the manual five times. My finger joints swelled. The next day, I recited it to him without a single mistake. All he said was, "Fine."

I turned and walked toward the door.

Back at the villa we'd once shared, I pulled a wooden chest from under the bed and started packing. At the bottom of the wardrobe, I found a worn cloak with frayed edges. Damien's.

Two years ago, I'd been sent to a northern outpost to deliver supplies when a massive blizzard hit and I lost consciousness. Damien defied every one of his subordinates who begged him not to go and charged into the storm himself, searching for me through the night. He carried me back to the pack.

When I woke, the first thing I saw were his bloodshot eyes. He'd kept vigil at my bedside for days without sleep.

I stared at the cloak. Hesitated for one second. Then shoved it into the very bottom of my suitcase.

Not out of sentimentality. A reminder to myself—that he'd once shown a fleeting moment of tenderness. But a fleeting moment of tenderness could never outweigh the pull of power.

"Miss Clara."

A knock at the door. I opened it to find Mark, Damien's Beta, holding an elegant box.

"The Alpha says you've been working hard lately." He handed me the box. "This moonstone crystal will help you sleep. Also, the Alpha has ordered that starting today, you're on leave for a week. Get some rest."

I stared at the crystal. Three years ago, I'd pulled half-month all-nighters planning the pack's ancestral ceremony and ended up coughing blood at my desk.

Damien had looked at me and said, "Only a useless Omega holds the pack back." But the next morning, an identical moonstone crystal appeared under my pillow.

That time, I'd slept with it tucked beneath my pillow for an entire month.

This time was different. Now he was using official language, scrubbing any trace of intimacy between us.

"Thank the Alpha for me." I grabbed the crystal and dropped it back into the box.

After Mark left, I walked to the wall. It was covered in photos from every event I'd planned over the past three years. Expressionless, I reached up and tore them down one by one, crumpling each into a ball and tossing them in the trash. Three more days. Then the contract expired.

Just as I reached for the last photo, the villa's front door exploded inward with a deafening crash.

Wendy stormed in, the itinerary I'd just handed over clutched tightly in her fist.

"Did you do this on purpose?!" She hurled the binder at my feet, her voice razor-edged. "What kind of cheap plan is this? A wooden altar? Wildflower decorations? This is completely beneath the Alpha's status! At Red Moon, even the processional walkways are paved with natural gemstones! You did this to humiliate me because you're jealous, didn't you?"

She advanced on me step by step, malice naked in her eyes. "You're nothing but an incompetent waste! A filthy Omega who belongs in the mud!"

Before she finished, Wendy swung her right hand. Alpha-grade strength poured into the blow, whipping the air. For an ordinary Omega, a full-force slap from an Alpha could snap the neck instantly. She was going for the kill.

In that critical moment, a hand reached out from nowhere and grabbed Wendy's wrist the instant she threw a punch.

It was Damien.

A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, but it was quickly masked.

"Are you alright?" his voice was low.

I froze, and for some reason, I sensed concern in his voice.

My heart skipped a beat. Damn it.

I took a half-step back, creating some distance, and said calmly, "Alpha, don't worry. I'm not that fragile."

He didn't know was that I'd already passed the Alliance elite warrior physical certification. Even without him, Wendy couldn't hurt me.

His expression froze.

Wendy finally found a chance to interject, her eyes reddening: "Damien, I—"

But Damien interrupted her directly. "Clara's plan is more practical and in line with Black Moon tradition. The Moonlit Trail honors our ancestors—it's not a display of wealth."