Luna Of The Lost And Forgotten

Lyra

The sunlight slapped my face, but the heat in my veins had nothing to do with the morning.

I’d been awake for hours, staring at a dead signal on my phone, tracking the last known coordinates of the Thorneveil battalion. The map glowed faintly on the cracked screen, a blue line stalled just beyond the Dead Zones—industrial wasteland, old borders soaked in radiation and wolf blood.

“He crossed the border at 0400,” I said before my mother could even step into the room.

I sat up, yanking the sheets back. My heart was a frantic bird against my ribs. “The Dead Zones are behind them. He should have signal by now, Mom. Why hasn’t he called?”

Cassian Blackthorne. Alpha heir of Thorneveil pack. My mate. He’d been absent for six months, reachable only as a blinking dot on a map.

My mother leaned against the doorframe, her face pale. She didn’t ask who I was tracking or why I hadn’t slept. When Thorneveil stirred, worry always reached us before answers did.

“You know why, Lyra,” she said softly. “The Council doesn’t just want him home; they want him back on their terms. They’ve kept him in a communications blackout for six months to see if he’d break… or if you would.”

She crossed the room and rested a hand on my shoulder. Usually, her touch grounded me, but today, the moment her skin met mine, something snapped.

A sharp crackle surged through the air like static before a storm and my mother jerked her hand back with a gasp. We both stared at her fingers.

“Lyra,” she whispered.

“I’m just stressed,” I said too quickly. The hum in my blood had been there for days now, a low vibration beneath my skin, like something waking up and stretching its limbs. “The Council had no reason to send him to the frontiers. That wasn’t a mission…it was punishment.”

My father appeared behind her, already dressed for work, jacket zipped high against the morning chill. He didn’t speak at first. He only watched me, eyes sharp with a kind of quiet fear parents never admit to.

“They don’t trust what they can’t control,” he said at last. “And they’ve never controlled you.”

I swung my legs off the bed and stood. The floor creaked under my bare feet, but the sound felt distant, muffled by the buzzing in my ears. “I’ve done everything they asked. I don’t step into pack meetings unless invited. I don’t speak unless spoken to. I wear the damn neutrality bracelet like a leash.”

My wrist throbbed at the memory—cold metal etched with sigils meant to dampen influence. Human safe-guard, the Council called it.

My mother sighed. “Cassian is Alpha-born. They were always going to test him.”

“And me?” I laughed, sharp and humorless. “What am I to them?”

Neither of them answered. My mother looked away and sighed, my father's hand drifting to her back as if steadying her and himself.

The truth sits heavy between us, unspoken but ever-present. The wolves do not like me. A human mate to an Alpha heir was an anomaly, but Cassian had chosen me anyway.

They only tolerate me the way one tolerates a splinter—because removing it would be inconvenient, painful, and reflect poorly on them.

Six months ago, when he’d been summoned away on what the elders called essential duties—proving himself worthy of the title he would one day inherit—he’d held my face in his hands and promised me nothing would change.

“This is temporary,” he’d said, his forehead pressed to mine. “They’ll get used to us.”

They never did.

If anything, his absence had sharpened their resentment. Without Cassian there to soften the edges, I’d become a reminder of everything uncomfortable.

I grabbed my jacket and shoved my phone into my pocket. “I’m going to town.”

My mother’s head snapped up. “Lyra, no. Today of all days…”

“I won’t cross the inner gates anyway,” I said automatically, “I know the rules.”

I didn’t wait for a response, I moved past the narrow hallway and headed for the front door.

“Lyra,” my mother called softly from behind me. “You should eat first.”

“I can eat later,” I replied.

“That’s what you said the last time you tried to face a council meeting on an empty stomach.”

I paused at the door, hand hovering over the latch. “That wasn’t a meeting, Mom,” I said quietly. “That was an interrogation.”

The words scraped on the way out, even as something sharp twisted behind my ribs at the memory of their eyes, their questions, their verdict already decided.

I turned back to my parents. Worry was written openly across their faces—my mother’s hands clenched together, my father standing too still, like he was bracing for an impact he couldn’t stop. I gave them a faint smile I didn’t feel and stepped outside.

The morning air hit me like a warning. Somewhere in the distance, engines roared—military transports descending toward the base.

The sound seemed to press in on me, tightening the world to a single point.

The closer I got to the town square, the worse the sensation became. The streetlights flickered as I passed beneath them. One of the holo-billboards stuttered, image warping before stabilizing again.

A man across the street frowned, tapping the side of the display. “Damn tech,” he muttered.

I kept my head down, pulling my hood lower. Humans and wolves moved through the streets together, but the difference was always there. Wolves stood taller, shoulders squared, eyes alert. Soldiers clustered near checkpoints, rifles slung low, murmuring into comms.

Fragments of conversation followed me.

“Alpha returns tomorrow.”

“Council session called at noon.”

“…heard the battalion took heavy losses.”

A cold weight settled low in my stomach. Cassian never took unnecessary losses.

At the entrance of the inner district, two guards stepped forward, blocking my path. Thorneveil insignia gleamed on their uniforms.

“Inner gates are closed,” one said, eyes flicking briefly to my wrist. “Council orders.”

“I’m not trying to enter,” I replied evenly. “Just passing through.”

His gaze lingered a second too long. “You can wait.”

My insides flared at the word.

Wait.

I forced a breath in. Forced the feeling down, deep, like pressing a lid onto boiling water.

“I’ll go,” I said, turning away before they could say anything else.

I tried to keep my gaze forward. Lowering my eyes here meant weakness, and I had learned long ago how quickly wolves would exploit it. I’d only taken a few steps when a shadow crossed my path.

Someone stepped directly in front of me, close enough that I had to stop or collide with her. And for the first time that morning, a strange, unwelcome tension curled low in my spine.

Miranda Vale.

Daughter of Beta Harren Vale.

She’d hated me long before today. In Miranda’s version of the story, I had stolen something that was always meant to be hers.

Cassian himself.

She’d grown up beside him, trained with him, watched him rise—and when he mated me instead, she never forgave it.

To Miranda, I wasn’t just a human, I was a disruption. A mistake the pack hadn’t corrected yet.

She stood too close, smile sharp, eyes sharper.

“Leaving already?” she asked sweetly. “I thought we’d have a chat before the big reunion tomorrow.”

“I didn’t come here for you,” I said, stepping to the side.

Her laugh was light and cruel. “No. You came here to remind yourself you still belong to him... Thinking you belong.”

I stopped and turned back to her, keeping my breath slow and deliberate. “I belong where he is.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “Bold words for someone human.”

The word struck harder than it should have. I turned to leave, but she yanked my arm hard enough to spin me back.

Something inside me surged upward—hot, violent, and unfamiliar. The air compressed between us with a concussive force, like an invisible wall slamming outward.

Miranda flew back a full step, boots skidding against stone. She didn’t fall, but she should have. Around us, loose gravel skittered. A nearby metal sign shrieked as it bent inward.

Silence crashed down.

I stood frozen, heart hammering, staring at my own hands. I hadn’t shoved her. I hadn’t even touched her.

Miranda straightened slowly, eyes wide with terror.

“Did you see that?” someone whispered.

“That wasn’t normal.”

Miranda’s voice cut through the murmurs, sharp and shaking with manufactured terror. “This human!” she growled, pointing at me. “She’s dangerous, a threat to the pack!”

She lurched towards me, eyes shot red with rage. “You’re a bad omen.” She grabbed my hair and yanked, pain snapping my head back.

Eyes turned toward me. Curious, wary, then afraid.

“She’s cursed…”

“That power…”

“Humans don’t do that.”

I opened my mouth to speak.

But the world had already decided what I was.