Chapter 5 - Rage & Resolve

I didn’t remember falling asleep. When I opened my eyes, I was still in the chair on the balcony. My glass was empty, the bottle half-drained beside me, and the moon had vanished. Only the faintest sliver of silver clung to the horizon.

For a moment, I wondered if it had all been a dream. Maybe I’d walk down the hall and find my bed untouched. Maybe Varrick would be waiting, smirking, pretending he hadn’t shredded my heart like meat between his claws.

But my wolf stirred inside me, low and restless, replaying the humiliation in perfect clarity.

No dream. No escape. Just truth.

I sank forward, elbows on my knees, letting my head fall into my hands. The tears came again - sharp, hot, merciless. I hated them. Hated the weakness. But my body didn’t care. My chest heaved, my throat burned, and I wept until I thought I might tear myself apart.

“He made a fool of us,” my wolf whispered.

“No,” I croaked aloud, my voice broken yet rising from somewhere deep. “He made a fool of himself.”

It was a small spark, but I clung to it.

When the tears slowed, I wiped my face with trembling hands and forced myself to breathe. In. Out. Steady. My reflection on the balcony doors was red-eyed, ruined. But beneath the ruin, I saw something else. Something harder. Something that hadn’t been there before.

I stood on my stiff legs, and crossed to the cabinet against the wall. I pulled open the drawer where I kept my papers, maps, and ledgers. Beneath the neat stacks lay a small leather satchel, folded flat. My fingers lingered on it, trembling.

“Do it,” my wolf urged.

I laid the satchel on the desk and opened it. Inside: a second set of keys, a folded bundle of cash, a passport tucked carefully in its sleeve. I had prepared this long ago, when whispers of rogues near our border made me fear I might need to flee for safety. I never imagined I would need it to flee him.

I waited a bit, then walked toward my bedroom. Our bedroom. 

It was empty. 

The sight of relief escaped my lungs. 

It was time to pack the rest of my things. I added clothes - simple, practical, enough for days. A comb, toiletries, a small flask, rolled-up photos of my mother I hadn’t looked at in years. A pair of leather boots I could run in. The more I placed inside, the lighter I felt.

When the bag was full, I sat on the bed and stared at it. Just one bag. One life. One freedom.

But it wasn’t enough.

The sun climbed higher, spilling gold across the floorboards. My chest was tight, but grief had sharpened into something else. Not despair. Not sorrow. Something colder. Something stronger.

Resolve.

I crossed to the mirror on the far wall. My hair tangled, eyes swollen, yet when I lifted my chin, I saw a woman who would not break. A woman who could still command - even if her mate had forgotten her worth.

“You’ll never leave,” he had said.

Watch me.

A knock jolted me from my reflection. Firm, measured. Not timid.

“Luna?”

Aldric. Again.

I clenched my fists. My heart ached, but I didn’t open the door. I didn’t need his pity - not yet.

Instead, I called back, “Tell the pack to gather tonight. All of them. The visiting betas and their escorts as well. I’ll address them after supper.”

There was a pause. Then, “Yes, Luna.” His voice was steady, but I thought I caught a note of surprise. Or maybe… respect.

When his footsteps retreated, I exhaled. My pulse hammered. It was reckless, maybe even suicidal, but I knew what I had to do.

I wouldn’t slip away like a thief. I wouldn’t vanish in silence. I would end this bond in front of them all. Let him feel what it was to be cast aside, rejected, to have his heart ripped out in public the way he had done to mine in private.

If I was going to leave, I would not leave small.

I poured myself another drink, swallowing the fire until it scorched my throat and steadied my hands. Then I stepped back onto the balcony, lifting my glass toward the pale sun.

“Tomorrow, they’ll remember me,” I whispered to the empty morning. “Not as his Luna. Not as his fool. As the woman who walked away.”

I drained the glass, the last drop bitter as blood, and turned back inside.

The satchel sat waiting by the bed. Half full. Half accusation.

"Not enough", my wolf murmured. "Not if you mean to walk out and never return."

She was right. I moved through the room like a thief stealing from myself.

From the drawer beside my bed, I took the small dagger my father had given me on my sixteenth birthday, its hilt worn smooth from years of practice. Varrick always sneered when he saw it: “A dagger is no weapon for a Luna.” But it was mine. It slipped neatly into the satchel.

Next came the scarf. Deep crimson silk, frayed at the ends, once my mother’s. I wrapped it carefully, sliding it between the clothes. It smelled faintly of lavender. I wore it once as a girl pretending to be a queen. Now, perhaps, I would wear it again - not as Luna, but as something else. Something freer.

Piece by piece, I packed a life I could live with, one that didn’t depend on Varrick’s approval. Trousers. A sturdy belt. A blouse I could move in. Boots made for the road. Not silks. Not jewels. Not crowns.

I laid out the clothes on the bed I will wear tonight: dark trousers, a fitted black blouse with slashed sleeves, and over it a long leather jacket lined with wool for the cold night roads. The boots are sturdy and scuffed. Not a Luna's gown. A woman’s armor.

My wolf purred. "Yes. That’s better."

I smoothed the jacket across the bed, brushing away imaginary dust. This wasn’t a garment for feasts or ceremonies. It was for leaving. For surviving. For riding into the unknown.

“Where will we go?” my wolf asked softly.

I hadn’t allowed myself to think that far ahead, but now I saw it: the long highway cutting through the woods, the string of human towns scattered along it. A neon sign I had glimpsed once, glowing red in the night: a roadside bar, cheap whiskey, anonymity. There. One night, and I would be just a woman, not a Luna, not an Alpha’s mate.

I tucked the satchel beneath the bed, hidden from casual eyes. 

Hours slipped by as the sun sank. I bathed, scrubbing until the scent of Varrick’s betrayal was gone. Then I dressed. Slid the dagger into the inner pocket. Tied my mother’s scarf around my throat.

The mirror reflected someone new. Not the polished Luna at feasts. Not the woman broken by tears. Someone sharper. Dangerous.

“Now,” I whispered to my reflection, “let him see what he’s lost.”

Tonight, I wasn’t just going to break a bond. I was going to burn it to ash.

I pulled the satchel out. By the time I buckled it shut, it had gained weight - substantial, but manageable. My wolf stirred, restless but approving.

The corridor was empty as I walked, head high, satchel pressed to my hip. Down the servant’s stairs, through the back hallway, out the side door.

Daylight spilled across the driveway. Cars glimmered faintly, metal beasts at rest.

I chose the black sedan, the one Varrick never favored. Sturdy. Anonymous. Reliable. The trunk swallowed the satchel whole.

Keys slipped into the lining of my jacket. Cold. Solid. Real.

Anyone could have seen me. But no one did. Or perhaps no one dared question the Luna walking with such certainty.

I drew a breath, straightened my spine, and walked back into the house. Tonight, they would gather. Tonight, I would shatter the chains and speak words that would burn Varrick where it hurt most.

And then… I would walk out these doors and never return.

By tonight, everything would change.

By tonight, he would learn I was not his possession.

I lifted my chin, letting the echo of my boots fill the silence. “Enjoy the feast, Alpha,” I whispered under my breath. “It will be your last with me.”

The moon would rise soon enough. And when it does, so would I.