CHAPTER 3

ELARA

They called it healing.

The sleeping teas, the memory tinctures, the quiet hours in rooms that echoed with nothing but soft light and silence. Cyril guised it all in concern, in his deep voice and soft hands and the practiced calm of a man too smooth to be questioned.

I wore Luna's silks. I smiled with Luna's grace. And inside, I drowned in a sea of blank memories and strange, suffocating peace.

"We've registered our union," Cyril said one morning over fresh berries and warm bread. "You belong to me now, and by the laws of the Packs, you're off limits to everyone else."

Everyone else.

The words sat oddly on my tongue as if someone else had tried to claim me before.

But no memories came, I felt just fog and a slight ache.

"You okay, Elara?" I blinked, "Yes…I'm fine."

He reached for my hand, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. "Good. We have a gathering tonight in the southern wing. Most of the border packs will be there, I want them to see you."

I nodded, though inside me shifted uncomfortably.

That evening, the packhouse glittered like a scene out of a dream or a carefully crafted lie, whichever works best.

Golden lights decorative around the marble columns, twinkling like pearls caught in a net. Laughter went through the air, mixed with the low hum of stringed instruments and clinking glasses.

The scent of roasted venison, sweet bread, and spiced honey wine filled the grand hall, thick enough to make my stomach grumble in nausea.

People were everywhere, dressed in beautiful linen and velvets, their eyes bright with curiosity and a sharper quietness. Not with distrust or acceptance. Just the hungry interest that came with any new Luna.

Cyril’s hand never left me. First at the small of my back.

Then my waist.

His fingers touched my wrist as we walked. He guided me from guest to guest like a showpiece on a pedestal, always with a smile that was just a little too perfect.

“She’s breathtaking,” a broad-shouldered alpha murmured to Cyril, not even trying to hide how he looked me up and down. “You’ve chosen well.”

Cyril chuckled. “The Moon Goddess chose for me. I just had the good fortune to find her in time.”

A woman in emerald silk stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with both charm and calculation. “You wear power well, my dear,” she said to me, her voice sounded honey-smooth. “And grace too, you’ll make a fine Luna.”

“Thank you,” I said softly, smiling like the version of myself they expected.

A younger omega brushed past, carrying a tray of silver goblets. She glanced at me and whispered, almost reverently, “You look like a queen.”

Cyril leaned down then, lips brushing my temple. “Because she is.”

I swallowed.

More compliments followed. More smiles. Toasts were raised. “To Cyril and Elara,” someone announced, his voice booming with cheer. “The perfect pair.”

“The future of our pack,” another chimed in.

I nodded, said thank you, laughed at the right moments. Every move felt acted and every word rehearsed. It was like wearing someone else’s body.

Cyril kept me anchored beside him, introducing me to council elders, lieutenants, heirs of allied packs. Some of them greeted me kindly. Others watched me for too long, their gazes flicking between Cyril and me like they were trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.

“She’s exquisite,” one woman breathed, clasping her hands in delight. “Absolutely divine.”

“She glows,” another agreed.

Cyril’s eyes didn’t leave me. “She’s everything I never knew I needed,” he said, voice low and affectionate. “And now she’s mine.”

He said it like it was a promise or a threat to someone.

I forced a small laugh and tilted my face up toward him, allowing him to kiss my cheek.

Around us, the music swelled. The hall shimmered with candlelight and soft perfume, that almost felt like magic. And yet…

Inside, I felt empty.

Like I was watching my life through glass, it felt distant and unreal.

Because the truth was, I didn’t feel like a Luna. I didn’t feel radiant or lucky or chosen. I felt like a beautiful puppet in a pretty cage, dancing to music I didn’t recognize.

And Cyril… he held the strings.

Back at the packhouse, the silence swallowed us whole.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the air shifted. The hum of voices, music, and laughter from the evening faded like a dream that was forgotten too quickly. All that remained was the thick quiet between us and the low thud of my heart in my ears.

Cyril turned slowly, deliberate in every movement, like someone who already knew what came next.

“You did well tonight,” he said

“They adore you already.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, unsure if I meant it or just knew it was what he wanted to hear.

He stepped in and kissed me.

At first, it was soft, almost tender, like the end of a perfect night. His lips closed in against mine with ease. But then it changed. The softness deepened. His hands cradled my face, holding me still as his mouth pressed harder, demanding more. Like he was trying to consume me or claim me.

I kissed him back, not out of want but instinct, because I thought I should. Because the entire night had been a performance, and this was just the final act.

But inside me flinched and I pulled back slightly, my heart was racing with slight fear.

His eyes opened slowly, searching my face. “is something wrong?”

“I… I don’t know,” I said, the words barely a whisper. “I just don’t feel…”

I didn’t finish. I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to feel. Desire? Safety? Anything?

He didn’t react with anger.

He didn’t need to.

Instead, he studied me, quiet and calm. Like he was waiting for me to say the right thing. Like he could wait all night and still come out on top.

“We’re bonded now, Elara,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “We’re mates and consummating the bond is natural. Expected, even.”

The word “consummate” made me twist inside.

It sounded too formal or final. Too much like it was a deed I couldn't undo once it was done.

He saw it, the feeling of discomfort in my eyes.

And something moved in his, too. A shadow it was brief, but enough to make me tense.

Then, just like that, it was gone and replaced by a smile. Gentle and reassuring.

He reached up, brushing his fingers lightly across my cheek in a way that made my skin crawl.

“Not tonight then,” he murmured. “I won’t push.”

My shoulders dropped slightly in relief and I nodded, even though my throat felt tight.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his breath warm against my skin.

“Rest well, my Luna.”

Then he turned and walked toward the adjoining room, leaving me standing there in a silence that no longer felt empty, but full of memories I couldn’t trace.

I didn’t know what scared me more, his patience, or what he might do when it ran out.

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“Say it,” he groaned against my skin, his voice was full with need. “Say you’re mine.”

My breath hitched as his hips rolled into mine again, slow but forceful, like he wanted to carve himself into my bones.

“I…” My back arched, and my lips parted in a gasp. The room spun, drowning in heat. “I don’t… I don’t know who you are.”

He didn’t stop.

His hands held my thighs open, strong and sure, guiding me to take everything he gave. His body blanketed mine, every touch searing, every kiss setting fire to places I didn’t know could burn. He moved like he already knew me, like he knew what made me shake, what made me melt, what made me plead.

“You don’t have to know,” he rasped, dragging his lips along my neck “Your body does.”

And it did.

It rose to meet him again and again, chasing the high he offered, helpless to the rhythm that overtook us both.

He was rough, but never cruel. Hungry, but full of reverence. His fingertips brushed over my nipples, my waist, down my spine, as though I was something sacred.

I reached for his face and tried to see him.

But the features kept slipping, blurry and familiar in the way dreams so often are. I couldn’t place him, but everything about him felt like home and wildfire all at once.

“You feel it too,” he whispered into my ear. “Don’t lie.”

My lips parted to answer, but I didn’t get the chance.

My body jerked, my eyes flew open.

Air!!

I needed air.

I sat up with a choked gasp, my heart was pounding like a war drum in my chest. The room was dark and still. My skin was damp with sweat, nightclothes clinging to me like glue. My legs trembled beneath the covers.

It was a dream….it was just a dream.

But it didn’t feel like one.

My body still pulsed with the aftershock of it…of him.

And I knew, with bone-deep certainty…

Whoever he was…It wasn’t Cyril and that terrified me more than anything else.