The First Crack in the Memory

Three weeks.

That is how long I have been Luna of the Blackmoon Pack. Twenty-one days of smiles and nods and careful questions. Twenty-one nights of lying beside a man I am supposed to hate, listening to him breathe, fighting the urge to touch him.

I am failing.

"You are staring at him again."

Maris appears at my elbow, a basket of herbs in her arms. We are in the pack gardens, pretending to gather supplies for the healers. In truth, I am watching Rhydian train with his warriors in the field beyond.

"I am not staring," I say. "I am observing."

"Observing." Maris snorts. "Is that what we are calling it now?"

"Shut up."

"He took his shirt off an hour ago and you have not blinked since."

I feel heat rush to my cheeks. "I was not..."

"You were." She grins, but it fades quickly. "You like him."

"I do not."

"Vespera."

"I do not like him." I turn away from the field, forcing myself to focus on the herbs. "I am trying to understand him. There is a difference."

Maris is quiet for a moment. Then she says, softly, "What are you so afraid of?"

The question hits me like a blow. I open my mouth to answer, to lie, to deflect. But nothing comes out.

"Nothing," I finally manage. "I am not afraid of anything."

"Liar."

I do not respond.

That night, I ask Rhydian about Virelle.

We are in his study, going over pack reports. It is a quiet moment, almost domestic. He is seated at his desk, his brow furrowed as he reads. I am in the chair across from him, pretending to review supply lists.

"Can I ask you something?"

He looks up. "Of course."

"Virelle." The name hangs in the air between us. "What happened between you two?"

His entire body goes rigid. The pen in his hand stills. For a long moment, he does not speak.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because you never talk about her. Because everyone in this pack whispers her name like it is a curse. Because I am your wife and I know nothing about the woman who came before me."

He sets the pen down. His hands are trembling. "Virelle was... a mistake."

"A mistake?"

"I thought she was my fated mate. The Moon Goddess chose her for me. Or so I believed." He laughs, but there is no humor in it. "I was wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I do not want to talk about this."

"Rhydian."

"Please." He looks at me, and I see something in his eyes that stops me cold. Pain. Raw and bleeding and desperate. "Not tonight. I cannot... not tonight."

I should push. I should demand answers. But the look on his face, the brokenness in his voice, makes something inside me ache.

"All right," I whisper. "Not tonight."

He nods, grateful. But I know this conversation is not over. It has only just begun.

The next day, I see her.

I am in the market, browsing fabrics with Maris, when a woman walks past. Dark hair. Pale skin. A laugh that sounds like broken glass.

Virelle.

No. Not Virelle. Just a woman who looks like her. But my body does not know the difference. My heart slams against my ribs. My vision blurs. I cannot breathe.

"Vespera?" Maris grabs my arm. "Vespera, what is wrong?"

"I cannot... I cannot breathe..."

"Hey. Hey, look at me." She pulls me into a side alley, away from the crowd. "Look at me. Breathe. Just breathe."

I try. I try so hard. But all I can see is the blade. All I can hear is the laughter. All I can feel is the cold silver entering my heart.

"I died," I gasp. "I died, Maris. She killed me."

"What? Who? Vespera, you are not making sense."

I cannot tell her. I cannot tell anyone. But the words are there, clawing at my throat, desperate to be free.

"Nothing." I force myself to calm down, to push the memories back. "I am fine. Just... I thought I saw someone."

"Who?"

"No one. It does not matter."

Maris does not believe me. I can see it in her eyes. But she does not push. She just holds my hand and waits for me to be ready.

I am not sure I will ever be ready.

That night, I cannot sleep.

Rhydian is beside me, his breathing slow and even. I watch him for a long time, studying the lines of his face. He looks peaceful in sleep. Innocent. Nothing like the monster I remember.

But he is a monster. He has to be. Because if he is not, then what does that make me? If my memories are wrong, then who am I? What am I?

I slip out of bed. I need answers. I need to understand.

The pack archives are in the basement of the main house. I have never been there before, but I know where they are. I know because I remember coming here in my past life, searching for the same answers.

The stairs creak beneath my feet. The air is cold and damp. I light a candle, its flame casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.

The archives are vast. Shelves upon shelves of records, journals, letters. The history of the Blackmoon Pack, stretching back centuries.

I do not know where to start. I do not know what I am looking for.

I start with the most recent records. The years when Rhydian was young. The years when Virelle was part of the pack.

Hours pass. I find nothing. I am about to give up when I notice something strange. A gap in the records. Entire months missing from the ledgers. Years of history erased.

Someone has been here before me. Someone has removed the evidence.

But they missed something.

There is a loose stone in the corner of the room. I notice it because it is slightly out of place, slightly ajar. I kneel down, my heart pounding, and pry it open.

Inside, there is a bundle of letters. Yellowed with age. Tied with a black ribbon.

I untie the ribbon with trembling fingers. I unfold the first letter.

And I begin to read.