The Rogue’s Luna

I remember the blood.

Not just the metallic sting of it in the air or the way it soaked into the soil under my bare feet. I remember how it felt. Warm, sticky, terrifying. It ran down my father’s temple in slow drips, each one marking time like a cursed metronome. My mother’s heartbeat was the last thing I heard before it all went still.

That night ruined everything.

It was supposed to be just another Moon Gathering. The elders said the blood moon was rare, a symbol of strength, a time for all packs to meet and share peace under the stars. I wore my best white dress, the one with tiny flowers stitched into the hem, and my mother had braided my hair with bits of blue ribbon. I felt important, maybe even a little magical.

But the magic didn’t last.

The first scream cut through the silence like claws through flesh. Then came the sound of wolves shifting. Not the usual kind either, these weren’t peaceful wolves joining in the ritual howl. These were hungry, angry, wild.

They were rogues. Or so I thought.

My father roared commands, shifting mid-sentence, his powerful gray wolf form bursting through his clothes. My mother tucked me behind her, her body trembling but her voice steady. She whispered the same words over and over. "Stay still. Don't run. You're safe." Lies, wrapped in love.

I didn’t stay still.

I peeked. I saw the flames. I saw our pack warriors fall, one by one, outnumbered and overwhelmed. I saw my father go down on one knee, blood pouring from a slash across his side. I saw the look in his eyes when he turned to me. No fear, just sorrow.

I was only ten years old, but I understood what that look meant.

Run.

So I did. I ran through the trees with my tiny legs and weak lungs, tripping over roots, dodging fallen bodies. The forest wasn’t silent anymore. It was alive with violence. Wolves snarled in every direction. The ground shook with the force of battles. The moon turned red above me, like it was watching, weeping.

I ran until someone grabbed me.

At first, I thought it was one of them. One of the monsters. My breath caught in my throat, and I kicked and screamed with everything I had. But the arms that held me were gentle. Familiar.

My brother.

Lio was seventeen, strong and fast. He scooped me up and told me not to make a sound. We hid in a hollowed-out tree trunk, our backs pressed together, our hearts pounding so loudly I was sure someone could hear us. He whispered stories to keep me calm. About the Moon Goddess. About our ancestors. About how we’d rebuild when the war ended.

He didn’t make it to the ending.

The tree trunk split open without warning. A shadow ripped Lio away from me like he weighed nothing. I screamed his name. I begged. I clawed at the ground, my nails tearing into dirt and bark. But it was too late.

The shadow didn't come for me. Not then.

Instead, a man stepped into the light. Tall. Unmarked by the blood all around us. His wolf hadn't shifted. His hands were clean.

But his eyes were the worst part.

Cold. Blue like winter skies, but colder than ice. He looked down at me the way a predator looks at a bug—unimpressed, bored. Like I wasn’t worth the trouble.

"Leave her," someone behind him growled. "She’s just a pup."

"She’s Ashenvale blood," the man said. "She’ll grow teeth."

Then they turned and walked away.

I never saw that man again. But I see his eyes every night I close mine.

The next few hours are a blur in my mind. Fire. Screaming. The snapping of bones. I don’t know how long I crawled through the forest. I don’t even know what stopped the massacre. Maybe the other packs intervened. Maybe the Goddess had mercy. But when I emerged, I wasn’t a pup anymore.

I was an orphan. A ghost. A nobody.

The rogue lands became my home, not by choice but by survival. I spent years living like an animal; stealing food, hiding from patrols, learning to shift and fight with no one to guide me. The first time I shifted, it was during a thunderstorm. My bones cracked so loud I thought I’d die. But I didn’t. I kept going.

Because I wasn’t done yet.

My father’s last words haunt me even now. "Find the truth, even if it kills you." He said it as he pressed something into my palm. I didn’t even look at it until days later.

A silver locket.

Inside was a picture of my parents and a single name etched into the back.

Lucian Hale.

I didn’t know who he was. Not then. But the name burned into me like a brand. It took years, but I found out. Alpha of Silvermist Pack. Respected. Powerful. Feared. The youngest Alpha in decades. And behind that clean image, a trail of blood I was determined to follow.

That’s when I stopped running.

I started hunting.

I trained with rogues who had no loyalty, no laws. I learned how to silence my steps, mask my scent, lie without blinking. I became something new. Not a girl, not a victim. A weapon.

I never forgot the way he looked at me. Like I was nothing.

I’ll remind him what nothing can become.

I’ve waited a decade for this. A decade to return, not as prey but as fire. And now the chance has come. The Silvermist Pack is vulnerable. Rumors of a Luna selection spread like wildfire. A chance to get close. A chance to destroy them from the inside out.

I’ll become his Luna.

Then I’ll burn everything he loves.

But the one thing I wasn’t ready for... was him.

Not the memory of that cold boy in the woods.

The man I meet now? He isn’t cold. He’s heat and fury. Strength and silence. His touch isn’t lifeless. It’s fire. And when he looks at me now, it’s not boredom in his eyes.

It’s war.

And gods help me, I want to lose to him.

But I can’t.

Because I’m Sera Ashenvale.

The rogue girl who lived. The Luna he’ll regret choosing. The storm that’s coming for everything he built.

And when the blood moon rises again...

He’ll remember exactly who I am.