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CHAPTER 1
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2025-07-26 20:32:40Amaya’s POV
“Where the hell is she?” I hear Evelara yell, her voice reverberating through the pack house. There are over twenty ladies attending to her every need, but I know I am the one she’s referring to. The orphan. The only one who didn’t have to beg her way to be made a slave in the pack house. I am not even supposed to be in here. My place has always been by the pack's healer's side, using my gifts to treat illnesses. Yet, here I am, an addition to a line of slaves. With one hand folded in a fist, and the other balancing a basket on my waist, I increase my pace, running into her bedroom. She sits before the vanity, staring at her reflection. The moment Evelara sees me, she holds her hand up to stop the ladies working on her hair. They take a few steps back, their faces staring at the plain wooden ground. They know better than to interrupt. Her hand collides with my face, forcing me to look the other way. It stings. I feel it in every fragment of my being. “My mating ceremony is only in thirty minutes, and yet, the flowers are not ready,” she snaps, her already delicately arranged hair falling out of their holds. “What use are you to me here then, Amaya? The warriors should just have killed you like they did to the rest of your stupid rogue pack.” If the situation were any different, I might have laughed at how funny she looks with the scattered curls hanging over her head. "Alpha Darian doesn't like being late, and you know it. Or are you trying to make me look bad in front of him?" Alpha Darian. The man who ordered the attack of every member of the rogue pack who took me in when I had no one. Alpha Darian. The man I hate. “I’m sorry, Evelara. I was …” And then, I stop. Blink. Something just happened. I hear the sudden pause in the room, and in this moment, I realize my mistake. But it is too late as another slice wooshes through the air and lands on the same spot on my face. “What did you just call me?” Tears sting the corner of my eyes. I try to blink them away, but it only makes it worse. The gaze of the ladies in the room remains rooted to the ground. I am all alone. “I meant…” I bite my lips, trying hard to hold my tears at bay. Evelara hates us crying in front of her. “…Luna Evelara. I’m sorry.” It doesn’t matter that she isn’t the Luna of the Greyhide pack. At least not yet. She has insisted I call her that from the moment I was taken captive. “Why are you still standing here?” Nodding, I rush away from her, planting myself at one corner of the room, very far away from her, just in case something else gets her upset. There is a slight drizzle. It hits the window pane with each strike, and I feast on it greedily as my hands move mechanically, arranging the stems of flowers in the basket into a bouquet. My mind travels as I work. I think of everything I would have been doing right at this hour if the rogue pack hadn't been attacked four weeks ago. Maybe the streams at the bottom of the hills would have welcomed me, my arms paddling through the warm water, and my best friend, throwing stones from the foot of the huge tree, laughing when the current threatens to pull me away. I hear the door open in the distance. Footsteps follow next, and then a light chuckle. I angle my head slightly, just in time to see Evelara’s eyes light up as she receives a gift from a pair of hands. “You didn’t have to do this,” she drawls, unwrapping the package. A dagger. How cute. “I didn’t have to,” a deep baritone echoes round the room. I raise my head higher. It is the first time I've seen him since I got to the pack house. The only thing I know about him is the whispers from the other servants. They speak about his ruthlessness, how he owns the largest pack in the region, and how every single wolf is feared by him. He looks in my direction, and I freeze. Why does my heart feel weird? The flowers drop from my hands, their whispers barely audible, as I clutch onto my chest. For some reason, it hurts. The pain pierces through me, yet I cannot stop staring at him. His lips move, but I cannot make out his words. Still, I hear them inside my head. “Mate.” I have heard of this moment, the tales recounted a million times. But none of those stories describes this pain. Alpha Darian moves towards me, his presence filling the room. It feels like the whole world has disappeared into nothing, leaving only the two of us. I am painstakingly aware of every move he makes, how he stops in front of me, how his eyes take in the mess the flowers have made on the floor. “Pick them up.” I blink, fast. Just like that, every single thing that has disappeared comes back into focus. “Why must you do this?” Evelara rages and rushes towards us. "First, you don't show up until thirty minutes before the mating ceremony, and now, you've ruined my bouquet!" “Who is she?” I don’t know why that stings. My mate has no idea who I am. “Some wench the warriors brought from the rogue pack that was attacked a month ago,” Evelara says in one breath. She fears him, too. They all do. "The ceremony can go on without the bouquet," he mutters, giving the flowers on the ground one last look before putting an arm out for Evelara. She takes it while I watch them float towards the door. Or more like watch Evelara float, while Alpha Darian leads. He gives nothing away, not surprise, not disappointment. "You!" He stops by the door for a second. "I should see you in my study immediately after the mating ceremony is over. Don't make me look for you."
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The Slave Who Owned The Moon CHAPTER 142
AmayaThe ridge looked like it had been cut from the wrong world. Dawn spread thin over stone and roof tiles, a color that does nothing to soften shapes. The mountain kept twitching as if some animal under its skin could not stop moving. Every tremor made me remember light exploding and my mother’s face melting into it. I kept telling myself the memory would shrink, that terror would dull into distance. It did not.Trish left before the first bell. I wrapped a scrap of linen and a tiny jar of ointment in my palm and put them into her hands like an offering. Her eyes were wide and bright and smaller somehow than they had been the day we first met. She would hide with the healers, where hands kept secrets under bandages and prayers slipped through mouths without witnesses. It was the only quiet place I trusted.I walked with my hood low, the servants’ route under the kitchens smelling of bread and steam. The house pretended to be busy and ordinary. That quiet was its armor. Everyone mov
The Slave Who Owned The Moon CHAPTER 141
TheronA sound like a struck bell woke the council before the runners did. It wasn't the normal clamor of a dawn call or a smith's hammer; it was a low, rolling thunder that came from beneath the earth and left the rafters shivering in its wake. I felt it through my bones before I heard the words—an alarm that said the house was not whole.I dressed with the economy of a man who has practiced panic into order. Boots, cloak, the iron ring at my wrist. Outside my door the household moved already, quiet and sharp. Men were running, women were pulling children close, and the servants whispered the first theories like prayers: a sinkhole, a quake, a wagon collapse. The pack said simple things to keep from telling the truth.But I have been alive long enough to know the difference between a cracked stone and a deliberate fracture. The cracking we heard was too clean for chance. It smelled of force and intent the way a struck spear smells of iron and sweat. I wanted proof before alarm. Proof
The Slave Who Owned The Moon CHAPTER 140
LucianWhen I woke, the world was breathing smoke. The air hung heavy, half dust, half blood, and every breath tasted like rusted iron. The aqueduct had caved in around me—stone split open, beams twisted like broken ribs. Somewhere far above, the surface groaned under the weight of the collapsing tunnels.I forced myself up, pain sharp behind my eyes. The torch I’d dropped earlier lay a few feet away, its flame guttered to an orange glow. My leg throbbed where the knife had struck. Each movement left a streak of fire in my bones, but staying still meant dying here.The first sound I heard wasn’t human—it was the hum of the crystal beneath the earth. Faint at first, like a heartbeat echoing through water. Then louder. Steady. Calling.I turned toward it, following the light leaking through the cracks ahead.Every step sent gravel cascading behind me. The tunnels were bleeding themselves out. And through it all, the hum continued, pulling me forward until the air turned from black to bl
The Slave Who Owned The Moon CHAPTER 139
AmayaThe tunnel wanted to swallow us whole. Every step felt like stepping deeper into a throat—stone closing, breath shortening, the air growing older and thicker until my lungs protested. Trish’s grip on my sleeve was the only anchor I had; without it I would have slid off into panic and the dark and never found my way back. We moved on hands and knees where the drain forced us to, water licking our calves, the metal taste of damp and old iron on my tongue.I thought about Lucian the way you think of a wound you can’t touch. He was behind us, fighting bone and torchlight, giving us the only path that might yet bend toward escape. That thought turned my feet faster. If he bled for me, then the rest of me would be worth the saving.The hum started low, a vibration under the soles of my feet first, then a tone that threaded behind my teeth. It made the mark at my throat prickle like an insect. My fingers went to it without conscious thought, to the place where the old blood lay simmeri
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LucianThey came like a hunger I could see in the dark. Torches bobbed through the tunnel mouth, pale globes slicing the black. The first man who ran past the archway did not look like a hunter. He looked like a man told he must be brave and decided he would try anyway. The second man carried a spear. The third moved with the dull certainty of someone paid to obey.I do not think. I move.My fist found stone and the world narrowed to breath, to the scrape of leather, to the cold smell of iron. The aqueduct walls remembered feet older than the pack. They remembered feet that ran when they had to, and feet that left stains. I used those memories like a map. I slid to my belly and stayed low until the first two passed, then I rose and threw myself at the third, my knife finding the tendon behind his knee. He went down with a sound like wind breaking.The tunnel answered with movement behind me. Shouts tried to hang to the ceiling and failed. Echoes are liars; they carry fear and make it
The Slave Who Owned The Moon CHAPTER 137
AmayaBy the time the first howl rolls through the valley, Lucian and I are already halfway down the ridge. The moon hangs pale and cruel above the treetops, painting the forest in silver and shadow. The cold air bites at my face, sharp with the scent of smoke and iron.Below us, the Grayhide compound glows faintly through the mist. Watchfires burn in a perfect ring—Theron’s net. I can feel it even from here, that heavy pulse of order he casts like a curse. Every torch is a trap. Every gap is a mouth waiting to close.Lucian’s hand signals for silence. We crouch beside a fallen oak. Its bark is scarred black from lightning, hollow enough to hide us if the patrols sweep close. He looks back at me, his voice a whisper. “They’ve started the purge.”My stomach tightens. “How do you know?”He points toward the northern barracks. A column of light flickers there, followed by the faint echo of shouts. “They’re testing the servants. Blood sigils. I saw one burn from here.”The air between us
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