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CHAPTER 3
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2025-07-26 20:38:33Amaya’s POV
The bond should have broken. I felt the shift the moment he said those words right after he wiped my tears. I stood there long after Evelara left, waiting for the pain to end, or at least, show signs that it was finally at the end. But it didn’t. Instead, it changed. Now, the pain has dulled under my skin, rearing its head on days when I feel like I am drowning under water. On the nights when it starts, I find myself back in the woods, curled against the tree where he left me. I don’t cry anymore. I have promised myself that that day would be the last time I would cry for Darian. Right now, I am filled with fury and hate, deepened by the fact that I can still feel the bond clinging to me, pulsing through my bones. My wolf enjoys the feeling, but I don’t. I want to get back at Alpha Darian and strike where it hurts. By the time I make it back to the pack house, the crack of dawn is already visible through the skies. The hallways are quiet as I walk through the wooden floors. It has been three days since the mating ceremony, yet the feeling of celebration still lingers in the air. The sight of the garland makes me think of him. I haven’t seen him since the last time. Still, I feel every bit of him like my own heart knows him more than I do. And I hate that it makes me crave him. I am barely inside the kitchen when Evelara’s voice pierces through my thoughts. She materializes through the door, from the hallway I just strolled in through only seconds ago. “Why are the floors still wet, Amaya?” she thundered, her robes swishing all around her frame. “I came here to have coffee because I didn’t want to wake any of you, and I almost slipped.” Evelara didn’t almost slip. Hell, I am certain that she hasn’t been in the kitchen this morning. She must have heard me coming and tried to look for a way to get me riled up. She has been doing that every single day. Not knowing what to say, I stare at her in silence, willing it to be enough. "You dare not ignore your Luna, your filthy rogue!" She pushes herself further into the kitchen. She looks radiant in the morning sun slipping in through the windows, despite the fact that she has only just got out of bed. Compared to her, I look like a sack of potatoes. Suddenly, I feel her hand in my hair, yanking back with a cruel grip. I struggle against her hold, screaming at the top of my voice when I feel my neck stretching. "You think just because the Alpha looked your way once, you're suddenly more important than you were around here?" Her voice is eerily calm. Evelara has been dying to know why Darian wanted to see me that day, but she has gotten nothing from either of us. And it must be driving her insane. “Darian didn’t look my way,” I whimper, feeling the pain return. “Of course, he didn’t. Why would he?” It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself. If she noticed that I just called the Alpha by his name, she doesn’t give it away. “You’re nothing, Amaya. In fact, you are less than nothing. And I’ve spoken to the healer. You are no longer going to work at the pack’s clinic.” The floor seems to shift underneath me as I rock on my feet. Evelara’s hold on my hair cannot be compared to the sudden despair that takes hold of me. The clinic has been the only place I get to avoid seeing him throughout the day. And now… Now, I will be stuck here, in the pack house, under his roof. Evelara must have noticed the impact of her sudden announcement as she suddenly lets go of me, a smug smile on her face as she wipes her hands on her robes like I am filth. “I want the hearth scrubbed by nightfall. And the blood on all the training weapons washed. Along with the dishes from tonight. All with your hands. The washers are off limits to you from today.” Evelara expects me to argue, to plead on my hands or knees. But I am not going to beg the enemy. Instead, I force stillness into my voice as I stare at the ground. "Yes, Luna." I don’t move until I hear her walk out of the kitchen, her steps echoing until they become faint. I wait another minute before slipping out of the kitchen, a sudden wave of anger washing through me. I have spent the past two days carefully planning my revenge against the Grayhide pack, and more specifically, against Damian. And now that the packhouse isn’t crawling with activities yet, I need to make use of the quiet. I don't know why I choose the West Wing. I haven't seen anyone go there since I was brought into the pack house. Still, my feet lead me there. The first door creaks as I push it open. I drown out the noise, rushing inside and closing it behind me. My breath comes out in ragged breath as I keep moving, walking up the stairs until I reach the third floor. No lock. Perfect. Inside, the room is filled with trunks carelessly tossed around, with coatings of dust around them. I shouldn’t be in here, but I cannot stop now. Something catches my eyes near the wall. The light from the stained glass meets it, causing a distribution of colors around the room. I move towards it, kneeling as I wiggle it out of the floorboard. My eyes narrow when I take in the crest. It is red and gold, with scratched edges. I am sure I have never seen it before, but for some reason, it feels familiar. A picture of a wolf with a silver opening on the wall behind it. There is a nudging in my brain, but each time I feel like I am about to grab it, it slips further away. Irritation starts to eat at me. Just then, I hear a series of hurried footsteps close to me Too close to me.
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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
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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
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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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