The Wolfless Luna

Seraphina stirred, a groan escaping her lips as a deep ache spread through her body. She felt like she had collided with a force much greater than herself. Her limbs were heavy, sore, and uncooperative.

Her lashes fluttered open, revealing dazed blue eyes. A sharp headache struck, forcing another groan from her as she held her throbbing temples. But there was another ache—one she couldn’t ignore.

A dull, persistent pain throbbed between her thighs.

Dread coiled in her stomach. The ache was undeniable. Someone had been with her last night. Someone had taken her.

A strange scent clung to her skin—expensive cologne, not her own. Seraphina’s breath caught as she lowered her gaze to the bed. Scarlet stains bloomed on the pristine white sheets, trailing down her upper thigh.

Blood.

Her lips trembled as the horrifying realization set in.

This wasn’t her house. Not her family’s estate. And certainly not her fiancé’s home.

Panic flickered in her eyes as she surveyed the grand bedroom, from the high ceiling to the elegant furniture. The room was luxurious, unfamiliar.

“Where… am I?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

She tried to get out of bed, but her legs buckled, sending her crashing back onto the mattress. Her skin was littered with dark marks—bruises, hickeys… bite marks. And then she felt it—her mating gland throbbed with a dull burn.

Someone had marked her.

Her breath quickened.

Memories flickered through her mind like a broken reel. She had been at a club downtown, celebrating her bachelorette party. She never wanted to go—she hated crowds, hated loud places—but her sister, Zara, had insisted.

Seraphina had only gone because she couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

She remembered the club. The flashing lights. The laughter. The pack girls cheering her on.

Then came the game of Truth or Dare. Zara had dared her to drink five shots of whiskey. She wasn’t a drinker—had never touched alcohol before. But she hadn’t wanted to be the killjoy of her party.

She took the shots.

That was the last thing she remembered.

How had she ended up here? In this bed? Defiled and broken?

A sob bubbled in her throat.

How will I explain this to Ethan?

A sharp gasp tore from her lips as her gaze darted to the wall clock.

10:00 AM.

She was supposed to be at the altar right now—standing beside her mate, Alpha Ethan, pledging her life to him.

Her heart pounded. Sweat beaded on her forehead. What was she going to do?

Before she could form a plan, the doorknob twisted.

The door swung open.

Seraphina’s breath hitched.

Standing in the doorway, looking at her with cold, burning fury, was Ethan.

His gaze raked over her—her dishevelled hair, the bruises littering her skin, and the torn remains of her dress sprawled across the bed.

His jaw clenched. Veins bulged in his temples. His fists curled so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.

Seraphina yanked the duvet to her chest, trembling.

“Ethan—please, I can explain,” she choked out.

His lips curled in disgust. “There’s nothing to explain.” His voice was sharp, cutting, filled with venom. “You disgusting whore.”

Seraphina flinched.

Ethan sneered. “Get your filthy hands off me, you disgusting pig.”

He kicked her away.

Seraphina hit the floor with a painful thud. The duvet slid off her shoulder, exposing her bruised skin.

The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as she watched him walk away.

She could still hear his footsteps echoing down the hall.

And one question burned in her mind:

Who did this to me?

Wilson Manor

After forcing herself to clean up and purchasing a dress with the help of a kind room service worker, Seraphina made her way home.

Her body ached with every step. But the pain in her heart was far worse.

As she approached the Wilson estate, hushed whispers surrounded her.

“Oh, here she comes,” Edgar, one of the maids, muttered.

“The prostitute is back home,” the cook hissed.

Seraphina clenched her fists, but she said nothing.

She pushed open the grand doors, stepping into the living room. The moment she entered, icy glares greeted her.

“You bitch!”

The slap came so fast that she barely saw it.

A sharp sting bloomed across her cheek as she stumbled back.

Grandma Thalia, the Luna of the Violet Moon Pack, stood before her, seething. “How dare you betray your Alpha?” she spat.

Seraphina tasted blood. Her lips quivered.

“Please, let me explain,” she whispered.

“Get on your knees.”

The command came from her father, Alpha Kendrick, a tall man with brown eyes and a grey moustache.

Seraphina hesitated—but only for a second.

She knew better than to disobey him.

She dropped to her knees.

“You have disgraced this family,” Kendrick hissed, grabbing a fistful of her hair.

Seraphina whimpered. “Father, please—”

“I trusted you!” Ethan’s voice rang out. “And this is how you repay me? By spreading your legs for another man the night before our wedding?”

“That’s not true!” Seraphina gasped.

She turned to Zara, her only hope.

“Zara, please,” she pleaded. “Tell them! You planned my bachelorette party—tell them what happened!”

Zara smirked.

“What are you talking about?” she said, feigning innocence. “We never had a bachelorette party.”

Seraphina’s breath caught.

No.

Her blood ran cold.

“We had pack girls with us!” Seraphina insisted desperately, looking around. “They were there! They can tell you—”

Another slap cut her off.

Her father’s.

Seraphina let out a broken sob.

They don’t care.

They don’t care what happened to her.

“From this day forth,” Alpha Kendrick’s voice boomed, “you are no longer a part of this family.”

Tears streamed down Seraphina’s face.

Kendrick turned to Ethan. “I apologize for my daughter’s disgrace.”

Ethan scoffed. “It’s fine, Alpha. Zara will become my Luna instead.”

What?

Seraphina’s breath hitched.

Zara smiled triumphantly.