To Kill a Luna

“Please, stop!” I choke, my voice raw, knees sinking into the cold stone. My palms scrape against gravel and shattered glass, the remnants of a night I don’t want to remember.But Rosalina only scoffs in my face, lips curved into a venomous smile. Her long blond hair tumbles forward, a golden curtain veiling her face from the pack gathered behind her, but I know what lies beneath it—a monster draped in silk.She leans down slowly, as if to embrace me, to show them all what a saint she is, their pure Luna, merciful to the end. But her lips brush my ear and the illusion shatters like glass.“This is where you end, Nara. It’s what a girl like you deserves. A stain on the pack’s name.” Her breath is warm, but her words are ice, sinking into my skin. “You should’ve died years ago. But better late than never.”Her laughter is soft, delicate, like bells on a wedding day, but there’s malice dripping from every note. She straightens, pulling back with a holy smile, a glowing aureola of hair ar

My gaze falls on Rosalina, all brittle and fragile, nestled between the two strong Alphas like she belongs there. Rage claws at my chest, my wolf pacing furiously beneath my skin, fangs bared, ready to tear into her flesh. But my lips curve into a soft smile, honey-sweet and perfectly composed.“Don’t apologize, dear heart,” I croon, stepping forward, eyes wide with false concern. “You’re hurt.”I reach out, masking the tremor in my hand, and gently take hers. Her skin is cold, clammy, trembling. She looks like a broken doll—all golden hair tangled by the wind, ocean-blue eyes filled with fear, dirt smudged across her cheek. She’s taller than me, more beautiful, with a softness that begs for protection.I lace my fingers through hers. “Let’s get you to the infirmary. These wounds need treatment.”The pack murmurs in awe, taken aback by my grace and kindness. I know what they expected—a fight, a scene, a desperate Luna clinging to her Alphas. I gave them that in the past. I won’t do it

Lucian.My heart jerks against my ribs the second I see him.He’s halfway through the door, one foot in the study, the other still on the threshold like he’s unsure if he belongs. That alone knocks the breath out of me. Alpha Lucian doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t ask. He takes.So what the hell is he doing here?In my first life, this night belonged to Rosalina. He spent every minute with her—tending to her wounds, holding her close, drinking in the scent of his newfound mate like it was salvation. He never looked back.But now?“May I?”His voice is quieter than I remember

I allow myself to lay in bed for exactly one hour.  The ceiling above is scattered with faint, star-shaped decals—glow-in-the-dark memories of a simpler time. Ten years ago, the twins helped me stick them there, hoping they’d help me sleep better. I remember Lucian on the ladder, Damian tossing stars up one by one, their laughter echoing off the walls like it belonged in a fairy tale.Another memory about to rot.In a few hours, Rosalina will declare them childish. She’ll smile sweetly as she peels them away, murmuring something about how the lights give her nightmares. And the twins—they’ll say nothing. They never do.

As soon as I begin preparing for the Eclipse Celebration, time blurs.Days bleed into nights, and nights into lists—guests, menus, musicians, centerpieces. I throw myself into it like it’s the only thing tethering me to sanity. Maybe it is.I don’t notice Rosalina’s creeping influence right away. I’m too focused on choosing whether to go with ivory or cream tablecloths, which string quartet to hire, which floral arrangements say diplomatic strength rather than sappy Luna nostalgia. Dorothee is a godsend—offering her opinions with the perfect balance of taste and sarcasm, flitting between floral palettes and security strategies like it’s all the same