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LUNA IN WAITING
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2025-08-05 14:43:25
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Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE FIRST BLADE
POV: Araya The hall had not finished echoing when the shadow came. Not a door opening. Not a wolf stepping from the crowd. This was absence made flesh. A blade-shaped void cut through the silver rain still hanging in the rafters, and the air itself hissed as if a seam had been unstitched. My wolf bristled so hard it hurt my ribs. Nyxara hissed in my skull: Steel. Old steel. Then I saw him. He stood where no path led, bronze skin gleaming as if hammered straight from ore, eyes faceted obsidian, hair pulled tight into a knot that never moved. Armor wrapped his body in shifting light—blades folded over each other, edges reforming every time my focus tried to hold. A sword the size of a man’s height rode his back, silent, patient. A weapon, not a man. Nyxara’s tone was ice: The First Blade. The name dragged dust from the rafters. Even Selene’s silver shivered. He looked at me. No blink. No breath. “You are to be unmade.” --- He moved before the last syllable. Faster than wolv
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE MOON DESCENDS
POV: ArayaThe ash had not finished falling when the air changed.A silence sharper than steel cut through the hall. Every wolf froze. Torches bent toward the doors as if bowing. The altar’s ashes stirred, glowing faintly, as though some buried tide had passed through the ruin.Then came the silver.It trickled first from the rafters, like mist drawn into droplets. Then faster, heavier — rain with no storm to call it. Drops hissed where they struck the stone, burning coin-bright scars into the floor. Wolves shook it from their fur with low growls.The priestesses screamed.They crumpled to their knees, blood spilling silver from eyes, mouths, and ears. Their white robes turned mirror-sharp, soaked in their goddess’s own essence.The howls of wolves faltered into a silence thick as fear.And then she descended.Selene. The Moon herself.---POV: SeleneDescent is never without risk.To remain in Solara is to be sustained by law. To fold myself into flesh, to step where wolves can smell
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King Ashmouth’s Chains
POV: AshmouthDarkness tastes different when it has been kept too long.New dark is nervous — it clings to corners, panics at the scrape of flint, waits for fire to name it. But old dark, the kind that learns patience, that moulds itself around stone, chains, and silence—this kind is thick enough to chew. I have chewed it for centuries.The Loom buried me here. Or claimed to.Above me, Solara hangs, a hollow crown of false light and false law. I feel it in the stone, in the air that drips through cracks like thin wine. Once, I stood there. Once, my voice cracked their table in two. Once, I burned their order to glass and ash.Then chains. Always chains.---The cavern is a cathedral of ruin.Iron columns spike down from the ceiling, hammered into bedrock. They are not decoration. They are links, each wider than a wolf’s back, each carved with the runes of gods afraid of their own shadows. They thread my limbs, my ribs, my throat. They drink my marrow and spit it back into the stone.A
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King ASH QUEEN RISES
POV: ArayaBlackthorn’s hall breathed smoke and silence.Torches hissed along stone walls, shadows bending beneath banners stitched with wolves that never lived. Incense and oil stung the lungs. Every bench overflowed with bodies pressed close, collars humming faint and cruel.At the far end, the altar rose like a parasite in the dais. Pale wood pulsed with false life, roots threading deep into stone, runes crawling over its face in patterns that weren’t ours.Kade knelt at its foot. Hollow-eyed. Broken. Whispering words that weren’t his.Above him stood Adira—pale beneath her crown of braids, hands locked over the swell of her belly. Erik’s voice coiled through her womb like rot through water.Hollowflame prowled my skin. My wolf clawed for release.“Enough,” I said, and Blackthorn’s doors split wide.---The hall gasped. Torches guttered. Shadows fled. The priest faltered mid-chant, his book trembling as if ashamed of its words.I walked. Ash flaked from my heels—soft snow glowing r
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE LUNA’S LIE
POV: AdiraThe hall smells of wax and iron.Torches spit against black stone, smoke curling toward a vaulted ceiling painted with wolves that never lived. A dais rises like a blade at the chamber’s heart, draped in crimson and silver. Runes crawl faintly along the floor — roots etched into stone, old words bent into obedience.They told me this was only a rehearsal.But rehearsals are prisons too.I move through the steps the priest drilled into me: bow of the head, lift of the hands, turn of the wrist to show the bond-mark. My body performs with perfect grace; I was raised to make performance indistinguishable from truth. Still, my pulse betrays me, drumming against the child inside me.The pack kneels in my imagination, though the hall is mostly empty. I see their bowed heads, their whispers: Luna. Luna. Luna. My name as triumph. My womb as proof.I place my palm on the swell of my belly. The child stirs faintly, a flutter like wings.Erik stirs with it.Mine, he whispers, silk thre
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King COUNCIL FRACTURES
POV: Selene — CouncilThe chamber has no walls.It never did.It hangs by law and light alone — a hollow sphere above Solara’s highest spire, open on every side. The city below glitters and seems small, its towers like candle stubs. Mortal fires can’t touch us here. The Loom hums overhead, threads stretching into infinity.Tonight, the hum is wrong.A pulse moves through it — heavy, alien, older than any cadence we wrote into the weave. Each vibration shudders the chamber, bends the pillars of fire as if some wind dared to exist here. Solara’s golden spires tremble; the city rings like struck glass.The Council erupts.“IT IS A WEAPON!” War bellows, his voice cracking against light. His gauntleted fist slams the table of fire; sparks fall like meteors. His hair lifts in the heat of his own fury. “You felt it. You all felt it! A seam, a strike, a pulse not born of us. This is an attack!”Death does not flinch. She never does. Her lips curl as if she’s been waiting longer than eternity
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