All Chapters of The Slave Who Owned The Moon: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

AMAYA I don't know why I didn't do this earlier, but going for nightly runs has been the best way for me to relieve the tension always radiating all over my body. Thankfully, I have also successfully avoided Lucian for the past few days. I don't need him unsettling me. However, I haven’t been able to go back to the west wing. I don’t want to risk it for now in case I run into Lucian again. Maybe after some time, when he grows tired of me like everyone does, I’ll be able to go back there. I’m playing the long game after all. Evelara, on the other hand, doesn’t stop making my life a living hell. She makes sure I’m always fully occupied so that I won’t be able to go to the pack clinic, and it’s one of the things I do that brings me peace. My mentor is an old wolf. He has a wealth of experience in healing and is already teaching me some of his methods. Working in the clinic makes me feel like I’m born to be a healer, and being a protégé of one of the most experienced healers in

AMAYA There’s something wrong with me. I don’t say it out loud. I barely even let myself think it. But the thought returns, stronger each time I practice one of the healing methods from the old texts. Today, I’m alone in the laundry cellar. I finish my chores early and sneak the book from the library under my apron. The laundry maid lets me be here sometimes when I need quiet. She doesn’t ask questions, and I don’t offer answers. The book is cracked and worn. Its leather binding flakes every time I turn a page, and the pages themselves are yellowed and ink-smudged. But the knowledge inside feels ancient and potent, like it’s not meant to be read by someone like me. Still, I read it anyway. I kneel on the stone floor, my fingers tracing the faded drawing of a wolf’s paw layered over a human hand. The caption reads: “To mend bone and blood, the healer must feel the wound as her own.” That’s the part that always unsettles me. I thought it was just a metaphor, an old saying

AMAYAI’m shelving books again. It’s the one chore I never complain about.There’s something calming about the library. It's high ceilings and musty scent, the way sound is swallowed by thick curtains and old wood. For a few precious minutes every afternoon, I exist without being barked at or watched too closely.I’m halfway through sorting the herbology section when I feel it, that strange pull behind my ribs. The invisible thread that always seems to tug at me when something isn’t right.At first, I thought it was Lucian.But this feels different.I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see someone like Trish or one of the other maids.But instead, Elder Theron steps into the aisle, and I freeze.We’ve never exchanged words. I’ve seen him around, of course, looming at Alpha meetings, always dressed in those formal robes and ancient-looking rings. He reminds me of the stories I used to hear as a child. Of wolves that didn’t need claws to be dangerous.His presence alone sets somethi

LUCIANThe moment Amaya leaves my room, I’m left staring at the door like it could somehow provide answers to the questions I have swirling in my head.She doesn’t know it, but every word she just told me about Theron has been replaying in my head on a loop. The way she described her encounter with him left a bitter taste in my mouth. I have never liked Theron, and I had good reason for my decision, and it was nonsense like this that made me feel justified in my conviction.And if there’s one thing I know about Theron, it’s that he doesn’t do anything without a reason. Whatever reason he has for approaching Amaya out of the blue is definitely not a good or noble one.That man might wear the nicest robe, but his attitude was about as rotten as a dead skunk.I pace the length of my room, my wolf already restless. It’s not just suspicion swirling in my head anymore, it’s certainty. He’s up to something, and somehow, Amaya’s been caught in his sights.That’s not going to end well unless

AMAYAIt’s midday when I’m sent to the east parlor.The air is warm and sweet from the perfume of flowers in the courtyard, drifting in through the open windows. The east parlor is one of the fancier rooms in the estate, with its polished floors and silk curtains.It was the kind of place where even the air feels expensive, and, unfortunately, the place Evelara likes to hold court with her friends.Evelara asking specifically for me could only mean one thing. She had something up her sleeve, and I bet it has to do with humiliating me in front of her friends.Although I always expect it, that doesn’t make it any less annoying.My business with the east wing is usually brief. I was either serving a guest while trying to remain invincible or filling in for one of the servants assigned there.The moment I walk into the room, I could immediately feel the attention I had drawn, the eyes that turned to look at me.Four women sit on the cushioned chairs, dressed in flowing fabrics and sparkli