All Chapters of Moonbound to Power : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

SAMANTHA’S POV The forest around Crescent Moon Pack always whispered to me. Not in words, but in sounds—the shuffle of leaves, the creak of branches, the hush of wind through pines. I liked to think it was because the trees understood. They didn’t laugh at me or call me names. They simply stood, tall and quiet, and let me be. That morning, the forest was thick with humidity, the kind that made your skin sticky and your hair curl tighter. I moved along the edge of the training field with my woven basket pressed to my hip, filling it with herbs for Luna Marie’s stores. Mugwort, plantain leaves, and wild chamomile. Little things I’d learned had their uses in teas, salves, and poultices. I kept my eyes down, careful not to glance toward the sparring field. But the sound carried—heavy thuds of fists and feet, grunts of effort, the occasional barked correction from Beta Triston. The smell of sweat and dust drifted on the air. They were all there—the future of Crescent Moon. War

SAMANTHA’S POV Elias hadn’t sought me out after his cold welcome. He’d spoken to his parents, clasped arms with warriors, even thanked the cooks as if he remembered their faces from years ago—but not me. Not really. A polite nod. A clipped “hello.” His voice too formal, his eyes too distant. As if I were nothing more than another member of the pack. I told myself it didn’t matter. That he was exhausted, still adjusting, still learning to breathe Crescent Moon air after two years away. I told myself we’d talk later—after the celebration, after the noise had quieted and he had time to remember what we’d once been. But a knot had already formed in my stomach. Heavy. Cold. I caught his scent before I saw him. It drifted through the courtyard on the back of the morning fog—smoky cedarwood and crushed pine needles, sharp and grounding. The scent of home. My breath stilled. My hands, busy arranging silver trays for the kitchen omegas, trembled. Elias. I pressed my palm against t

SAMANTHA'S POV The Crescent Moon Pack was silent. Not the kind of silence that comforts, but the kind that presses on your chest until breathing hurts. The kind that makes you feel like you don’t belong in it at all. I sat at the bottom of the pack house steps, hugging my knees to my chest, watching the wolves file in and out dressed in mourning black. Not one pair of eyes met mine. Not even the children, who used to sneak me smiles when their mothers weren’t watching. Now they hid behind skirts and cloaks, as if even looking at me might curse them. My shirt was still stained with blood. Some of it mine, most of it Luna Marie’s. They hadn’t let me change. No one had brought me water. No one had even spoken to me except in whispers I wasn’t meant to hear. “She should’ve protected her.” “She was there, wasn’t she?” “She’s the only one who came back.” Their words dug claws into my skin, harsher than any beating. I tried to tell myself I was imagining it. That grief twisted peo

The morning after the Rejection Ceremony dawned grey and unwelcoming. Fog blanketed the Crescent Moon Pack’s village like a shroud, softening the sharp edges of rooftops, muffling the usual early bustle. Samantha sat alone on the steps behind the old pack infirmary. Her dress from the night before was still damp from dew, stained with the forest floor and streaked with dried tears. Her hair had come undone in tangled ropes down her back, and her arms were littered with shallow scratches. She didn’t know how she made it back. Her body had moved without her mind. Her soul… she wasn’t sure where it had gone. Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass. Her wolf, the one she’d never heard or felt, remained silent within her. If there even was a wolf at all. Maybe Elias’s rejection had killed what little connection she’d had to it. She closed her eyes, trying not to let the ache in her chest consume her again. “I told you,” came a voice behind her, smug and sharp. “You were never

Gabriel Vermont’s POV The air in Crescent Moon Pack was thick with forced celebration and the scent of roasted game. Laughter rang out in bursts as wolves mingled, dressed in their finest—though under it all, a current of tension pulsed through the crowd. The moment I stepped into Crescent Moon Pack’s stronghold, I knew I was not welcome. The stone walls of the Great Hall were cold despite the golden torchlight. The scent of roasted meats and wine couldn't hide the air of mourning that still lingered like smoke after a fire. Warriors watched me from the corners, suspicious. Elders whispered behind goblets of spiced drink. No one approached. It didn’t surprise me. Alpha John had buried his mate only weeks ago. His grief hung thick in the air. And I wasn’t here for celebration. I was here on orders. “Deliver the condolences personally,” Alpha Aldric had told me before I left Blood Moon territory. “Be my eyes. Watch how Crescent Moon recovers. And… trust your instincts.” But I kn