All Chapters of Wrath Of A Scorned Luna : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Donald’s eyes change into something I have never seen before. One second he looks stunned, like he can’t believe what just happened. The next, something dark snaps inside him. His jaw tightens, his pupils dilate, and the warmth I’ve known for the last two years vanishes like it never existed. Before I can even take a step back, his hand shoots out and his fingers wrap around my neck so tightly that I can barely breathe. The force of it slams me backward, my spine crashing into the wardrobe. Unbearable Pain explodes through my back and shoulders causing the air to rip out of my lungs in one sharp burst. “Donald..!” I gasp, my hands flying to his wrist. But He doesn’t loosen his grip. I claw at him, nails scraping against his skin, panic surging as my feet barely touch the floor. My vision starts to blur around the edges and I quickly realize in horror that my husband is killing me. “You stupid, pathetic, wolfless bitch! He snarls at me, “How dare you lay your filthy hands on me?!

I woke up cold and shivering. Not the normal kind of cold where you just pull a blanket closer and drift back to sleep, but the deep, biting cold that crawls into your bones and reminds you that something is terribly wrong. The first thing I noticed was the darkness. It pressed in on me from every side until it was suffocating. The air smelled damp and rotten, like mold and old blood. Stone dug painfully into my back, and when I tried to move, chains rattled. Chains?? My heart slammed violently against my ribs. “No… no, no,” I whispered hoarsely. I forced my eyes open wider, letting them adjust. Faint torchlight flickered far down the corridor, barely strong enough to illuminate the iron bars in front of me. But then My breath hitched when I realized where I was. I, the Luna was in The pack’s dungeon. The place where the worst criminals were thrown. Murderers. Traitors. Rogues who begged to die because the dungeon was worse. A hysterical laugh burst out of me before I could

The word echoes in my skull like a death sentence. *Mine.* I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t process what just happened. Alpha Alistair Blackthorn, the monster who slaughtered my parents, the demon of the North, the man I’ve hated with every fiber of my being for years, just pointed at me and claimed me like I’m some kind of property. The entire hall erupts into chaos. “Absolutely not!” Donald’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and furious. He steps forward, his face twisted with rage. “She’s my wife! You can’t just…” “Can’t I?” Alistair’s voice is dangerously quiet, but it silences the room instantly. He moves with predatory grace, each step deliberate and unhurried, until he’s standing directly in front of Donald. The size difference is staggering. Alistair towers over him, radiating power that makes even the strongest warriors in the room shift uncomfortably. “You invited me here to form an alliance,” Alistair says, his tone conversational but laced with threat.

I jerk away from Alistair’s reaching hand so violently that I slam my already bruised shoulder into the carriage wall. Pain explodes through me, but I don’t make a sound. I won’t give him that satisfaction. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss. He pauses, his hand suspended in the air between us. In the dim light filtering through the carriage windows, his face is all sharp angles and shadows, predatory and unreadable. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice low. I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Right. Because you’re known for your gentle treatment of women.” Something flickers across his face, too quick to identify. Then his expression hardens back into that cold mask. “Believe what you want,” he says flatly. “But we’re stopping here for the night, and you need to get out.” “Why? So your guards can have their entertainment?” His eyes flash dangerously. “My guards know better than to lay a hand on what’s mine.” *What’s mine.* Like I’m a possession. A thing. “I’d rather

Six months.Six brutal, agonizing, transformative months.I barely recognize myself anymore when I catch my reflection in the metal water buckets. The soft, gentle woman who used to smile too much and trust too easily is gone, burned away by pain and necessity.In her place is someone harder. Leaner. Colder.Someone who knows how to survive.“Again,” Kate barks, circling me like a predator. “And this time, don’t telegraph your moves like an amateur.”I wipe blood from my split lip and raise my fists, ignoring the screaming protest of my exhausted muscles. We’ve been training for three hours already, long after everyone else has collapsed into sleep.Kate doesn’t believe in rest days. Or mercy.She lunges at me without warning, and this time I’m ready. I dodge left, using the movement she taught me, economical, efficient and drive my elbow toward her ribs.She blocks it easily, but I’m already spinning away, creating distance.“Better,” Kate acknowledges, the closest thing to praise I