All Chapters of The Alpha's Moon Marked Luna: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

GavenWar has a sound. It isn’t the clash of steel. It isn’t the snapping of bones. It isn’t even the screams of orders or pain that rip through the air. It is the moment discipline breaks and instinct takes over.That is the sound I hear now. Our formations have fallen, and now everyone is fighting for their lives. They are fighting to see tomorrow. The order of things has disappeared, and in its wake is only chaos.Riddick surges through me like a storm, finally allowed to break. Bone tears and reforms. Muscle stretches. My vision sharpens into scent and heat and movement. My senses are overwhelmed with the blood and fear for a split second. The scent of our enemies has surrounded us. I try to remain focused on the battle raging in front of me, but it is impossible. Beneath all of it. Beneath the claws and fangs is… her. I can feel her pain, her grief, rattling through the mate bond as if it were my own.It hits me like a blade through the ribs. My eyes dart around t

GraceThe battlefield still smells like her blood. It follows me all the way back to Vale. Not on my clothes. Not on my hands. Not on my skin. But in my lungs. Every breath tastes like it.The warriors fall into step behind me as I leave the field. No one questions it. No one stops me. No one speaks.They think I am retreating to regroup. They think I am returning to lead. They do not understand. I am returning for answers.The gates of Vale open at my approach. Wolves bow their heads as I pass. Normally, I would feel satisfaction. Today I feel nothing.My mother’s last breath still echoes in my ears. I fear that it is a sound I will hear for the rest of my life. It didn’t just sound like death; it sounded like betrayal. Not only had she left the Vale Pack and fled to Fern, but she had also asked me to stop fighting her. The request didn’t sit well inside my chest. It burned almost as much as her request to stand beside Fern.My boots strike stone as I walk the familiar h

FernJustin barely walks. Half his weight is on me. The other half he seems to be dragging by sheer will alone. His boots scrape the dirt. His breathing is uneven. His eyes don’t focus on anything.He isn’t fighting anymore. He isn’t defending himself. He isn’t even really present. He is just… empty.I don’t know if that makes this easier or harder.Blood has dried along his hands. Dirt streaks his face. His shoulders sag like something inside him has completely collapsed.I know that feeling. I just carry it differently now, but I remember how it felt to feel hollow.The gates of Blackmoor rise ahead of us, dark against the fading light. The guards spot us immediately. Their weapons lift out of instinct.Then they see who I am holding up, and everything changes.Tension explodes across the wall.“That’s him.”“The traitor.”“Murderer.”Someone growls. Someone else steps forward like they might take him from me. Isara rises inside me immediately. Not violently or aggressively.

FernWar changes the way people look at you. Not just my enemies, but my own people. I came to Blackmoor, a useless spare, and now I stand before them as a Queen. I may not look at myself differently, but I can see the difference in the way they see me. I see it now in every bowed head, in every quiet step, and in every wolf that watches me when they think I don’t notice.They don’t fear me. Instead, they look to me with expectation, and that is somehow heavier than being feared.The war room smells like ink, steel, and exhaustion. Maps cover the central table. Markers showing troop movements, supply routes, and refugee arrivals scatter across the surface like pieces of a game none of us wanted to play.Gaven stands beside me, not in front of me. He lets me have a full view of the table. He doesn’t keep secrets from me. Not anymore. This is my war. The council is already gathered, and I hold my breath as I look at them. Warriors with bandaged arms line the walls. Scouts sh

FernThe battlefield still smells like death when I leave it. Even after hours of healing. Even after washing my hands in snow until they went numb. Even after forcing myself not to cry when some wounds simply refused to close.War changes the air, but it changes people, too.I feel it in the way warriors look at me now. Not with pity. Not with curiosity, but with hope, and that is far more terrifying.I walk beyond the campfires, beyond the low murmur of exhausted wolves, beyond the last watch posts where guards nod respectfully as I pass. They don't stop me anymore. They don't question me. They step aside.They move out of the way because they know whose mate I am, because they know what I did today, and because they saw what I am becoming.The forest greets me with silence. Cold night air fills my lungs, sharp and grounding. Snow crunches under my boots until I finally stop deep among the trees, where the moon filters through the branches like silver glass.I close my eyes.