The Alpha’s Regret: The Hidden Luna’s Return
Leo was grinning, batting at a stray droplet of water that had escaped a canteen, watching it wobble like a translucent jellyfish.
But it was Luna who caught my breath. Her hair, as white as mine, fanned out around her head like a halo of silk. Her eyes weren't on the Earth, and they weren't on the cabin. She was staring fixedly at the Moon—the glowing, jagged crescent that loomed ahead of us like a curved ivory blade.
"It’s calling," Luna whispered. Her voice had that hollow, rhythmic quality that usually preceded one of her prophecies. "The Great White Wolf isn't on the Moon, Mama. She is the Moon. And she’s angry that the metal-men are crawling on her skin."
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