The Alpha’s Rejected Human Luna
His hands were steady, but I caught the tightness around his mouth—the weight of old rituals being rewritten.
He opened it.
Nestled inside, on a bed of simple black cloth, lay a narrow band of silver. Not a glittering tiara. Not some ornate, ostentatious circlet. Just a band, etched with a pattern of intertwined thorns and moons.
“The Lunar crown,” Morwen said quietly from her place at the ring’s edge. “Forged when this pack was born. Placed on the heads of Lunas, who stood as symbols, puppets, or priests to a story that forgot they were people first.”
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