Chapter 1Mireya's POV
Running had never been simple. Not after everything I lost. After my family – my clan – was wiped out, there was nowhere left to belong. The Ashbourne name had once carried weight across the territories, spoken with a mix of respect and fear because of the rare gift that ran through our bloodline. But all of that vanished the night we were branded traitors. Accused of betrayal. Condemned without mercy. The wolves came for us. My parents didn't survive the purge. They were called murderers. Insurgents. Liars who deserved death.
I can still see it – the moonlight catching the red as their blood soaked into the soil. I remember my wolf screaming at me to turn, to fight, to die with honor. But my human instincts overpowered her, forcing my legs to move, dragging me away while my heart shattered behind me. I fled through trees and mist until my chest felt like it would split open. My brother found me just before dawn. We held each other, shaking, whispering promises we both knew we couldn't keep. He sent me away to hide, disappearing into another city so the hunters wouldn't trace us together.
That was the last time I saw him. Until not long ago. After that, I was alone. Branded prey. A wolf without a pack, constantly looking over my shoulder, always waiting for teeth in the dark. Then I met him. Alpha Darius Stormfell of the Deathwell Pack. He found me at the edge of his territory, half-starved and bleeding. His presence was overwhelming – commanding, dangerous. When his eyes met mine under the moon, I was certain that was the end. I thought he would hand me over, earn favor by spilling the blood of an Ashbourne. Instead, something snapped between us.
The bond. Sudden. Violent. Unavoidable. He sheltered me. Claimed me. Took me as his mate, then his wife. For five years, I lived believing I was no longer cursed or unwanted. I wasn't a fugitive anymore – I was Luna of Deathwell Pack. His partner. His other half. Or at least... that's what I had convinced myself.
Now I sat across from him, my hands shaking, my wolf curled in pain as a witch prepared to begin her spell. The Alpha's office no longer felt like home. The walls that once echoed with laughter now felt like stone closing in on me.
Darius sat behind his desk, rigid and distant, his expression carved from ice. At his side sat Marcella Thompson, perfectly composed, lips soft, eyes gleaming with quiet triumph. She wore the dress Darius had gifted me on our anniversary – the one meant to symbolize devotion, not replacement. And me? I was barely holding together. My body was still weak from the miscarriage that had torn something vital out of me days earlier.
The healers had pleaded with him to let me recover, to allow my strength to return. He refused. He ordered me here. Now I understood why.
The witch spoke, her tone detached and formal. "Once the bond is broken, she will no longer hold the title of Luna. She will be expelled from Deathwell Pack."
Expelled. As if five years of love and loyalty could be erased with a single word. Darius didn't react. No hesitation. No regret. I forced myself to look at him. "After everything we shared... you're really choosing this?"
His gaze finally shifted toward me, sharp and impersonal. "This is the only logical outcome," he said. "You've proven you can't give me what I need. Marcella can."
Not worthy. That was what I heard beneath his words. My wolf growled in fury, but my heart cracked wide open. Was this because my family's gift never awakened in me? Because I failed to become the powerful Luna he wanted? Or because my body couldn't protect our unborn child? Marcella's arrival months ago had planted doubt in me, and now that doubt bloomed into devastation.
The witch glanced my way. "If you fight the spell, Alpha Darius has authorized the loss of everything you possess – including any offspring."
I swallowed hard. "The child is already gone," I said softly. My voice shattered on the last word. For a split second, the witch faltered. Darius didn't. He shifted slightly, his jaw tightening, his eyes sliding away as if my pain were an inconvenience. He didn't speak. He didn't comfort me. Something inside me broke completely.
A bitter laugh slipped from my lips, empty and raw. "Go ahead," I told the witch. "Finish it."
The chanting began. The air grew heavy, thick with magic. My heart seized as the spell wrapped around me, tightening like a noose. And then it tore. The pain was indescribable. White-hot. Savage. The bond ripped through my soul, dragging memories with it – his laughter, his touch, the nights we lay beneath the stars whispering promises. Every moment burned as it was stripped away. I screamed, clutching my chest, nails digging into my skin until blood welled. I thought my heart would stop. Part of me hoped it would.
Then everything went black.
When I came to, I was alone on the cold floor. The room was empty. They had left me there without a backward glance.
I staggered back to the packhouse, every step agony. Our bedroom still smelled like him. Our combined scent lingered cruelly in the air. The candles I once lit each night were half-melted, forgotten. Boxes sat against the wall with my name written across them. A single note lay on the bed.
Mireya,
You'll need to relocate immediately. Marcella is uneasy with your presence. All property and finances remain under my ownership. You are entitled to nothing.
—Darius
My hands shook violently. Five years. Gone. I slid to the floor, my wolf crying inside me, hollow and lost. I had no family. No mate. No future.
Then I noticed the vial on the table. Wolfsbane. A weapon meant for enemies of the pack. Enemies like me. I picked it up, the glass cold against my skin. My wolf whimpered, torn between survival and surrender. The promise of quiet – of rest – felt tempting. I sat on the bed, uncorking it with trembling fingers.
Suddenly, warmth surrounded my hand. I gasped.
Mireya.
I looked up. It was Darius – but not the man who had condemned me earlier. This Darius looked younger somehow. Softer. His eyes burned with concern, his touch familiar and gentle, like the Alpha who had saved me years ago.
"What are you doing?" he asked urgently, pulling the vial from my grasp.
"You destroyed us," I whispered through sobs. "You erased me."
His face creased with confusion. "I would never—"
"Then tell me," I begged. "Why am I no longer your Luna?"
But before he could answer, the image blurred. The Darius I loved – the one who promised forever – faded into nothing, leaving me alone once more.
---
Chapter 2
Mireya's POV
That night, I drifted into sleep with my fingers wrapped tightly around the small vial of wolfsbane, holding it the way someone might cling to a charm or a prayer. The glass was cold against my skin – unforgiving, yet strangely grounding. I didn't drink it. I wasn't ready for that. But keeping it close felt like leaving a door unlocked, a silent promise that if the pain ever became too much, there was a way out waiting for me.
The quiet in my room was oppressive, pressing in on my chest until breathing felt like effort. My eyes kept drifting toward the empty space near the door, half-expecting to see him again – the younger version of Alpha Darius who had appeared before, the one whose gaze hadn't yet hardened with cruelty, whose touch hadn't been poisoned by betrayal. But the room offered nothing. No warmth. No presence. Just dust floating in the dim light and the unmistakable truth that I was alone.
With a weary breath, I forced myself to move. Packing gave my hands something to do when my heart refused to cooperate. I pulled clothes from drawers, stacked books whose pages still smelled faintly of the packhouse, gathered fragments of a life I once believed was permanent. Each folded shirt, each tucked-away memory felt like another quiet goodbye. I wasn't leaving because I chose to. I was leaving because I had been discarded.
As I dragged the zipper across one of the bags, something caught my attention. A flicker. I glanced down at my wrist and froze. Beneath my skin, along the vein, a faint green light pulsed softly, almost alive. My wolf stirred instantly, alert and curious, but before I could react – before I could even breathe – it vanished, leaving nothing behind. I blinked hard and shook my head. Exhaustion, I told myself. Grief. Hallucinations born from too much pain and too little rest.
"Just a few days," I murmured into the empty room. "That's all. Give me a few days, and I'll be gone. Exactly what he wants." The bitterness in my voice surprised me, but saying it out loud steadied me somehow. Made it real.
That weekend, a city-wide wolf gathering was scheduled. Normally, I would have stayed far away – too many stares, too many unspoken questions. But Anna, one of the few friends I still trusted, wouldn't take no for an answer. She insisted I come, and pride wouldn't let me refuse. I didn't want to look fragile. Not in front of anyone.
The train ride stretched on endlessly, the steady rhythm of metal on tracks almost hypnotic. I nearly dozed off – until a sudden heaviness seeped into my limbs. My chest felt hollow, as though something vital had been scooped out of me. My strength drained quickly, and my wolf whimpered weakly, curling in on herself. Alarm prickled at my senses. I pulled out my phone, hands shaking, and checked my account. Nothing. The balance I'd had access to for years – the funds allocated to me as Luna, the shared account with Darius – every last coin was gone. It was as if I had never existed.
My vision blurred as tears welled up, the screen swimming in front of me. Again, that eerie green glow flashed across my wrist, gone almost as soon as it appeared. But this time, it left something behind – a dull ache in my chest, a strange resonance I couldn't explain. I clenched my fist, trying to force the feeling away. I shut my eyes.
And he was there. The Darius from years ago. Younger. Softer. His hair was shorter, his smile gentle, his blue eyes bright in a way that made my chest ache. My breath caught painfully, and before I could stop myself, tears slid down my cheeks.
"Why are you showing up now?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "After all of this... why?"
He smiled at me the same way he used to, like I was something precious. "Because you still need me," he replied quietly, his voice echoing like a memory I'd replayed too many times.
Then he disappeared. I bolted, eyes flying open as the train continued its journey, the passengers around me unaware that my world was splintering apart piece by piece.
By the time I arrived, I was running on empty. I rented a modest room at a nearby inn – nothing fancy, just enough to keep me upright until the weekend was over. The gathering itself was meant to honor the accomplishments of wolves across the territories. The ballroom glittered beneath massive chandeliers, gold light spilling over polished floors. Laughter rang out as wolves in elegant attire mingled, boasting and celebrating.
I adjusted the borrowed dress I wore, painfully aware that it clung where it shouldn't and hung awkwardly elsewhere. When I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls, I winced. I looked like an outsider pretending to belong.
"Mireya!" I turned just in time to see Anna hurrying toward me, her smile genuine, her arms already reaching. Relief washed over me – and then my eyes drifted past her.
Alpha Darius stood near the center of the room. Marcella Thompson was at his side. She looked flawless in a form-fitting golden gown that shimmered under the lights. Her hair cascaded in perfect waves, lips painted a bold red. She held onto Darius's arm as though she'd always been there, and his hand rested at her waist with infuriating familiarity. I looked away quickly, but not before I caught the satisfied curl of her lips.
The program went on. Awards were announced. Applause echoed. Then Marcella's name was called. She stepped onto the stage, introduced as a healer – a doctor being honored for her contributions. My wolf bristled as the room erupted in claps.
"I'd like to share a presentation highlighting my work over the past year," Marcella said sweetly. The lights dimmed. The projector buzzed to life. The screen filled – not with her achievements – but with documents. My documents. Medical files.
The room fell deathly silent. In stark, merciless text, the words stared back at me: Patient Name: Mireya Ashbourne. Diagnosis: Miscarriage.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. My lungs refused to work. Whispers followed, sharp and cruel. "Ashbourne?" "That family was exiled, weren't they?" "Cursed bloodline." "The Moon Goddess erased the child to end them for good." The sounds blurred into a single, overwhelming roar. My wolf shrank deep inside me, trembling.
I couldn't stay. I ran. I shoved my way through the crowd, ignoring the looks of shock, judgment, and pity. Cold air hit my face as I burst outside, my chest burning as I fought for breath. I didn't stop until I reached the parking lot. And there he was.
Alpha Darius leaned against his car, calm and composed, as though nothing had happened. I approached him unsteadily. "Alpha..." My voice broke. "Why would you allow this? Why would you let her—"
"She made a mistake," he said coolly. "That's all."
I stared at him in disbelief. "You know that isn't true. After five years, after everything we shared—"
"You are no longer my Luna," he cut in sharply. "And since you seem confused, let me be clear. You have no claim to my assets. I finalized the paperwork last week. Every expense, every resource you used as part of Deathwell Pack – we will be demanding repayment. You are now in debt to us."
The words struck like claws. I staggered back, clutching my stomach. "Debt?" I whispered. "You promised me a life of stability. I gave everything to that pack – everything to you. Was that worth nothing?"
His gaze hardened. "This conversation is over."
I searched his face for the man I once loved. The one who swore he would never abandon me. He was gone. And in that moment, I understood something terrifying. I didn't recognize him anymore.
---
Chapter 3
Mireya's POV
It took a full day before I found the strength to pull myself out of bed. Every muscle protested, heavy with exhaustion and grief, but it was the shame – the quiet, suffocating humiliation – that weighed the most. Still, I knew staying curled up in that room wouldn't undo what had been done. If I stayed still, I would sink. I needed motion. Distraction. A reason to keep breathing that wasn't tied to survival alone.
Before Alpha Darius, before Deathwell Pack ever became my world, I had worked once – quietly, steadily – as an assistant in a small clinic outside pack territory. It had been simple work, honest work. When I left five years ago, there had been promises made. A place for me, if I ever needed to return. At the time, I had never imagined I would. Now, it was all I had. If that promise still existed, it could be my foothold. A way to earn coin. To slowly chip away at the absurd "debt" they had dumped onto me like a curse.
I didn't need comfort. I needed a beginning. So I called.
The voice that answered recognized my name. There was hesitation, yes – but also warmth. Familiarity. It reminded me, painfully, that not everyone recoiled at the mention of Ashbourne. I was invited to come in.
When I stepped back through the clinic doors, the scent of herbs and clean linen wrapping around me, something in my chest loosened for the first time in days. Shane saw me almost immediately. Her eyes widened, disbelief flashing across her face before she rushed forward and wrapped me in a hug.
"Mireya? By the Goddess – it's really you. It's been ages." Then she pulled back, uncertainty flickering. "Or should I... should I call you Luna?"
The word sliced straight through me. I shook my head gently, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack my face in two. "No. That title doesn't belong to me anymore. I'm just Mireya Ashbourne."
Pity softened her expression, but she didn't argue. She only squeezed my hands and told me she hoped – truly hoped – we'd be working together again soon. When I left the interview, I was almost certain the job was mine. My hands still remembered the work: grinding roots, mixing tinctures, recognizing symptoms before they were spoken. I wasn't useless. I never had been.
For the first time since everything fell apart, a fragile thread of hope took shape.
It snapped the next morning. The message was brief. Polite. Final. I called Shane immediately, panic spilling into my voice before I could stop it. "What happened? You said – I thought everything was fine. I don't understand."
She sighed, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled. "Mireya... Marcella Thompson contacted the clinic. She made it very clear that if we hired you, Deathwell Pack would pull all funding and donations. We can't survive that."
The phone nearly slipped from my grasp. I pressed it hard to my chest, as if that could keep me upright. Marcella. Again. She had taken my mate. My home. My future. And now – this. The last small chance I had at rebuilding something of my own. A laugh burst from my throat, sharp and unhinged. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but it still escaped, echoing ugly and broken in the quiet room. How pathetic I must have looked – ruined, cast out, and still not allowed peace.
When the sound faded, my hands were shaking. I didn't think. I just dialed.
Theo. My brother. Three years ago, after a silence that had stretched unbearably long, he had found me again. Since then, we had spoken regularly, carefully rebuilding something neither of us thought we still deserved. He was the last piece of my family. The only one who truly understood what it meant to carry the Ashbourne name.
I told him everything. He didn't interrupt. His breathing was the only sound on the line until he finally spoke, his voice low and edged with fury. "Three days, Eve. Just hold on for three days. I'm coming."
The certainty in his words anchored me. I wasn't completely alone. Not yet.
But before I could leave, there was something I had to do. I went to the hospital. The place where my world had cracked open. Where they told me my child was gone. The healers had preserved what remained, waiting for my decision. I couldn't walk away without them. I wouldn't. My baby deserved more than abandonment.
The hallways smelled sterile – antiseptic, wolfsbane, grief. Each step tightened my chest as I gripped the claim papers, bracing myself to collect the only part of my child I still had. That was when I saw them.
Darius. And Marcella.
They stood near the healer's ward, too close, too comfortable. I stopped short, breath locking in my lungs as Marcella laughed softly and rested a hand against her stomach. Then Darius spoke.
"This child," he said casually, "will replace what I lost with Mireya."
The word hit me like a physical blow. Replace. Marcella smiled, radiant and cruel. She leaned into him, her voice sweet enough to rot. "And I'll give you the heir you should have had."
A sound tore out of me before I could stop it. I stumbled back, the room spinning violently. They turned at the noise – but I didn't stay to see their faces. I ran.
The papers crumpled in my fist as I bolted down the corridor. My lungs burned. My wolf screamed inside me, raw and broken. I shoved through the hospital doors, blinded by tears – and slammed straight into someone. My bag slid from my shoulder, its contents scattering across the floor.
"I – I'm sorry," I muttered, dropping down to gather everything with trembling hands. The stranger knelt beside me, movements careful, deliberate. He helped pick up my things, and when his fingers brushed mine – it happened again. The green light flared beneath my skin, brighter this time, pulsing along my wrist. My breath caught sharply as I looked up.
Blue eyes met mine. Intense. Focused. As if he saw something no one else ever had. For one suspended heartbeat, something stirred – recognition, maybe. My wolf reacted instantly, a sharp, startled pulse echoing through me. Then it vanished. The glow faded. His gaze dropped. The moment dissolved.
"Here," he said quietly, handing me the last item before standing.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice rough.
He was already walking away, disappearing into the crowd of the hospital – leaving me kneeling on the floor, wondering why my heart was still racing.
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