The Luna’s last secret

The dim neon lights hung pale over crowded streets in Silvermoon City, casting long shadows upon the slick asphalt. The city was alive with laughter, clinking glasses, and hushed murmurs of restless hearts in quest of ephemeral pleasure. But for Aria tonight was not about pleasure—it was about escape. The Red Pack had been intimidating her long enough with rituals and rules to which she was not invited. Her alpha had treated her like an appliance to be summoned and spurned at his convenience, an omega to beckon and dismiss. So she ran, fleeing beyond the pack boundaries with only a little backpack full of t-shirts and an overwrought yearning to be in the outdoors. Now, she was in the club bar area sitting down, her hand was wrapped around a glass of whiskey and was not in motion to take a swig. The heavy bass in music ran through her arteries, anesthetized memory about everything she left behind. She wasn’t present to visit someone or to be rewarded—she was just to be an ordinary free werewolf in an evening. And then he came in. The moment he walked through club door, something was changed. Unapologetic power walked among clubbers with an intimidating fluidity. Broad shouldering himself and taller compared to most clubbers, he exuded raw dominance, yet his eyes—pierce silver full moon in full power—sucked in every inch of breathing in Aria. He settled in next to her at the bar, his aroma—woodsy, rich, heady—curving around her in promise. "You're a woman in transit somewhere," he told her in his smooth drawl, his tone both rich and full of quiet power. Aria smirked but wouldn't turn around to him. "And you're someone who is used to getting everything he wants." A low rumble of humor in his chest. "Smart." He looked at her for a moment, and to her surprise in months, she was not intimidated by eyes belonging to a man. One drink led to two. Conversation was secondhand, but neither uttered names. Neither was hungry to hear his or her. This was better this way. No regrets. No strings attached. By the time they left the club, city lights swirled in front of her eyes, and s****l tension between them was fueled to an explosive blaze. Aria should have been in control—she should have turned around before making an impulsive move. But when he bent forward, his lips inches above her mouth, she did not struggle. And when he guided her by the hand to an exclusive hotel lift, she walked behind him. The night was short of little short of an aura of sweat and rumpled sheets half-sworn vows not to keep. His touch lit something in her—something untamed and raw. Never in her life had she felt this desired, this untethered. But freedom was short-lived. When the sunlight poured in through the curtains in early morning style, reality came rushing in upon her in cold wave style. She sat forward cautiously not to disturb the man beside her. His countenance was peaceful in repose, his black eyelashes standing in stark relief to his angular planes. A pang of conscience wracked through her body. She was not about to tarry. She was not that type to be used by powerful individuals, and whatever he was, she felt his power in every inch of his body. She slipped in a hurry to get herself dressed. No turning around. No goodbye. As she came out to pre-dawn, before the city was yet to stir to life, she placed a shuddering hand upon her stomach. She had not the remotest suspicion that in herself was contained potential to determine the destiny of the Lycans. Aria pushed aside tangles of dense vegetation, following by acute instincts the faint path of her victim. The moon loomed in the sky over her, spilling down silver upon the growing forest, lighting her lithe body where she walked with practiced poise. The hunt was always a sanctuary to her, a reminder to herself regarding who she was, not this life she attempted to have established around herself beyond laws that had jailed her in the past. For months, she had not been brave enough to think about that evening—a thoughtless, rash act to indulge in something with someone who was not known to her by his name. It was just an evening, an instant sin before she had walked off to get herself lost in the wilderness to leave behind every memory about her life before. She had left behind everything: stifling rules of her former pack, fear that had dogged her since childhood, and now even spectre of that night in that remote inn. Aria wiped sweat from her brow crouching over by Creek to have water soothe her hands. She was now a rogue, a wolf who had no pack to call her own, no loyalties to claim her. It was better this way. No Alpha controlling her destiny, no traditionalists making her bend. She could live life on her own terms—hunting whenever she pleased, running whenever she needed to run, and disappearing whenever the past appeared to catch up to her. Yet, deep inside her was something that was haunting her. How this memory stayed in her head, an embers that refused to die down. She had always been cautious always cautious, yet where he was concerned where he was in question she had forgotten herself drowned in his touch in his mastery in his eyes He had probably forgotten her the moment she left. With a shudder in her head, Aria shook off the thought and snapped to attention. Crinkling leaves warned her someone was approaching, and she tensed herself. A deer was in front of her, pulling its ears. She effortlessly transitioned to werewolf in silence. Muscles coiled, claws dug in to ground forward in one she launched herself head empty now of everything save rush of chase. This was her life now: untamed, free, and untainted by the past. Or at least she told herself that.