I’m a Ghost, I’ll Be the Luna Again

Five years dead, and I'm still following him around. How pathetic. Not that I have a choice. Whatever thread the Moon Goddess left between us—some frayed remnant of a bond that should've snapped with my last heartbeat—it won't let go. It keeps me here, drifting two steps behind Kalen Blackwood like a shadow he doesn't know he has. Tonight, he storms into my cabin. The door practically flies off its hinges. Very dramatic. Very alpha. I drift through the wall after him—no need for doors anymore—and watch him spin on his heel, scanning the rotted furniture, the cobwebs thick as curtains, the windows that haven't known light in five years. He's looking for me. Good luck with that. The cabin smells like decay and old pine. I used to love pine. Now I'm just part of the rot. Kalen shoves a document toward Ethan—the pack healer, who'd been sitting in the corner like he was waiting for exactly this moment. Because he was. "Sign it." Kalen's voice is the same low command that used to make my wolf go quiet. "Ella's confession. I need her in front of the Elder Council by Friday." Ethan doesn't take the paper. Silence stretches between them. Tell him, Ethan. "Ella's dead, Alpha." Kalen's jaw tightens. "I'm not in the mood—" "She died five years ago. Silver poisoning. Her wolf spirit collapsed." Ethan's voice is flat. Rehearsed. He's had this conversation in his head a thousand times. "There's nothing to confess." I watch Kalen's face. He doesn't believe it. I can see the exact moment his mind rejects the information—like a wolf refusing to submit, hackles up, teeth bared against something that should be obvious. "She put you up to this." He crumples the document in his fist. "She's hiding. She bribed you." Right. Because hiding from you has always worked out so well for me. He shifts right there in the yard—bones cracking, that massive black wolf tearing free of his human skin—and vanishes into the tree line. I drift after him. I always do. --- He's back at the pack house within the hour. Lilith's already at the door when it opens. She's wearing something soft and white, dark hair loose around her shoulders. Perfectly positioned. Perfectly timed. She always was good at staging an entrance. "Kalen." Her voice is warm honey poured over glass. "Did you find Ella?" "Ethan says she's dead." Lilith's hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes go wide. The performance is flawless—five years of practice will do that. "Dead? That can't be right." She steadies herself against his arm, and he lets her. "She has to be hiding. She's been furious since what happened five years ago. Why would she help me if she's dead?" Kalen doesn't answer. He stands in the middle of the room like something's been knocked loose inside him—his wolf restless, circling. And for the first time in five years I feel it through that broken thread between us. His inner wolf isn't just agitated. It's searching. Don't get ideas, I tell the ghost of our bond. He doesn't get to find me now. Lilith softens her voice. "Maybe we should drop it. Let me confess to the Elders myself. I'll—" "She's not hiding." Kalen cuts her off, and something in his tone has shifted. "Ella doesn't run. She never ran from anything in her life." He pauses. "But she would've made sure I knew she was furious. If she was alive." Well. He does know me. "Kalen." Lilith touches his face. "Come to bed. You're exhausted." He catches her wrist. Not rough. Not tender either. Just—stops her. "After Ella handles this for you," he says quietly, "you and I are finished." The air in the room goes solid. I watch Lilith's eyes. Behind that careful devastation, something cold flickers. There it is. "You don't mean that." "I do." He doesn't look at her. "I've owed Ella an apology for five years. Whatever she needs to move on—I owe her that first. Then we go our separate ways." Lilith turns her face away. When she turns back, she's crying. Beautiful performance. He doesn't see what I see. The way her hands curl at her sides. The way her mouth goes tight at the corners—not grief. Calculation. She breathes my name from between her teeth. "Ella." Yeah. I float at the edge of the room, watching her. I've heard her say my name like that for five years. It always sounds the same. Like something she wants to crush under her heel.