His Broken Luna

Chapter1

As I walked into the diner, all eyes were instantly on me. I was used to the intense stares that followed; it didn’t help that I looked as if I had been dragged through the mud and tossed into a dumpster. My once bright white T-shirt had now turned into a dull grayish color from wear and tear. There was a small tear at the bottom of the shirt that I tried to cover with my jacket, but it was still visible. My blue jeans, now faded, had smudges of dirt and grime on them.

As I made my way to the counter, I could feel the intense stares burning into my back. Having a rogue enter their territory had them on guard and ready to attack if needed. A young woman in her early twenties with fiery, long, wavy red hair and piercing blue eyes greeted me.

“What can I get you?” she said, eyeing me with a stoic expression.

“Hi, can I get a coffee?”

She nodded and walked away without giving me a second glance. That’s about all I could afford at the moment, even though I hadn’t eaten a full meal in two days.

Not wanting to bring any more attention to myself, I took a quick look around, still scanning my surroundings. I needed to stay on high alert in their territory, ensuring no one would try to attack me from behind. Werewolves were highly territorial and did not take kindly to rogues just walking in unannounced. I knew from my studies as a pup that I would have to gain a short-term permit to stay here, even as a rogue, if I planned to stay a few weeks, which I needed.

I had been on the road, switching from wolf to human, and we were both exhausted and needed time to build our funds so we could move on. We had to continue moving, or he’d find us. A shiver ran down my spine at the mere thought of him.

I mentally shook the thought away, straightened my shoulders, and looked her in the eye as she returned.

“I would also like to speak to your alpha.”

She scoffed. “The alpha doesn’t speak to lowly rogues,” she spat out. “You’ll be lucky enough to speak to the beta.”

“Then I would like an audience with your beta,” I said, unfazed by her hostile nature. Rogues were lone wolves who had no pack and were treated as such. No pack meant no family or protection. Rogues were unpredictable and tended to attack unprompted. I understood her skepticism of me; they just wanted to protect those close to them. Lucky them to even have that.

I had been alone for five years now. It had just been me and Nova, my wolf. I didn’t know where I would be without her at my side—surely dead by now or caught by him.

“I will never leave your side. We are one,” Nova said through our mental link.

“I know that, but it has been hard with just the two of us.”

“We need to find our mate, and we won’t be alone anymore.”

“Not this again, Nova. I told you, what mate would want something broken like me?”

She didn’t respond. She knew as well as I did that no mate would want a rogue, let alone a broken shifter.

“Hmph, he’s at that table.” She puffed out a breath and pointed in the direction of a group of large men sitting in a corner booth before walking away.

I turned my attention to three intimidating men who were all eyeing me as they continued their conversation. They had their eyes on me since I entered the diner. I knew I had to make my presence known to them if I wanted to stay in their town for the time being. If not, I could be kicked out without hesitation or worse….killed. My old pack had rogues come through all the time. The thought made me flinch as memories of my old pack and my family surfaced. I shake those memories off and straighten my back as I approach the table. I will need to find a place to sleep tonight, and hopefully it's not the woods again. I have gotten lucky in the past in towns that allow humans to live there; as well, I was able to find a shelter to stay for a few nights. Shifter towns would make me sleep in the woods near the borders, for sure.

"My name is Samira Winters, and I would like to speak to your alpha, so I can gain a permit to stay." I stopped a few inches away from their table, looking everywhere but at the three massive men before me. Male shifters are normally large in general, but it’s something about the men in this pack that has the hairs on my neck standing.

They eyed me, taking in the current state I am, trying to figure out if I was a threat or not. I was small but curvy, standing barely five feet tall, yet my body still carried soft, feminine curves that hardship hadn’t managed to steal away. My hips flared gently against my narrow waist, creating a figure that turned heads even beneath worn clothes and exhaustion. Hunger had thinned me out over time, leaving sharpness along my collarbones and ribs, but there was still something undeniably striking about the way my body was shaped. My breasts were modest but full enough to suit my frame perfectly—perky and naturally lifted, giving me a delicate, hourglass silhouette that seemed almost unfair for someone living on so little.

My skin was a warm, sun-kissed caramel shade, bronzed from endless days spent traveling beneath open skies. Faint freckles dusted across my nose and cheeks, standing out beautifully against my complexion, especially beneath my hazel-green eyes. Those eyes were bright and unusual, shifting between green and gold depending on the light, but the beauty in them was dulled by fatigue. Dark shadows lingered beneath them like bruises, evidence of too many sleepless nights spent running, surviving, and never truly resting. My hair was one of the few things hardship hadn’t completely ruined. It was a soft, sandy blonde threaded with natural golden highlights that shimmered whenever sunlight touched it. Thick, wavy, and wild, it spilled down my back in loose, tousled waves that reached the middle of it, as though the wind itself had styled it. Strands framed my face gently, softening the sharper signs of exhaustion and giving me an almost untamed beauty. It looked like the kind of hair people would envy—sunlit and effortless—even if it often went unwashed for days at a time. In the shifter world, I would have been considered beautiful without question. The kind of beauty people noticed the moment I entered a room. But survival had carved itself into me. Exhaustion weighed heavily in my posture, in the hollow look behind my eyes, in the slight tremble of my hands when I thought nobody was watching. My cheeks had lost some of their softness, my body carried the strain of too many missed meals, and there was a fragile edge to me now, as if I were surviving on sheer stubbornness alone. I was still beautiful, but it was the worn, aching beauty of someone who had been fighting to survive for far too long.