Moon-Marked Luna

Chapter 5

DAWN

I drove back to the kingdom alone.

Callum never returned to the resort. No calls or text. The silence was louder than any argument we’d ever had.

Halfway home, my phone buzzed. A message from Eve.

My stomach tightened. I opened it. A photo filled the screen.

Callum sat in a hospital lazy‑boy chair, Cael curled in his arms, tiny fingers gripping Callum’s shirt. Cael’s cheek rested on Callum’s chest, his breathing soft and even. Eve sat beside them on the armchair, her hand resting lightly on Callum’s shoulder. His head leaned against her chest, eyes closed, exhaustion softening his features.

They looked like a family.

Eve’s message followed:

He finally fell asleep. Cael only rests in Callum’s arms. Thank you for understanding.

Understanding.

I stared at the photo until my vision blurred, then put the car back in drive.

When I reached the palace, Callum still wasn’t home.

I didn’t ask where he was or wait up. I simply went to bed alone.

Again.

A week later, Chase’s house burned down.

No one knew how. No one had answers.

But the damage was enough to force Eve and Cael into the palace “temporarily.”

Temporarily became indefinitely.

And suddenly, Callum’s time — what little I had left — evaporated.

Every morning, I woke up alone. Every night, I went to bed alone. Every day, I watched Callum orbit Eve and Cael like gravity itself had chosen them.

Eve apologized constantly.

“I’m so sorry for being an inconvenience.”

“I’ll leave soon, I promise.”

“I don’t want to take Callum’s time.”

But her eyes always flicked toward him.

And he always said the same thing:

“You’re not leaving. Cael needs stability.”

Cael. Always the little boy. And yes — he was Chase’s son. He was innocent and he deserved love. But I was drowning.

One morning, I woke up to an empty bed again. I walked down the hall, past the council chamber, until I reached Eve’s temporary bedroom.

The door was cracked open. Inside, Cael slept in the middle of the bed, tiny fists curled near his face.

Callum lay beside him, one arm draped protectively over the boy.

Eve slept on the other side, her body angled toward Callum, a soft, victorious smile on her lips.

A family.

My breath caught.

Eve opened her eyes slowly, saw me, and her smile widened — subtle, triumphant.

“Oh… Dawn,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. Cael couldn’t sleep without Callum. I hope this isn’t an inconvenience.”

Inconvenience. The word sliced through me.

I simply turned and walked away.

I called Klea.

My voice shook. “I need a place to stay for a few days.”

Klea didn’t hesitate. “Come whenever you’re ready. I’ll meet you in two days.”

Two days. That was all I needed.

I hung up, wiped my face, and went downstairs.

“Corinne will take over my duties today,” I told the staff. “I have somewhere to be.”

They nodded, concerned but silent. I walked straight to the High Moon Council. The chamber was cold, formal, echoing with authority. The council elder looked up as I entered.

“Luna Dawn Wynn of the Blue Moon Kingdom,” he said. “How may we assist you?”

My voice didn’t shake.

“I’m filing for dissolution of marriage.”

A ripple of surprise moved through the room. The elder’s expression flickered — surprise, then pity, then professionalism.

“As protocol requires,” he said gently, “we must ask for the reason behind your request before we can grant initial approval.”

I lifted my chin.

“My marriage has broken beyond repair,” I said. “I no longer have a place in my husband’s life.”

The elder hesitated, as if hoping I would say more — but I didn’t.

He nodded slowly. “Very well. We will prepare the documents. Be aware that dissolution requires two signatures. Both must be present before the council can finalize the petition.”

It took an hour. An hour of sitting alone with nothing but my heartbeat and the sound of my life collapsing. When the papers were ready, I signed them with steady hands. Four years was long enough.

When I returned to the palace, Callum was in our bedroom, adjusting his tie for a meeting. It's one of those meetings that would run late.

“Callum,” I said. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t turn around. “Can it wait? I’m already late.”

“No,” I said sharply. “It can’t.”

He finally faced me. I handed him the papers.

He blinked. “What is this?”

“Dissolution of marriage.”

He stared at the documents, then let out a short, humorless laugh. “Is this a joke?”

I didn’t answer.

He set the papers on the bed and turned back to the mirror. “Dawn, I don’t have time for—”

“I want you to set me free.”

He froze.

Then turned slowly. “I’m not signing anything.”

Something inside me cracked — not loudly, not dramatically, but with the quiet finality of a bone breaking under too much pressure.

Years of being ignored, sleeping alone, being second to Eve, and being invisible in own marriage. The agony rose in my chest like a scream I’d swallowed for too long.

I stepped back, lifted my chin, and spoke the words that would sever us:

“I, Dawn Wynn, Luna of the Blue Moon Kingdom, reject you, Callum Ashbourne, as my mate.”

The air shifted.

Callum staggered, gripping the dresser as pain ripped through him — sharp, sudden, undeniable. His breath hitched, his jaw clenched, his eyes widened in shock.

“Dawn—” he gasped. “Don’t—”

The bond snapped halfway — not fully broken, but torn, raw, bleeding between us.

He looked at me like I’d stabbed him.

“You have nowhere to go,” he said hoarsely. “Take it back.”

I stood firm. “No.”

His expression twisted — anger, fear, disbelief.

He grabbed his jacket. “We’ll talk when I get home.”

And he stormed out.

Leaving me alone in the room where our marriage had just ended.

**

I packed lightly.

Just a single change of clothes — the ones I bought with my own money from helping Mrs. Alder, the elderly accountant in town. She always insisted on paying me, even when I refused.

“Early Christmas gift,” she’d say every year, pressing the bills into my hand with a wink.

Those clothes were the only things in my backpack.

Everything Callum ever gave me — the jewelry, the gifts, the symbols of a marriage that had slowly suffocated me — I left neatly on the dresser.

My wedding band.

And the Ashbourne Luna’s diamond ring — a legacy piece passed down through generations, worn only by the Luna of the Blue Moon Pack. I placed them side by side. They looked cold and lifeless. Like they belonged to someone else.

I felt thirsty so I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I heard a voice and I followed it. I walked toward the back corridor — the one servants used, the one no one monitored.

Eve’s.

She was in the sitting room, speaking softly on the phone. I froze, hidden by the wall.

“Yes, he’s very sweet,” she said, her tone warm, almost giddy. “He’s always been like that with me.”

My stomach tightened.

She laughed lightly. “Oh, you should’ve seen him when I was pregnant with Cael. He visited every month. Sometimes twice.”

Every month? Twice?

She continued, unaware I was listening. “And after Cael was born? He came even more. He said he wanted to help… but honestly, I think he just missed us.”

Missed us? Including Eve? My heart twisted painfully.

Then she said the one thing that shattered me completely: “My favorite was when I was due to give birth. He stayed for a whole week. Never left my side.”

A whole week. I remembered that week. Callum had been gone on a business trip. I had fallen sick — feverish, weak, alone — and he never came home.

Eve’s voice softened. “He’s always been there for me. Always.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape.

That was the final blow.

I turned away, went upstairs to grab my bag. I was ready to walk out of the palace.

I called Klea again.

She answered immediately. “Dawn?”

“Change of plans,” I whispered. “It’s tonight.”

Her voice sharpened. "Are you okay?"

"I will be. Where do we meet?”

“Frostfall Crossing,” she said. “In two hours.”

“I’ll be there.”

I hung up.

The palace was silent as I slipped through the halls. I knew every corridor, every blind spot, every servant’s passage. I didn’t take a car — too loud, too noticeable.

Just my backpack and my breath. The numbness spreading through my chest.

It was strange how pain could hollow you out so completely that even the cold wind felt like nothing. My skin didn’t prickle. My fingers didn’t tremble.

I felt… empty.

I walked faster, heading toward the northern border. The path grew darker, the trees thicker, the air colder. Rogue sightings had been reported in this area, but I didn’t slow down. I just needed to reach Frostfall Crossing. I just needed to leave.

A twig snapped behind me.

I froze.

“Hello?” I whispered.

Nothing.

Without wolf senses, I was blind.

Deaf. Vulnerable.

I walked faster.

Another sound — closer this time. A footstep? A breath? I couldn’t tell. My heart hammered, but my legs kept moving, pushing me toward the border.

Almost there.

Almost—

A shadow lunged from the trees. A figure in a dark cloak.

I stumbled back, raising my arms instinctively. “Who—?”

They didn’t answer. They swung. Claws — long, sharp, glinting in the moonlight.

I dodged the first strike, barely. The second grazed my arm. The third—

Ripped across my stomach.

My shirt tore open. Heat bloomed across my skin. I gasped, stumbling backward, clutching the wound.

The figure advanced.

I swung my backpack at them, hitting their shoulder. They barely flinched. I kicked, punched, fought with everything I had — but I was weak, untrained, and without my wolf.

They grabbed my shirt, yanking me forward.

Fabric tore again.

Pain shot through me.

I tried to scream, but the sound caught in my throat.

The figure leaned close, breath cold against my ear.

Then—

They shoved me.

Hard.

The world tilted.

The ground vanished beneath my feet.

I saw only a flash of the cloak, the gloved hand, the moonlight catching on metal—

Then nothing but air.

I fell.

Branches tore at my clothes, rocks scraped my skin, the world spinning in a blur of black and gray. My backpack flew from my shoulder. My breath ripped from my lungs.

Then—

Darkness.

The ravine. Where rogues were known to lurk.

My vision blurred. My body screamed. My head throbbed. Blood seeped warm across my stomach.

Above me, the cliff edge loomed like a jagged mouth.

I tried to move but I couldn’t.

The last thing I heard before everything went black was the distant sound of footsteps retreating — calm, unhurried, certain.

Someone had pushed me.

And that someone wanted me gone.