The Rejected Luna’s Vengeance

“On your knees, Lyra.” Damon's voice sliced the damp evening air, smooth and cold as silk and ice, and I couldn't move quickly enough before a sharp kick to the back of the knee sent me sprawling in the cold muddy earth. Iron links of sacred binding chains dug into my wrists, heavy and smelling of copper and blood. Three hundred members of the Silvermoon pack stood in silent witness beside us, their eyes reflecting the harsh crimson glow of the eclipsed moon that loomed overhead the great pine trees. “You look up at me when I take your title,” Damon ordered as he closed in on me, polished leather boots stopping just short of my hands. The pack's heir wore the formal black tunic of his rank, gold thread flashing at his collar. “You were a mistake forced upon my father’s pack. An unbonded and wolfless parasite sucking from a pack that demands strength.” I forced my eyes up to meet his. He wanted tears, wanted the pathetic wail of a scorned girl to come from my throat and spill over in front of the elders. Instead, I met his gaze, keeping my breath steady despite the frantic beating of my heart. “You're late, Damon. Did it take your council two hours to come up with a speech for an execution you're too cowardly to do yourself?” There was a hushed gasp from the gathered pack members. Damon's arrogant smile twitched, flashing for only a moment, as he raised his hand, the silver ceremonial blade catching the moonlight. “By the authority of the Silvermoon Council, I, Damon Sterling, heir to the Northern Territories, officially reject you, Lyra Vance, as my promised Luna. You are severed, you are stripped of our protection, and you are an outcast.” He didn't wait for the ancient words of acceptance. He brought the flat of the silver blade down upon the side of my neck, burning a mark directly over my collarbone. Pain coursed through my nervous system, white hot and blinding, and I gritted my teeth until they were about to break from the pressure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my scream as the scent of my own charred flesh filled my nose. The silver magic sealed the rejection into the thin skin just above my collarbone. “Take her,” Damon growled, tossing the blade into the dirt at his feet. He didn't spare another glance in my direction as he turned towards the elders standing near the ceremonial fire. “The trade agreement is signed. The scavengers are waiting at the eastern gate.” Two burly guards hoisted me up by my chain bound wrists, dragging my toes through the dirt. My uncle, Alpha Soren Vance, stood at the edge of the high dais, watching my every movement with cold calculating eyes, his fingers resting on the hilt of his hunting knife. He looked less like the exiling leader of a pack and more like a merchant watching a piece of unwanted stock leave his shop floor. “Safe travels, Lyra,” Soren murmured as the guards dragged me past him. He only spoke with a whisper. “Your father was always too stubborn to learn when he was beaten. It seems you took after him in his worst trait.” “You killed him,” I rasped, blood coating my dry tongue. “You sold my mother's memory for a council seat.” Soren only smiled, a thin, tight expression of no emotion. “Dead men don't hold territories. And dead runts don't write history.” The guards pushed me down against the back of a blacked-out reinforced iron van just outside the perimeter fence. The heavy doors echoed like gunshots as they shut, plunging me into complete darkness. The engine growled to life underneath the floor boards as the van rumbled forward, accelerating over the narrow mountain pass. Inside the dark hold of the vehicle, I slid down against the reinforced wall, pulling my knees to my chest. The silver mark on my neck throbbed with an uncomfortable rhythm, sending waves of heat rolling over my upper body. But underneath the burning pain of the silver mark was something else, something else lying deep within the core of my being, lying dormant for eighteen years. It wasn't the useless wisp of a pack wolf. It was like liquid fire, surging through my veins, burning the marrow of my spine. Beside me in the darkness, a low voice growled. “Quiet down back there, little runt. You've got a long ride to the border markets.” I lifted my head, seeing through the wire mesh that separated the cargo hold from the front cab, the shadowed form of two mercenary guards. The driver was casually smoking while the second man held an iron tipped pike over his lap. “She’s not quiet,” the driver muttered, looking into his rearview mirror. “Hey, look at her neck.” The man with the pike turned around, his eyes widening slightly as he looked through the dark mesh at the mark on my collarbone. The skin around the silver burn wasn't healing into a jagged scab. It was pulsing, the area strangely luminous and flickering with a strange, electric blue light that crackled across the iron chains binding my wrists. The links started to warm up, glowing red before snapping off my wrists under the sheer power of energy radiating from my skin. “What the hell is that?” the driver yelled, his knuckles whiter than bone on the steering wheel. “Soren said she was wolfless!” the second guard yelled, reaching for his weapon. “Shoot her, shoot her before—” With a sharp snap, the brittle iron chains shattered off my wrists. The power of the surge blew out the interior lights and smashed the glass divider as the van swerved off the narrow mountain road, tires screaming against gravel before hitting a giant boulder. I flew up against the ceiling, the sound of crumpling metal deafening in the confined space. The van rolled twice down the steep embankment before slamming sideways against a massive ancient pine tree, coming to a stop. Silence hung over the forest, broken only by the hiss of steam escaping from the crushed radiator. Groaning, I pushed myself out of the wreckage. My body should have been broken from the crash, but the electric blue fire coursing through my blood was knitting torn muscles and repairing bruised bones in seconds. I kicked out the back doors, stepping barefoot onto the snow-covered forest floor. The two guards in the front cab were unconscious, slumped over the shattered dashboard. I didn't run. I stood in the quiet snow, watching the blue light fade from my skin as my breathing steadied. For the first time in my life, I could feel a presence deep inside my mind, a massive, ancient wolf with eyes like winter stars waking from a deep sleep. A rustle of dry leaves sounded over my shoulder. I spun around, dropping into a low protective crouch. Out of the darkness, four men stepped forward in tailored charcoal suits, looking completely absurd in the middle of a wilderness zone. At their center stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with razor-sharp features and dark, dangerous eyes. He wore a heavy wool overcoat, his presence so weighty that the surrounding air was heavier. Kaelan Voss, the billionaire CEO of Voss Global and the undisputed Lycan King of the eastern territories, his eyes feasted over the overturned van and the shattered chains in the snow, landed finally on me. He stopped ten paces away, his nostrils flaring slightly as he took in the scent of the air. “Well,” Kaelan mused, his voice coming out low and gravelly. “The Silvermoon pack said they were disposing of trash tonight. They apparently didn't mention that the trash possessed the bloodline of the extinct High Houses.” I grabbed a long jagged shard of heavy glass from the van's shattered windshield, holding it firm in front of me despite my trembling fingers. “Step back. I don't mind who you are.” Kaelan didn't produce a weapon. He didn't take his hands out of his pockets. He took three slow steps forward, completely unfazed by the makeshift blade pointing at his chest. “You’re bleeding, little wolf,” he murmured, stopping inches from the tip of the glass blade. “I said stop,” I warned, my voice tight. Before I could react, Kaelan moved with supernatural speed. His hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist, holding me firmly in place. But the moment his skin made contact with mine, a jolt of pure, blinding electricity snapped between us, a thunderclap of sound in the quiet forest. Kaelan froze, his eyes widening, the dark brown irises bleeding into an intense, primal gold. A low, involuntary growl rumbled deep within his chest. Possessive. Mate. The word hung unspoken in the cold air between us, heavy and terrifying. Kaelan looked down at me, his grip on my wrist tightening with each ragged breath. “Who… what are you?” I didn't answer. With a quick motion, I brought the glass shard around, pressing the sharp edge against the pulse point of his exposed throat. “I'm the girl who's going to kill every person who put me in these woods,” I whispered, staring into his golden eyes. “Starting with whoever gets in my way.” Kaelan looked at the glass pressed against his skin and then up at my face. Slow, dangerous amusement curved his lips. “Good,” he whispered. “I'll buy the weapons.”