Scarred by Moonlight

Chapter 6: The Ghosts That Live and Breathe

The dungeon of the pack reeked of damp stone and blood, the air so heavy it seemed to cling to Olrun’s skin. A single overhead florescent light flickered on the ceiling, casting eerie shadows that danced across Obito Hanma’s battered frame. The man was slumped against the cold wall, wrists bound above his head with heavy iron chains. His once-pristine suit was shredded, stained with crimson streaks and dirt. Despite his broken state, his lips curled into a sneer as Olrun stepped closer.

Olrun had to give it to him, for being an overweight piece of human s**t, the bastard could take a beating. Olrun had been in the dungeons in this session with Hanma since the scent of whiskey and sunshine blew a hole through his entire world, and still the bastard had fight. It would have been admirable if he weren’t so despicable.

“You think this makes you better than me, Alpha?” Hanma spat, his voice a mix of venom and weariness. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth as he laughed—a hollow, bitter sound. “You’re just a beast playing judge.”

Olrun’s jaw tightened, his fists curling at his sides. The words hit deeper than he cared to admit, stirring something raw within him. He swung his fist without warning, the impact reverberating through the chamber. Hanma’s head snapped back against the wall, but his grin only widened.

Olrun grasped Hanma’s chin roughly, his claws digging into the man’s flesh. “Generations ago, when the alphas wanted to drag their packs out of barbarity and into civilization, they passed one simple bylaw. Just one.”

Olrun landed another blow to Hanma’s pronounce gut. “That which offends the pack is cut out of the wolf. For instance, a wolf that stole another wolf’s goods lost a hand. A wolf that cheated his neighbor, lost a tongue for his deceit. But by far the most effective example was...”

Olrun landed another blow, this time to his face, freeing a tooth from Hanma’s mouth. “When a wolf assaulted a she-wolf, he lost the ability to ever commit the offense again.”

Olrun’s wolf, Atlas, growled in his mind, the sound low and menacing. “Why waste time on this filth? Our mate is here, within reach. You should be with her, not indulging in this distraction.”

“Shut up,” Olrun muttered under his breath, his voice harsh enough to echo. The sound startled even him, and Hanma’s groaning faltered for a moment before his slimy grin returned with renewed spite.

“You talking to yourself now, Alpha? Losing your grip?”

Olrun slammed his hand into the wall beside Hanma’s head, the stone cracking under the force. “You don’t get to talk about grip. You’ve spent years abusing women—threatening them, underpaying them, using fear to keep them silent. You’re a stain on this world.”

Hanma chuckled weakly, his breath rasping. “And what are you? A saint? Don’t kid yourself.”

Olrun stepped back, breathing heavily, his knuckles stinging from repeated strikes. He wanted to end this—to end him—but something held him back. The image of River flashed unbidden in his mind: her whiskey-colored eyes ablaze with defiance, her scent lingering like a memory he couldn’t shake. His fists lowered, and he turned away, leaving Hanma alive but broken.

“My men will be in soon to trim your stem. I’d say give him a send off but your hands look a little preoccupied.”

The lounge of the packhouse was filled with the warm glow of a fire, its flames dancing in the massive stone hearth. Seraphine lounged on the velvet couch, her icy-blue gown shimmering in the soft light. She looked up as Olrun entered, her perfectly arched brows furrowing in irritation.

“You’re late,” she snapped, rising to her feet with all the grace of a queen. “Do you even care about the plans I make for us? I’ve been waiting for hours.”

Olrun didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed the room in two swift strides, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her into a kiss. It was rough and demanding, his hands gripping her as if to silence her complaints. Seraphine smirked against his lips, mistaking his desperation for passion.

Seraphine practically purred, “You missed me, baby?”

Olrun growled. He didn’t want her to speak. He wanted to lose himself. He didn’t want the icy blue perfection and carefully curated words. He want warm, brown, wild passion. Anything to drive away the scent of whiskey and sunshine.

In his mind, Atlas roared with fury. “You dare touch another while our mate waits for you? You dishonor the bond, the gift the Moon Goddess has given us!”

Olrun lifted Seraphine and began kissing her neck. Ugh! She smelled wrong. Where was Seraphine’s sweet nectar scent? Seraphine moaned and Olrun all but dropped her. The sound grated his nerves like the sound of a girl scratching a plate, smacking, nails on a chalkboard.

Olrun pulled away abruptly, leaving Seraphine breathless and confused. “I have work to do,” he said gruffly, his voice devoid of any warmth. Without another word, he turned and left, ignoring her protests as her voice faded behind him.

The roar of the engine filled the silence as Olrun sped down the empty highway, the city lights glowing faintly in the distance. The sleek black car sliced through the darkness like a predator on the hunt, but inside, Olrun was anything but calm. His mind was in disorder. What the f**k was happening to him?

His hands gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles white against the leather. His thoughts churned like a storm, each one louder than the last.

“Reject her.” The words repeated in his mind like a mantra. If he severed the bond now, he could focus on his responsibilities. The pack came first, always. He couldn’t afford the distraction, the vulnerability that came with accepting a mate.

But every time he tried to solidify his resolve, her face appeared. That woman: fierce, beautiful, and utterly unforgettable. REJECT HER! Brown skin, warm eyes, full lips. REJECT HER! Her scent—whiskey and sunshine—clung to his memory like a brand, refusing to fade. DAMMIT! REJECT HER! What was her name? What did she look like when she smiled Goddess, it had to be like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. NO! DAMMIT! YOU KNOW WE MUST REJECT HER!

Atlas snarled in his mind, the sound growing louder and more insistent. “You can’t run from this. The bond is stronger than you. Deny it, and you’ll destroy us both.”

Olrun slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the sharp sound cutting through the silence. “Enough!” he growled aloud, his voice echoing in the confined space. He envisioned a massive iron door in his mind, forcing Atlas behind it. The wolf clawed and snapped, his glowing red eyes filled with rage, but Olrun slammed the door shut, locking him away.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Obsidian Securities towered over the city, its glass exterior reflecting the lights of the bustling streets below. Inside, the office was eerily quiet at this late hour. Olrun strode through the empty hallways, the click of his shoes the only sound.

His private office was a sanctuary of order and control, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. He sank into the leather chair behind his desk, the weight of the day settling over him like a heavy cloak.

Papers and contracts were spread out before him, a sea of responsibilities that demanded his attention. He buried himself in the work, hoping to drown out the chaos in his mind. For a while, it worked. The numbers and words provided a cold, logical refuge from the turmoil of his thoughts.

But it didn’t last.

The woman’s image crept into his mind again, unbidden and unstoppable. Her haunting eyes, her strength, her fire—they haunted him. He clenched his fists, the edges of the desk biting into his palms as he fought to push her away.

The city lights blurred in the reflection of the glass, and for a moment, Olrun saw himself as fractured and fragmented as the man he felt inside. He convinced himself that rejecting her was the right choice. It had to be.

But deep down, he knew the bond would not be denied forever.