A LUNA’S CLAIM

Prologue… "I, Gideon Cross, Prince Alpha of the NightShade Pack, reject you, Liora Vale, as my mate”. The effect was instantaneous, it felt like her soul had been ripped in half. Liora couldn't breathe. It felt like someone was choking the life out of her. A strangled cry escaped from her throat as her knees buckled, a searing pain splitting through her chest like she'd been stabbed with a hot knife. Her wolf howled in agony as she felt the bond snapping like a thread stretched too thin. The tears were rolling down her eyes as she screamed in pain and sorrow. No! This can't be happening. Before she could even register the pain, two guards grabbed her by the arms and began dragging her from the hall, ordered by her mate. Her ex mate. The one who had rejected her. The moment blurred, her father’s muffled shouts reached her ears as the instrumentalists resumed their music as if nothing had happened. The feast carried on. And the man who was supposed to be her mate—turned his back on her. Tears streamed freely down Liora’s face, her pleas spilling from her lips in raw desperation. "Please! My father—please, let me go to him!" But the guards ignored her. They dragged her down the castle’s dimly lit corridors, their iron grips unrelenting despite her struggles. Her heels scraped against the cold stone floors as she fought, but it was futile. They were stronger than her and she knew it. While she had spent most of her life cutting onions and slicing meat, they'd trained and built muscles. She couldn't break from their hold. No one was coming to help her. No one cared. The guards moved swiftly, taking her away from the grand hall, away from the glittering chandeliers and lavish feast that had resumed as if nothing had happened. Her mate had rejected her. Her father had been thrown into the dungeon. Everything—everything—was gone. Liora’s strength finally gave out. Her struggles weakened, her sobs turning into quiet, broken gasps. The pain in her chest burned like fire, a deep, agonizing wound she could not see but felt with every breath. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. It was supposed to be perfect. She had been so close. She had finally achieved her dream of becoming head chef, something she had worked so hard for. And when she caught his scent—her mate’s scent—she had believed, for one fleeting moment, that the Moon Goddess had blessed her. But instead, it had been a cruel joke. Mates were supposed to be fated. Chosen by the goddess herself. And yet—he rejected her. She tried one last attempt to reach her father but the last thing she saw was one of the guards squeezing his fist with his face contorted in anger. She didn't even feel the pain of his fist hitting the side of her head before the darkness took her. The thought of how she even got into this whole mess playing in her head. *****Few hours before****** "Are you mad? How could you add two spoons of salt when you're planning to finish with lemon?" The head chef's roar echoed through the vast kitchen, his booming voice momentarily drowning out the rhythmic clatter of knives against cutting boards. Every kitchen hand within earshot froze mid-task, eyes darting toward the scene unfolding before them. The unfortunate target of the chef’s fury—a scrawny kitchen help—stood trembling under the man’s withering glare. The head chef, a towering figure with arms as thick as the barrels of ale stacked in the storeroom, loomed over him like a storm cloud ready to burst. "I thought— " the kitchen help stammered, but whatever excuse he had in mind was cut short as a spray of spittle landed on his face. "You thought what?" For a moment, the entire kitchen held its breath. Even the potatoes sizzling in the pan seemed to go silent, as if afraid to draw attention. The head chef inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he closed his eyes.When he reopened them, the murderous glint in his gaze had softened—only slightly. "Leave my kitchen. " He didn’t need to say it twice. The kitchen help bolted, his footsteps fading down the stone corridor, leaving only a whisper of embarrassment in his wake. Around the kitchen, the staff who had paused to witness the spectacle immediately snapped back to work. Pots clanged, knives resumed chopping, and the tension that had gripped the air dissipated—almost. "Don’t look at me like that, " the head chef grumbled, turning to his daughter, who watched him with an amused smile. She had the same eyes as her mother, the same teasing quirk to her lips that made his heart clench. "I know it was necessary, " Liora said, her tone light, though her hands continued expertly slicing herbs for the roast. "But you need to be less... shouty. I swear, that poor boy was probably wearing two pairs of trousers just in case he lost control of his bladder. Pretty sure everyone here is doing the same thing. ” A few kitchen hands stifled their laughter. The head chef’s thick brows lifted. palm before setting it down. secret recipe. "You too?" Liora scoffed, flipping her knife effortlessly. "Please. The only thing you have over me these days is the family’s Everything else? I'm already better than you. Why would you ever yell at me?" Her father chuckled, shaking his head. "Careful, Liora. I smell pride in your words. " She grinned. "And I smell— " Her nostrils flared as realization struck. "s**t! The pheasant’s burning!" In a blink, she whirled around, racing toward the spit where a fine pheasant had gone from golden brown to near-charcoal. She seized a pair of tongs and yanked it away from the fire, muttering a curse under her breath. It took a tense few minutes to regain control of the kitchen, but she did. She always did. Because she was Liora Vale—the daughter of the kingdom’s head chef, the best cook in the Alpha King’s castle, and the one in charge of preparing the grandest feast in years. Tonight wasn’t just any night. It was the Alpha Prince’s birthday. But more than that, it was the night he would meet his mate. The momentous event had drawn packs from all over the kingdom. Alphas, Betas, warriors, and nobles had traveled for days to witness the ceremony. This wasn’t merely a birthday banquet—this was the Alpha King summoning his entire kingdom. Nothing could go wrong. Liora wiped her brow, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips as she turned toward the next task. "Kendrik!" she snapped, making the young man jump. barrels are ready. " The kitchen hand straightened. storeroom without another word. "Stop chatting and check if all the wine "Yes, ma’am!" He bolted toward the "And while you’re at it, " she added, moving swiftly toward the pastry station, "fetch a guard to summon the wine taster. We have ten minutes before the feast begins!" She didn’t wait for a response. Instead, she made her way to the royal bakery, the air thick with the scent of sugar, cinnamon, and warm dough. "Sir Benril!" she called out, stepping inside. man with flour-dusted hands, turned to her with a proud nod. "How goes the cake?" The elderly baker, a grizzled "Almost done, head chef. Just a few finishing touches. " Liora groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Don’t call me that, Sir Benril. I’m just a kitchen hand, not a head chef. ” The baker chuckled, gesturing toward the other kitchen staff. "Tell that to them. " She glanced around, catching the subtle, admiring glances from the other workers. A few even gave her a respectful nod as they passed. "You’re the best in the whole castle—maybe the whole kingdom. Your father believes that. They believe that. And so do I, Head Chef. " He patted her cheek, leaving a smudge of flour. She giggled, rolling her eyes as she wiped her face with the hem of her apron. "Fine, fine. But let’s keep that between us, yeah?" Just then— A trumpet blared through the castle halls. The sharp, commanding sound sent a ripple through the kitchen. Instantly, the room burst into controlled chaos. Pots clattered, trays were swiftly arranged, and the final dishes were plated with precision and speed. Liora turned on her heel, striding toward her father, who was standing at the center of the frenzy, arms crossed as he watched the kitchen hands work. She met his gaze, heart hammering with both nerves and excitement. "The King and the Prince have arrived." Tonight, everything would change. Liora wiped her damp palms against her apron, ignoring the bead of sweat trailing down her back. The kitchen was a furnace of movement—steam rising from bubbling cauldrons, the scent of roasting meats heavy in the air, and the sharp clang of knives striking chopping boards in rapid succession. The feast was well underway. The first course had been served—appetizers crafted to awaken the senses and prepare the royal guests for the grand meal ahead. Silver platters laden with beef pepper soup, hot soft bread with aged cheese, and stuffed mushrooms had been sent out, each dish meticulously arranged. She had tasted everything herself, ensuring perfection, but when she bit into a stuffed mushroom, her stomach clenched. Too much spice. It wasn’t overwhelming, but for someone with a finely tuned palate like hers, it was noticeable. She had reached for the knife, prepared to redo them all, when her father’s large hand caught her wrist. "Don't worry, darling, " he murmured, his mustache twitching as he smiled reassuringly. "You're only noticing because of how good you are. Those royal wolves will devour anything that’s tasty. " Liora hesitated but trusted him. The guests weren’t complaining yet, and so she let it go, though her heart still thumped with worry. The main course followed soon after, ushered out by a team of kitchen hands carrying large silver trays. Roasted pheasants, glistening with golden-brown perfection, and whole pigs stuffed with a mixture of fried potatoes, sun-ripened tomatoes, and aromatic herbs were placed on the long banquet tables. Alongside, bowls of seasoned potatoes, fragrant rice infused with saffron, and roasted root vegetables drizzled with honey and thyme were served. Liora barely had time to catch her breath before drinks were ordered in abundance. Barreled wine imported from France, a luxury reserved for only the most prestigious occasions, was poured into goblets, while a selection of freshly pressed juices and meads accompanied the meal for those who preferred lighter drinks. Then came the palate cleanser—a refreshing bowl of assorted fruits, all hand-picked from the Alpha King’s private orchard. Sweet pineapples, crisp cucumbers, ripe watermelons, and, of course, the Queen’s favorite—crisp, ruby-red apples—were diced into elegant slices, each served in delicate crystal bowls. Liora scoffed as she watched the kitchen hands running back and forth, struggling to meet the endless demand for wine. "Drunkards, the lot of them," she muttered, shaking her head. One of the kitchen helps beside her stifled a chuckle, quickly covering it with a cough. Finally, it was time. The dessert—the Prince’s cake. Liora stood behind the massive wooden doors, her hands gripping the edges of the tray on a wheeled table. The cake was a masterpiece—three towering tiers of vanilla and honey sponge, layered with sugared berries and cream, wrapped in golden icing, and adorned with delicate carvings of the royal crest. Sir Benril had outdone himself. Her father had stunned her when he told her that she would be the one to present it to the royal family. It was a task traditionally reserved for the head chef, and for him to pass it to her—it was an unspoken acknowledgment of her skill, of her place in the kitchen. Tears had burned at the edges of her eyes, but she had swallowed them down. Now, standing at the threshold of the great hall, she felt the weight of the moment. Her fingers fidgeted slightly, her chestnut hair tightly secured in a bun. Behind her, her father placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. Then—the doors clicked open. The sudden burst of golden light made her eyes water, forcing her to blink rapidly as she adjusted to the sheer brilliance of the hall. And when she did—her breath hitched. It was magnificent. A grand banquet hall, larger than any she had ever imagined. Dozens of Alphas sat at long tables, an almost impossible sight. Their powerful presence filled the space, their auras colliding and overlapping like a battle of dominance. And yet, the strength and reputation of the Alpha King was enough to keep them all in check, allowing them to coexist—if only for one night. The guests were draped in luxurious attire—some in formal suits, others in richly embroidered garments that reflected their pack’s heritage. The Lunas, standing beside their mates, wore gowns spun from the finest silks, shimmering under the golden glow of the chandeliers. The walls were adorned with ancient artifacts and grand paintings, depicting centuries of the royal bloodline. At the far end of the hall, musicians played a soft, elegant melody, filling the air with an ambiance of wealth and power. A small cough from her father snapped her back into focus. She swallowed, straightened her spine, and stepped forward, pushing the table with steady hands. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She hadn’t realized just how massive the hall was. The sheer number of powerful wolves in one place made her wolf stir anxiously within her. And then—she saw him. The Prince.