Reborn As His Luna

Darkness. Then pain, sharp and familiar, bloomed behind my ribs like it had never left. The Moon Goddess had been tricky from the start. She mated me, an omega from the forgotten edges of Bloomfield pack, to Zeke Ashford, the future Alpha of Ash Paw, a boy I had known since childhood visits between packs but who grew into a man I could never even see, let alone touch. We both knew the truth the moment our eyes met across a crowded gathering years ago: the pull, the certainty, the invisible thread that marked us mates. Yet distance, status, and pack pride kept us strangers. Until the mating ball. He came to Bloomfield that night for tradition, not for me. The crush of bodies, the scent of too many wolves trying to look important, my heart hammering every time his gaze swept past. I wore the only decent dress I owned, the green one my mother mended three times. I stood near the back, telling myself I wasn’t hoping. I was lying. Then he walked onto the platform. The pack went quiet. Even the music died. “I, Zeke Ashford, Alpha of the Ash Paw pack,” his voice rang out, cold and final, “reject you, Anya, as my mate.” The words didn’t just land, they carved. My wolf screamed inside me, clawing at ribs that suddenly felt too small, too brittle. I tasted copper, my own lip bitten through so I wouldn’t cry in front of two hundred people who already thought I was nothing. The shame burned hotter than any fever. I remember thinking: at least he said it in front of everyone. No one can pretend it didn’t happen. He turned and left without another glance. The bond snapped like a dry twig. That was the last clear thing before the world went black. Now, white. Blinding white. The smell of antiseptic stabbed my nose. My eyelids felt glued shut, impossibly heavy. I forced them open a crack. Everything hurt in the wrong way: too smooth, too strong. My throat didn’t scratch when I swallowed. It felt rich, like velvet instead of sandpaper. Confusion twisted in my gut, tighter with every bewildered beat of my heart. A kind face framed by a starched white cap leaned into my blurry vision. “Matron, thank the Moon Goddess, she’s awake!” The words sounded far away, like they belonged to someone else’s story. “Welcome back, Luna. You’ve had us worried.” Luna? The word landed like a slap. Me? The girl who fetched laundry and kept her eyes on the floor? They must have the wrong bed. “Where am I?” My voice came out, and it wasn’t mine. It was deeper. Richer. The kind of voice that commanded rooms instead of begging to be ignored. My hands, when I lifted them weakly, were long-fingered, elegant, nails perfect ovals. Not the chipped, work-rough claws I remembered. “You’re in the Isle’s Pack Infirmary, Luna. Your husband is here to see you. You woke up just in time.” Husband. I almost laughed, a dry, bitter sound that died in my throat. The only man who ever called me anything close to his had just finished telling two hundred people I wasn’t good enough to breathe the same air as him. “I don’t have a husband,” I managed. The matron, bless her patient soul, only offered a sympathetic smile. “He’s been by your side every day since the incident, Luna. He’s very eager to see you.” Incident? My mind scrambled, grasping at fragments. How long had I been out? “A week, Luna. You were in a coma for a week.” A week. The world tilted. A week of nothing. A week of dreams I couldn’t reach. A week where the rejection scar should still be bleeding, but wasn’t. Fear, cold and sharp, pricked my skin like needles. None of this was right. The place. The treatment. The title they kept pinning on me like a medal I hadn’t earned. The door creaked open. A shadow fell across the room. My breath caught. He walked in like he owned the air itself, a titan in tailored black. Every step was a hammer strike. Power rolled off him, vibrating the foundations of the room. The nurse and matron retreated to the side as though he were their god. Pine. Frost. That scent hit me like a fist to the sternum. No. It couldn’t be. Zeke Ashford. Dark hair like a storm cloud. Eyes the deep green of ancient forests, softened now, almost tender. This was the man who had torn my world apart. The Alpha of Ash Paw. The billionaire who didn’t need to inherit more billions to own half the territory that mattered. The one who had once been my childhood friend across pack borders. The one who’d chosen the Lunatic Luna over me. He could have taken me as second wife. Tradition allowed it. He didn’t. And yet here he was. He reached the bedside. His eyes, dimmed with concern, searched my face like he was trying to read something written in invisible ink. He knelt. Took my hand. His touch, once the sharpest knife in my chest, now felt foreign. Warm. Too warm. Warm enough to spark heat low in my belly against my will. “My queen,” he murmured. “You’re awake. My Goddess, I was so worried.” My queen. The words punched through me. He called me his queen. His voice carried a tenderness I’d never heard from him, vulnerability that made my inner omega, the one who still ached for his attention despite everything, coil in helpless confusion. Then he leaned in. His lips, soft and warm, pressed against mine. It wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t careful. It bloomed with possession, with deep, consuming hunger. My brain short-circuited. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. But the body I was trapped in responded like it had done this a thousand times before, like it belonged here. Lips parting just enough. A tiny sigh I didn’t mean to make. I hated how much I wanted to melt into it. I hated even more that part of me, the stupid sixteen-year-old part that had once dreamed he’d look at me this way, was screaming yes, finally. He pulled back. Thumb stroking my cheek. Fingers threading gently through my hair. “I missed you so much, my love. Every moment without you was torture.” Love. Torture. The words tasted like mockery. Like the universe had finally decided to play the cruelest joke possible. I stared, a silent statue of confusion and something dangerously close to hope. The matron cleared her throat. “Alpha, it seems Luna still needs rest. Perhaps you could wait outside a little longer?” Zeke’s gaze lingered, deep and searching, like he could see straight into whatever fractured soul was wearing this face. “Of course,” he said, reluctance thick. He pressed another soft kiss to my forehead, feather-light, still enough to send shivers racing down my spine. “I’ll be right outside, my heart. Just know that whoever did this to you will pay.” The door clicked shut. Sterile silence returned. Only my frantic heartbeat to fill it. This was insanity. A dream. A hallucination born from too much grief. Zeke. To me? “Matron,” I whispered, voice still too rich, too smooth. “I… I need to use the restroom.” “Of course, Luna. I’ll help you up.” The walk to the bathroom was slow. Legs like jelly. Muscles protesting disuse. But the mirror, the truth-telling glass, pulled me forward. I needed proof this wasn’t real. The matron helped me to the sink. I gripped cold porcelain. Knuckles white. My gaze, trembling and desperate, lifted. For one horrible heartbeat I didn’t recognize anything. Not the eyes. Not the mouth. Not even the shape of my own fear staring back. Anya was gone. Really gone. Then the math clicked. Emerald eyes. Thick dark lashes. Sharp elegant cheekbones. Midnight hair cascading like silk. Regal. Breathtaking. Grand Luna Samantha Wood-Ashford. The She-Alpha. The Lunatic Luna. Wife of Zeke Ashford. The woman who had everything I’d ever wished for. A raw gasp tore from my throat. “Oh my Goddess,” I whispered, words choking on shock and something dangerously close to exhilaration. My reflection mirrored wide disbelieving eyes. If this face was here, then where was mine? The thought sent a flicker of grief through me, sharp and brief, like a blade I could still feel. Then the realization settled, heavier and brighter than anything I’d ever known. I have been reborn.