Chasing His Multi-identity Luna

2

Grace's POV

　　The Brown mansion swallowed us whole, its cavernous halls echoing with the hesitant tap of the servant’s heels.

‘This place reeks of lies’, Sia growled in my head, her voice a low rumble. I felt her hackles rise as we passed a portrait of Beta James Brown, his wolf’s eyes painted too bright, too benevolent. Paint can’t hide rot.

Grandma Mia shuffled beside me, her scent—a faded, smoky reminder of her once-powerful wolf—barely lingering. At the shoe cabinet, the servant yanked out a pair of house slippers but froze when Mia stepped barefoot onto the marble.

“Sorry, dear,” Grandma murmured, retreating half a step.

‘Don’t apologize to them’, Sia snapped. I felt her urge to bare teeth at the servant’s sneer, but I kept my face neutral. The omega’s wolf scent—fear tinged with superiority—was cloying, like cheap perfume.

The living room was a shrine to Emma. Photos smothered the coffee table and shelves: Emma at six with a spelling bee trophy, Emma at thirteen mid-violin performance, Emma at eighteen in a designer prom dress.

Sia scoffed in my mind. ‘Perfect little puppet’.

Across the room, a half-open door revealed polished mahogany and a gleam of varnished wood inside.

“That’s Miss Emma’s music room,” the servant said stiffly. “She doesn’t allow visitors.”

‘I’d rather lick gravel than play her violin’, Sia sneered. I bit back a smirk, nodding politely.

We’d barely settled onto the couch when the sound of tires crunching gravel cut through the silence. Another servant stepped in, bowing slightly.

“Sir James and Master Davis have returned. They wish to meet you.”

‘Here come the royalty’, Sia drawled. I felt her curiosity spike as Beta James entered, his scent—bergamot and aged oak—clashing with Grandma’s lavender. His wolf was a massive brute, all muscle and menace, but Sia didn’t flinch. Puffed-up alpha syndrome. I could take him.

Davis followed, and my nose twitched at his scent—cedarwood layered with smoke, like he’d been near a fire. Sia perked up. ‘Interesting. He smells like trouble’.

“...a problem,” James was saying. “Expelled. Probation. Half Moon Academy won’t like the baggage.”

My jaw tightened. Sia snarled, ‘Let them try to bar us. I’ll chew through their gates’.

Half Moon Academy. The pride of Blue Moon Pack. A training ground for warriors and future elites. The werewolf who entered Half Moon Academy, if you were lucky—or connected—you got a shot at Narnia Academy, the most prestigious wolf academy in Starlight Pack territory. And Starlight? They ran the damn Union. The rest of us just chased their dust.

Sia’s restlessness grew as James droned on about “reputation.” ‘They’re afraid of what we are, Gracie. Afraid we’ll ruin their pretty little facade’.

When Davis’s eyes met mine, Sia went silent—unusual. I felt her tense, her focus sharpening on him like a predator eyeing prey. Wait… she murmured, his scent…

Davis’s smirk broadened, as if he could hear her. Impossible. No one knew about Sia, not even Emma. But the way he studied me—like he saw the shadow of a wolf behind my eyes—sent a prickle down my spine.

Beta James smiled—faint and strained—for Grandma. “Mrs. Smith,” he said, shaking Grandma’s hand with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Grace.” A nod in my direction, perfunctory, before he turned back to Grandma. “We’ll do our best for Grace at Half Moon Academy. Though I must warn you—” His voice lowered, conspiratorial, “—their admissions board is… particular about reputation.”

Translation: Your granddaughter is a liability.

His gaze flicked to me. Polite. Cold.

Translation: I’ll do it because Amy begged. Don’t expect a warm welcome.

Davis dropped onto the couch, still staring. Sia’s unease grew, but beneath it, something else—curiosity. He’s not like the others. Too wild for a Beta’s son.

I forced a bland smile at James, even as Sia’s promise simmered in my veins.

Davis’s lips twitched. He clicked off his phone and dropped into the far corner of the couch, all lazy limbs and smug interest. Like he’d just found something amusing. Or someone.

Great. Another rich wolf kid with nothing better to do than poke the rebel.

James droned on about arrangements and expectations. I tuned him out. The room reeked of leather, money, and repression. Grandma nodded politely at everything, but her hands trembled slightly in her lap.

I wanted to grab her, to drag her out of this house and away from the wolves who thought they could play savior. But she needed this—needed the care only this place could afford.

So I sat still. I played the game.

All while Davis kept watching me with that smirk, like he couldn’t wait to see what I’d do next.

Welcome to the Browns, Grace.

God, this was going to suck.