Alpha's Luna

Chapter One - Departure Selene

They say Omegas are blessed. Soft-spoken. Gentle. Obedient.

But they forget to mention we’re also sold off like livestock.

The parchment on the table bears my fate in neat, blood-inked strokes - signed, sealed, and soon to be delivered. My name is etched in sharp curves beneath the Alpha crest of Ironfang, bound by a pact that says “for unity” but smells a lot like servitude. I’m to be mated to Alpha Kaine Duskbane: the war-born, the Wraith of the West, the man whose idea of foreplay probably includes snarling.

Lucky me.

“Don’t slouch,” Elder Ryll hisses, tugging on my shoulder like I’m some broken doll being presented to market. “You’re about to become Luna of Ironfang. At least pretend you were trained for it.”

I lift my chin, mostly to make sure she sees the look in my eyes. It’s not submission. It’s containment. Rage, caged and coiled just behind my teeth.

In the doorway, my little brother grips the edge of his shirt with trembling fingers. Finn is only twelve. Small, quiet, smart enough to pretend he isn’t watching this like it’s the day I die. I don’t cry. Not because I’m brave, but because I know if I start, he’ll start, and if he starts, I’ll burn this entire Council Hall to the ground.

Instead, I smile for him. Tight. Crooked. The kind of smile that says I’ve got this even when I’m not sure I do.

A Council escort waits outside - three wolves in full armor, eyes blank, scentless. They flank a black carriage with no windows. Ironfang doesn't believe in subtlety, apparently. The man I’m being delivered to didn’t even come to claim me himself. How romantic.

Elder Ryll finishes speaking to the guards, tossing a glance back at me like she’s glad to be rid of me. Maybe she is. I’ve never been the Omega poster child. I speak when I shouldn’t. I dream when I shouldn’t. I learned to throw a punch in secret, behind the kitchens with Finn watching like I was telling him a forbidden bedtime story.

The moment the escort signals, everything inside me goes quiet.

This is it.

One foot in front of the other. Keep breathing. Don’t look back.

“Selene,” Finn calls, his voice cracking.

I freeze. The guards tense.

He runs to me before anyone can stop him, wrapping his arms around my waist like he can hold me here by sheer force of love.

“I don’t want you to go,” he mumbles into my ribs. “They said Ironfang eats Omegas.”

I laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because if I don’t, I’ll scream.

“I’m not getting eaten,” I whisper back. “I’m going to outlive them all.”

Finn pulls back, sniffling. “You promise?”

“I promise.” I lean down and press my forehead to his. “Stay sharp. Keep your head down. Don’t let Ryll teach you anything without checking it against logic. And don’t cry in front of Council sons—it makes them think you’re prey.”

He nods. Wipes his nose on his sleeve like a warrior. I rise and walk to the carriage. The guards don’t touch me. They don’t have to. I climb in myself.

The door shuts with a metallic thud.

Inside, it’s dim and empty. No cushion. No curtain. Just wood and iron.

I sit on the bench and exhale, spine straight.

So this is how it begins. A mating contract signed in blood. A brother left behind. A cage on wheels rolling toward the most dangerous man in the shifter world.

My future Alpha.

My fated mistake.

The wheels grind against stone, then dirt, then the uneven sprawl of borderland roads. Every jolt rattles through my bones, but I don’t shift or brace myself. I let the bruises form. Better armor than lace.

Minutes stretch into hours. There’s no light, no sound but the horses snorting outside and the rhythmic clatter of hooves. I don’t know how long they plan to keep me in here. Long enough to remind me what I am: cargo.

My throat dries, lips cracking. The silence turns suffocating. Finally, I pound once against the carriage wall. “Water.”

No answer.

I slam harder. “I said I want water.”

The carriage slows, then halts. Metal boots strike the dirt. The door screeches open, revealing a wolf with iron-gray eyes, face expressionless beneath his helm. He holds a flask but doesn’t extend it right away.

“Omegas don’t make demands,” he says, voice flat.

I meet his stare. I don’t lower my eyes. “Then think of this as a survival request. Unless your Alpha prefers his mate delivered dead from dehydration.”

A pause. His jaw tightens, then he thrusts the flask into my hand. “Drink quick.”

The water is lukewarm, metallic, but it soothes the desert in my throat. I take my time, deliberately slow, before handing it back. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t answer. He slams the door shut, muttering something low to the others. The carriage lurches forward again.

I lean back against the wall, exhaling through my nose. It’s a small victory. Petty, maybe. But in a life built from cages, even a sip of water wrestled free feels like rebellion.

Dusk bleeds into night. I know because the air grows colder, sharper, threading through cracks in the carriage. I keep my eyes closed, trying to imagine Finn safe at home, maybe sneaking into the kitchen for bread the way we used to. I picture his small hands shaping stones into little towers by the river. Anything to keep from feeling the walls pressing closer.

But the longer I sit, the more my instincts scream. A primal itch crawls under my skin, warning me of something vast and wrong ahead.

The horses slow again. The wheels grind onto stone, echoing louder now, until the carriage shudders to a stop.

A key clanks. The door opens.

I blink against torchlight, lifting my chin.

The fortress of Ironfang rises before me.

It isn’t a home. It isn’t even a keep. It’s a beast carved from black stone, spiked with iron, jagged towers clawing at the night sky. Firelight flickers in narrow slits that pass for windows, but no warmth spills out. The air here tastes of smoke and steel, sharp as blood in my mouth.

The guards motion for me to step down. I don’t move right away. I let my gaze sweep over the courtyard: wolves in leather and chain, sparring in the torchlight; sentries posted like statues; the faint scent of iron, salt, and something darker, wilder.

This is no place for gentleness. Which means it’s no place for me.

Still, I step down, my boots hitting stone. The ground feels like it’s waiting to swallow me whole.

The guard gestures. “Inside.”

I glance up at the fortress gates—towering iron doors with carvings of snarling wolves locked in endless battle. My breath hitches, not from fear but from the weight of it all. They think they’re bringing me into a cage. They don’t know cages are where predators learn patience.

I lift my chin. “Lead the way.”

Inside, the air is colder still. The hall yawns wide, lined with banners bearing Ironfang’s crest: a black wolf, jaws open, blood dripping from its fangs. Wolves watch from the shadows as I’m escorted through. Betas, I think. Soldiers. Their gazes crawl over me, assessing, dismissing, some curious, some hungry.

But there is no Alpha.

The chair at the far end of the hall—massive, carved from stone, more throne than seat—sits empty.

They brought me to his fortress. But Kaine Duskbane, Wraith of the West, can’t be bothered to greet the mate his Council signed into his bed.

Good. That makes two of us.

The guards leave me in a chamber halfway up one of the towers. Not a dungeon, but not exactly luxury either. The bed is plain wood with furs. A single candle sputters on the table. The window is narrow, barred, offering nothing but a sliver of cold stars.

When the door shuts behind me, I press my palms against the stone wall and close my eyes.

I should break down. I should cry until I choke. But instead, I smile.

Because if this is my cage, then let them see how a wolf learns to pace.