REJECTED LUNA

Chapter 1

Elisa's POV;

My heart pounded against my ribcage, like a wild beast trapped, its echo booming in my ears. The wind whipped against my face as I hurtled through the narrow, winding streets of our small town.

I could feel the weight of their gazes, every pair of eyes burning into my back, their whispers slicing through the cool night air.

"Isn't it that cursed girl?" They said, and more people began to fix their gaze at me.

"No, you shouldn't tell her now! Don't you know it hurts? You should tell her when her recent mate dies." Another person said as they all laughed.

The words stung, but I pushed the pain away, focusing only on the path before me. I knew what they said about me in hushed tones when they thought I couldn't hear that I was cursed, that everyone I loved was doomed to die. But I couldn't afford to listen now; there was no room for doubt, not when Larry’s life was hanging by a thread.

Larry, my mate, my heart. He was sick, deathly sick, and I have got to save him. I had already lost seven mates over the last decade, each loss a fresh wound on my heart. I was not about to lose an eighth.

I darted around a corner, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my legs aching with every pounding step. My home was just up ahead, a beacon of hope in the dark night. Inside, I had the medicine that could save Larry, save us. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, fail him. Not this time.

As I placed my weathered hand on the doorknob, the clamor of hushed whispers and laughter cut through the silence. The neighborhood gossip had gathered. They had, once again, turned their cruel tongues towards me. I took a deep breath, trying to steel myself against the wave of humiliation that was sure to come.

"The cursed one comes out," Mrs. O'Sullivan, the butcher's wife, sneered from across the street. Her voice, sharp as a knife, echoed through the narrow streets, bouncing off the grimy cobblestones. She was a plump woman, her face reddened from the excesses of her life, and her eyes, oh, those small, cruel eyes, always eager to feast on someone else's misfortune.

"Ten years, ten men," chimed in Mr. Peterson, the town's gravedigger, leaning on his shovel like a grim reaper. His voice was gravelly, every word carrying the weight of the graves he'd dug. "All dead, every single one of 'em."

They laughed, a harsh, grating sound that felt like sandpaper against my soul. Their mirth made my heart ache, a gnawing pain that was far worse than the physical blows I knew were coming next.

I braced myself as rotten fruit and discarded newspapers began to rain down on me. The smell of decay and waste filled my nostrils, but I held my chin high, refusing to give them the satisfaction of my retreat.

"Bet the newest mate won't last the month," cackled Mrs. Bradley, the widow from down the lane. Her words were laced with venom, her laughter a biting wind against my face. She had lost her husband to sickness years ago, and it seemed my suffering brought her some twisted form of joy.

Suddenly, a rotten tomato hit me squarely in the chest. The juice seeped through my dress, cold and stinging. I looked down, the red stain spreading, and for a moment, I allowed myself to feel.

The pain, the humiliation, the despair - it washed over me like waves crashing against a rocky shore. But I didn't crumble. I wouldn't. Not for them.

"Is this the life you've cursed me with?" I whispered, not to them, but to the universe at large. I wiped away a tear, my hand coming away with a smear of tomato.

I wish I could say their words didn't hurt, that their laughter didn't echo in my ears long after they had gone. But that would be a lie. Each word was a dagger, each laugh a strike to my heart.

But I had learned long ago that they didn't define me. Their words were not my truth.

I am Elisa. I am not cursed. I am not the cause of death that shadows my life.

Some of them were still cursing me and some were laughing at me. I pity them so much, they have forgotten that there is a word that says; 'What goes around shall surely come around.'

What will I gain from killing the mate that the moon goddess has blessed me with, no one but seven?

I have heard stories. Stories about the joy of having a mate, but I never got to hear stories of it coming the opposite way.

My past is leaving me with no glimmer of hope, but I want to have faith in my God, I have prayed. At the altar, I have done many rituals and sacrifices but nothing changed.

I want to believe that the God that I serve is not asleep, and they will vindicate me from this curse heavy upon me.

But as I burst through the door, my heart sank. I was too late.

"Larry!" I screamed, falling to my knees beside his lifeless body. His eyes, once vibrant and full of life, were now dull and lifeless. I could still feel the last vestiges of warmth leaving his body, the cruel reminder of the life that was no longer there.

His mother and my brother rushed to my side, trying to pull me away. Their words were a distant hum, drowned out by the roaring in my ears.

My vision blurred, hot tears spilling down my cheeks and onto Larry's cold hand. "No, no, no," I sobbed, clutching his hand to my chest.

I was the cursed girl. The girl who couldn’t save her mate. The girl whose love was a death sentence.

But as I looked down at Larry, something inside me hardened. I would not let his death be in vain. I would prove them all wrong. I was not cursed. I was not a harbinger of death.

I rose, wiping the tears from my eyes. Larry’s mother and my brother looked at me, their eyes wide with shock. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t. But they would.

"Stay away from me," I told them, my voice steady despite the storm raging within me. "I need to figure this out. Alone."

And with that, I turned away, leaving them behind, leaving Larry behind. I didn’t know where I was going, or what I would do once I got there. But one thing was clear. This was just the beginning.