Forsaken Luna becomes Luna Queen

Dion

(Dion’s POV)

The chambers Alpha Zulan had prepared were...excessive.

Dion lay back against the bed, one arm folded behind his head as his gaze drifted across the ceiling. The stonework was older than Ember Soul’s, darker, etched with markings that spoke more of endurance than status. Bloodstone did not dress its strength in refinement.

It didn’t need to.

He exhaled slowly, shifting slightly against the furs beneath him. The room still carried the faint scent of smoke and iron—Zulan’s presence lingering even in absence.

And yet...he hadn’t questioned it.

Dion’s lips curved faintly, that had been the surprising part. Zulan had accepted it too easily. No challenge. No scrutiny. No demand to confirm.Just a single glance at Layla, a brief acknowledgment—and then the chambers had been offered without hesitation. As if it didn’t matter. Or perhaps—as if he simply didn’t care.

Dion’s expression darkened slightly at the thought. That kind of indifference wasn’t weakness. It was something else. Something he would have to account for later. But for now—it had worked.

That was what mattered.

He shifted again, rolling slightly onto his side as the sound of the bathroom door opening broke the quiet. His gaze lifted to the sound as Layla stepped out slowly, the dim light catching along the line of her form as she crossed into the room

.

The silk nightgown clung just enough to reveal more than it concealed, the thin white fabric shifting with each step. There was nothing beneath it—nothing to interrupt the outline, nothing to hide the intent behind it. Dion’s eyes tracked her without hesitation.

Of course she had chosen that. He thought internally, pleased with himself to bring her instead of Winter. Layla never did anything without purpose. Her lips curved into that familiar smile—the one that promised more than it said outright, the one that had drawn his attention long before this trip north had ever been planned.

“You’re thinking too much,” she said softly.

Dion huffed a quiet breath. “Am I?”

“Yes.” She moved closer, her steps unhurried, deliberate. “You always do when you should be doing something else.”

She reached the bed and paused just long enough for his gaze to settle fully on her before she moved again, climbing onto it with a fluid ease that spoke of familiarity rather than hesitation.

Then she straddled him.

Dion’s hands didn’t move immediately, but his attention sharpened, focus narrowing as she leaned slightly forward, her hair falling just enough to frame her face. That smile didn’t fade.

“Tell me again,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, more controlled, “why I’m not your Luna.”

There it was...what she wanted. It wasn't new, but never dropped either.

Dion’s jaw tightened slightly, his gaze holding hers. “Layla—”

“I’m better than her.”

The words came without hesitation. No softness. No doubt.

“Stronger,” she continued, shifting just enough to press the point, her presence demanding his attention in a way few others could. “More loyal. I stand beside you, not behind you.”

Dion didn’t interrupt. He didn’t argue because part of him—understood the truth in it.

“I give you everything you want,” she went on, her voice lowering further, threading something more personal through the certainty. “Not what the pack expects. Not what tradition demands.” Her hand rested lightly against his chest then slide lower. “What you want.”

Dion’s breath deepened.

Measured. Controlled.

“And I’ll give you an heir,” she added, quieter still, but no less certain. “One that will carry your strength forward. One that will never be questioned.”

Dion answered her not with words though. His hands moved instead, settling at her hips, fingers tightening just enough to anchor her there. Not gentle. Not hesitant.

Certain.

Layla’s breath shifted, satisfaction flickering across her expression as that smile deepened—sharper now, victorious in a way she didn’t bother to hide. Because in that moment—he chose.

And Layla knew it.

The room fell quiet after that, the outside world slipping further away with each passing second. Whatever thoughts had lingered before—of Zulan, of the meeting, of the pack waiting for his return—faded beneath something far more immediate. Far more tangible. The night stretched on around them, time slipping without notice, marked only by the slow dimming of the firelight and the steady quiet that followed.

Sleep came late. Brief and not nearly enough. But Dion didn’t regret it. Not once.