His Luna Her Desire

They said omegas were born to serve. Quiet. Gentle. Obedient. They didn’t say what happened when you broke one. The stone beneath Aria’s bare feet was ice-cold, stained with blood that wasn’t hers—at least not all of it. She didn’t remember how long she’d been here. Time meant nothing when the world was reduced to shadows, steel chains, and the raw ache in her bones. She had once been a healer. Now she was a prisoner. The metal cuffs around her wrists had been laced with silver for weeks, burning her skin down to the bone, neutralizing her wolf. The pain had dulled into something constant—less fire, more poison—slow, cruel, and lingering. Like his words. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut, Aria.” Her former mate’s voice echoed like a wound she couldn’t stop touching. Alpha Lucien. Strong. Respected. Deadly. And the coward who had dragged her in front of the entire pack, accused her of betrayal, and tossed her into this cell for rejecting him after catching him with another. She hadn’t screamed when they locked the door. She didn’t scream when they whipped her. But she screamed when the bond snapped. And something inside her cracked wide open. A whisper stirred in the back of her mind—soft, smoky, ancient. She’d heard it before, long ago, in her dreams as a child. But now it spoke in a woman’s voice, dark and low and dangerous. “Not broken. Not yet.” Aria blinked. The shadows shifted. Footsteps. She jerked her head up, heart stumbling in her chest. No one ever came at night. Unless… unless it was time again. For pain. For punishment. For Luther’s rage in another form. But it wasn’t a guard this time. It was him. Kael emerged from the shadows, eyes glinting like forged steel. Blood still lingered in the air around him, but he moved with a predator’s controlled intensity. A threat. And yet… her wolf didn’t growl. She leaned forward. “You’re not supposed to be here,” Aria whispered, her voice a rasp barely louder than the clink of her chains. The figure standing in the shadows just beyond the iron bars didn’t answer immediately. He was too still. Too composed. Like a storm watching the world, deciding whether or not to strike. Not a guard. She knew their patterns, their scents, the cruel way they clutched keys and stared at her like she was filth. This man was… different. Wild. Untethered. And somehow—impossibly—calm. “No,” he said finally, voice low and rough like it had been dragged across smoke. “I’m not supposed to be anywhere. That’s sort of the point.” He stepped closer, and the low torchlight from the corridor lit half his face. He wasn’t young—but he wasn’t old, either. Sharp cheekbones. A jaw carved from stone. His hair was dark, almost black, slightly too long, the kind that begged to be touched despite everything screaming danger. And his eyes—gods, his eyes—they burned amber, too bright to be normal, too alive to be safe. “Are you her?” he asked, squinting slightly. “The traitor?” Her cracked lips twitched into a bitter smile. “That depends on who you ask.” “I’m asking you.” She shrugged—or tried to. Her chains caught on her raw wrists, making her hiss through clenched teeth. “I was the healer. Then I said no. Now I’m in a cage.” Kael crouched just outside the bars, his expression unreadable. “You said no to an Alpha?” Aria met his gaze evenly, despite the pain, the filth, the humiliation caked onto her skin. “I said no to being owned.” For a second, something flickered across his face. Respect? Amusement? Recognition? She couldn’t tell. “Then maybe you’re not as broken as you look.” She almost laughed. It came out as a cough instead. He was quiet for a moment, studying her like she was a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve. “You’re bleeding,” he said. She looked down. Her ankles were torn, skin rubbed raw by weeks of chains. The silver had left burns that still oozed. Her shift was filthy, torn at the hem, and clung to her like a second skin. She probably looked half-dead. “It’s nothing,” she muttered. “It’s blood.” “It’s mine,” she snapped. He tilted his head slightly, lips curving—not in mockery, but something close to curiosity. Or maybe admiration. “Fair enough,” he murmured. “Still. You don’t belong here.” “And who the hell are you to decide where I belong?” For the first time, something real passed between them. Not just words. Not just looks. Something primal. Feral. The kind of energy that hummed beneath the surface of things, low and hungry. He stood. The torchlight traced a scar over his collarbone, disappearing under his shirt. “Name’s Riven.” “That’s not an answer.” “No,” he said, gaze locked on hers. “It’s an invitation.” Aria’s heartbeat kicked up, despite herself. She’d learned to stop trusting her instincts. They’d led her to Lucien. To love. To ruin. But her wolf stirred beneath her skin now, slow and aching, like something waking from a long, cold sleep. She hadn’t felt that in weeks. Why him? “Why are you here?” she asked softly. “I heard a story,” Kael said, stepping even closer. His voice dropped to something intimate, nearly sinful. “About an omega with a healer’s touch. Rejected by her mate. Imprisoned. Tortured. Silenced. A girl who should’ve shattered.” Aria’s mouth went dry. “And what do they say happened to her?” she asked. He smiled, just barely. “They said she’s still breathing.” He moved then, fast and fluid, wrapping his hand around the iron bars. With a low snarl, he pulled. The metal screamed, buckled, cracked. Ripped free. Dust exploded from the ceiling. Aria flinched as bits of stone and ash fell around her. The cell door clattered to the ground like a slain beast. Kael stepped over it, slow and deliberate, until he was inside the cell with her. Closer now. Dangerous. She should’ve been afraid. She wasn’t. “You can stay,” he said, voice barely a breath. “Let them keep breaking you until there’s nothing left. Or…” He offered a hand. “You come with me. And we burn them all down.” Aria stared at his hand. Calloused. Scarred. Not kind—but real. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Her wolf was clawing at her insides, begging her to move. To fight. To live. She had nothing left to lose. Except her soul. And maybe—just maybe—that was already his.