Luna’s Lost Bond

~CHAPTER SIX~

The air in Darian’s office had grown unbearably thick. The single candle on his desk sputtered against the draft, shadows clawing along the stone walls. He could still feel the warmth of Liora’s breath lingering between them, the whisper of temptation he had nearly surrendered to.

She was beautiful, with golden hair catching the light, her voice as smooth as silk. For a heartbeat, he had almost let himself forget everything in her closeness. He had felt empty and lonely since Nyara’s death, and Liora knew how to exploit that loneliness.

But at the last moment, he pulled back. His chair scraped against the floor as he rose abruptly, putting the desk between them like a wall.

“This isn’t right.” His voice was low, rougher than intended. He did not meet her eyes.

For a fleeting second, Liora’s smile faltered. Then, like silk pulled taut, she smoothed it back into place. She tilted her head, her gaze soft but sharp beneath.

“You still think of her,” she whispered.

His jaw tightened, but silence was his only answer. No matter what anyone said, Nyara had been his Luna, the mother of his son, the heart of his world.

“She’s gone, Darian. You need to accept that,” Liora pressed, stepping closer, her words deceptively gentle. “You cling to a ghost. But Nyara never truly wanted you. If not for the mate bond, her heart leaned elsewhere. You know this.”

The words slid under his skin like a knife. He showed no expression, but his silence spoke volumes. He knew there was truth in her words, yet his heart refused to let go. He had always loved Nyara.

She leaned nearer, her perfume heavy in the room. “I’ll be Luna soon, and you’ll be my Alpha. It’s time you accepted that.”

Her hand hovered close to his, almost grazing. But Darian’s fists curled behind his back. He turned abruptly to the tall window overlooking the courtyard.

“Leave, Liora. Now.”

For a long moment, she lingered, her perfume still winding through the air. Finally, she bowed her head gracefully and retreated to the door.

“As you wish, my Alpha,” she murmured, her voice carrying a promise: this wasn’t over. Sooner or later she would have what she wanted—Darian. She could feel his walls collapsing, slowly but surely.

The door shut softly, leaving Darian alone with his ghosts.

He stood in his now-empty office, his thoughts turning to when life had been simpler, when Nyara had still been alive, when their bond had not yet been tested by sickness, betrayal, or death.

He remembered the very first time he saw her.

He was seven years old, a restless boy with scraped knees and a heart always hungry for adventure. His father had taken him to the Frost Front pack for a gathering. Darian had been more interested in sparring with the other boys than in any formalities.

And then he saw her.

She was small, shy, with blonde hair falling into her face. While the others ran about, Nyara sat apart, her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching the world with wide, cautious eyes.

Something about her stilled him.

He remembered creeping closer, hiding behind a tree before stepping out awkwardly. She had looked up at him, startled, as if she wasn’t used to being approached.

“Do you want to play?” he had asked, holding out the wooden sword his father had carved for him.

Her lips parted in surprise, but then she smiled, though it was hesitant and fragile. That smile had been enough.

From that day forward, Darian carried her memory with him. By the time he learned of their promised union years later, he had already been waiting for her, already sure she was the piece he hadn’t known he was missing.

And when the mate bond revealed itself on his eighteenth birthday, he thought the Moon Goddess had blessed him beyond reason. He had been over the moon, his shy childhood companion was also his fated mate.

But now? Now he wasn’t so sure the Moon Goddess had blessed him at all. Because blessings weren’t supposed to die.

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Meanwhile, Nyara worked in Elair’s little house until her arms ached. She swept the floor, wiped the dust from corners, and set the few belongings in their place. The more she moved around, the more it felt like she was stepping into a stranger’s skin.

“If I am to live in Elair’s body, then I must care for Elair’s space,” she told herself. The thought was hollow, but it kept her moving.

When she finally stopped, her gaze drifted to the far wall. The loose panel hid Elair’s diary, and though she had put it back, it seemed to hum in her mind like a heartbeat. She wanted to read the diary, but guilt gnawed at her. Was wearing Elair’s body reason enough to invade Elair’s private memories?

Her hands stilled.

And then memories returned, unbidden—rain falling, the day Elair first arrived. Nyara remembered watching from her window, weakened by her strange illness. She saw Ayana leading a thin girl, trembling under the weight of mud and whispers. Elair had looked so frail, her hair clinging to her face, her frame nearly breaking with each step.

But then, for a heartbeat, their eyes had met.

Beneath the fear in that gaze, Nyara had glimpsed something else—endurance. Fragile, but unyielding.

She had turned away first, called back by her son’s voice. Dariain had told her only Elair’s name, that she had been found at the borders with no memory. After that, she let Elair fade into the background of her life.

Until now.

Nyara sank onto the bed, the blanket rough against her skin. She told herself she would try to read more of the diary tomorrow—for her sake and Elair’s too. Tonight, she needed rest.

But rest did not come.

A creak outside broke the silence. Her eyes flew open, heart pounding. She sat up slowly, straining to listen.

Another sound—softer, like fingers dragging across the wall.

She rose and edged toward the window. Through the shutters, the night stared back. Trees shifted in the wind, but between them, a shadow moved.

It was too steady to be the wind, too intentional to be chance. Her breath hitched. Someone was out there. Watching.

She pressed back against the wall, heart thundering. The figure didn’t step forward, didn’t retreat. It lingered—tall, cloaked in darkness, its outline barely visible between the trees.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it disappeared into the night. Gone, as if it had never been there.

Nyara stood frozen, her pulse refusing to settle. When she finally returned to bed, she pulled the blanket to her chin, though no warmth reached her.

“How did Elair live in this creepy house, and who was that in the shadows?” she mumbled to herself, trying to convince herself her mind was playing tricks.

But her sleep was restless, interrupted by the gnawing thought that Elair’s life still held mysteries—and some of them might be watching her even now.