Luna’s Lost Bond

~Chapter Three~

The morning light filtered through the high windows, falling across Nyara’s face in sharp beams. She blinked, disoriented, as the heavy haze of sleep lifted. It was hard to believe, but the truth struck her almost instantly—this wasn’t a dream. She was still here, alive yet dead, breathing in a body that wasn’t hers—Ealir's body.

The weight of it pressed into her chest. Every thought tightened around her, and the feeling clawed at her. The grave, her headstone, the storm, Darian’s voice calling her “Elair”. It was too much. Too strange. Too cruel. She pressed a hand against her ribs, fighting the suffocating pressure.

If the Moon Goddess had done this, then why? And where was the real Elair?

The walls of the strange bedchamber felt too close, so she rose and drifted through the long corridors of the pack house. Each step felt unfamiliar, though her wolf whispered faint recognition of home. She crept, keeping her head down, until a sound froze her mid-step.

Laughter. A child’s laughter.

Her heart lurched before her mind caught up. She followed the sound, peering into a courtyard below. There, in the garden, stood Eliot—her son, he was in the courtyard alone playing with a wooden sword.

Her chest tightened at the sight of him, small but bright-eyed, he had grown a lot which made her wonder how long she had been gone for, the question sent a sharp pain to her heart realizing that she had left him and now he won't recognize her. The joy in his smile warmed something inside her that her borrowed body couldn’t contain. For a moment, everything else vanished—the grave, the storm, even Elair’s face in the mirror. It was just him.

Nyara’s chest ached with fierce longing. Her feet led her towards him, her hands aching to hold him, she was just a few steps away from him when she heard a cold, sharp, and yet familiar voice.

“Well, well,” Liora’s voice rang, sharp as glass. “The little parasite shows her face.” Her eyes cut to Nyara. “Elair, you never learn. Shameless to the end.”

Nyara turned.

Liora stood a few paces away, flanked by two women she didn’t recognize. Her posture was regal, her expression cutting, her once-familiar eyes now laced with scorn.

Nyara stiffened. “Liora.” Her oldest friend. Sweet, loyal, gentle Liora. But the body she wore—the body of Elair—reacted with an instinctive shudder, like prey cornered by a predator. Fear rippled through her limbs, not her own, but Elair’s. Nyara could feel it, raw and ingrained.

“What are you doing lurking here?” Liora’s lips curved in disdain. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to play mother now, as if it wasn't enough when you threw yourself at the Alpha like a shameless little puppy, hoping he'll make you his luna. Did you really think filth like you could take that seat just because you climbed into his bed?

Nyara’s breath caught.

Liora didn’t stop. “Look at you. Always trying to claim what isn’t yours. Spreading lies. Pretending you belong here.” She tilted her chin toward Eliot. “Pathetic.”

Nyara’s nails bit into her palms. Anger rose hot in her veins—but Elair’s body flinched back, caged by memories of fear, suddenly Nyara had flashes of Elair being abused by Liora and her minions. She felt a sharp pain in her head as the memories flashed by.

And this one—” she pointed at him like he was filth “—spawn of weakness. Just like his mother, unwanted and unworthy, your father must be disappointed to have such a weakling as his son. Liora’s words brought Nyara back, how could she say that to her son? Her own friend, someone she saw as her sister.

Eliot froze, color draining from his face.

“Careful, little pup,” Liora sneered, stepping closer. “Weakness runs in your blood. You’ll never be more than a mistake.”

With a sudden shove, she pushed him hard.

He hit the ground, skin scraping, a cry breaking from him.

“Eliot!” Nyara dropped beside him, gathering him into her arms. Blood smeared his arm, his small body trembling. Rage blazed through her chest—yet the body she inhabited quaked with Elair’s old fear of Liora.

“Don’t touch him!” Liora snapped. Her tone was venomous, loud, meant to draw attention. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“What's happening here!”

Darian.

His presence filled the space, cold and sharp.

“I won't repeat myself”

Before Nyara could speak, Liora transformed. Her eyes welled with false tears as she rushed to Darian’s side, clinging to his arm. “Alpha,” she said, voice breaking sweetly, “I tried to stop her. Elair pushed him. She hated seeing him here—she wanted him gone.”

Nyara’s eyes widened. “That’s not—”

But Eliot stirred. His mouth opened, courage trembling on his lips.

Then Liora’s gaze snapped to him. A look like a blade. A warning only he understood.

His voice died in his throat. His head lowered. Silent.

Nyara’s heart sank. This wasn’t the first time. Eliot had been silenced before. Threatened.

And Darian… he didn’t shove Liora away. He let her clutch him, let her stand at his side as though she belonged there.

Nyara’s breath caught. Elair was supposed to be whispered as his mistress, yet it was Liora in his arms, playing the victim.

Had it always been her? When did this happen?

Her world tilted. Lies, deeper than she could have imagined. And as Darian’s cold gaze settled on her, Nyara knew the trap was closing and she fell for it.

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