Coming Back as Enemy's Luna

5: Acted

= Amara =

Becoming an enemy of the Veyrath Pack was one thing—becoming their target was another. Once they set their sights on someone, they hunted with a precision that bordered on obsession. They didn’t just defeat their enemies; they erased them, picked them apart until nothing remained but silence and ash. To them, an enemy was no different from a venomous pest—one sighting near their borders, one wrong step, and they struck without hesitation.

Across the continent, their name carried the metallic taste of fear. Stories painted them as blood-drunk wolves who lived for the thrill of the kill. That was how everyone described them… including us.

But what most didn’t know—or deliberately forgot—was that the Veyrath Pack hadn’t always been this way. Three years ago, they were different.

The former Alpha had been firm but fair, a man who believed in negotiation before violence, someone willing to sit down with rival packs if it meant peace could be bought with something other than blood. But the new Alpha? The one who rose after defeating the previous Alpha and its heir? Rumor whispered a darker truth: he was dangerous, merciless, a wolf carved out of fury itself. Some even said he was a bastard—literally and figuratively.

And now… that very Alpha was here.

He sat on the edge of the bed, broad shoulders tense, back turned to me. Thank the Moon Goddess for that small mercy. But the moment he shifted—slowly, deliberately—and turned to face me, every muscle in my body locked in place.

My breath stalled. My pulse stopped. It felt as if the entire room froze with me.

We had been left alone for what felt like an eternity—barely five minutes, but the silence stretched between us like an iron wall. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your ears, heavy and suffocating. I didn’t dare speak. Not when it was just the two of us in this room, not when every breath felt charged with unspoken tension.

The man’s eyes locked on mine with unsettling intensity, as though he was peeling back every layer of me to see what was left underneath. Sunlight filtered through the window, brushing over the sharp lines of his face and illuminating his irises—warm, light brown, deceptively gentle for a man with a reputation carved in blood and fear.

His gaze dropped, tracing the length of my body until it settled on my side—on the spot where the wound still throbbed beneath my clothes.

“How’s your wound?” he asked, voice low but firm.

I swallowed hard. My fingers moved on their own, brushing the tender area at my torso. “It’s… fine,” I muttered, though the ache pulsing through my ribcage said otherwise.

He lifted his eyes back to mine. I wanted to meet his stare, to hold it with the same unwavering confidence I once wore as Luna. But I couldn’t. Not anymore. Not in our enemy’s Alpha. That version of me had been shattered—broken by the very people I had bled for, led, and loved. The pack I protected. The pack that betrayed me.

A sharp bitterness burned the back of my tongue.

Our pack?

Why was I still clinging to that word—our—when they had already cast me out? When they had turned their backs on me without hesitation?

Why was a part of me still trying to belong to a place that had chosen to forget me?

“I was expecting a little gratitude now that we’re alone. I didn’t realize you were this rude for someone who begged to be saved. Do I need to ask for it?”

His words hit me like a slap, echoing sharply inside my head and dragging me back into the present.

For a moment, I could only stare at him, my mind scrambling to piece together what he just said. But the look on his face—dark, mocking, and dripping with irritation—made his point painfully clear.

“I… uhh…” The words tangled on my tongue.

He smirked, shifting his position with infuriating ease. One leg folded casually onto the bed while the other stayed on the floor, as though he owned every inch of space between us. Well, he is. His arms crossed over his chest, muscles flexing. One thick brow arched upward as he stared at me like I was amusing him.

“Don’t tell me you already forgot?” he said, impatience lacing every syllable.

Before I could think twice—before fear, pride, or common sense could stop me—I acted on instinct. A rush of sincerity surged through me, a rare clarity that reminded me of one simple truth.

If it weren’t for him, I would be dead. And death was the last thing I wanted. Goddess Selene still pity me.

So I reached for the tubes attached to my arm and began pulling them out.

“What the fvck are you doing?” he growled, the sound deep and warning.

I ignored him.

The sting of the needle leaving my skin, the ache of weak muscles, the burn of healing wounds—none of it mattered. I pushed myself upright, forcing my trembling legs beneath me. Then, with a sharp inhale, I knelt on the bed and bowed my head low.

“Thank you… so much, Alpha. I owe you my life. I will remember this debt—for as long as I live.”