Coming Back as Enemy's Luna

24. Saved

= Amara =

I tried to fight them.

That was the first mistake—believing I ever had a chance.

The moment my wrists were wrenched behind my back, rough rope biting into my skin, I felt it. Not just restraint, but drain. The fibers burned cold, seeping into me like poison. Wolfbane-threaded rope. I knew it instantly, the way my strength faltered, the way my wolf recoiled deep inside me with a whimper instead of a snarl.

“No—” I gasped, twisting, kicking, nails scraping uselessly against stone.

I struggled harder.

Another mistake.

The first blow came from the side—hard, precise. Pain exploded along my ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs in a strangled wheeze. I folded instinctively, but the ropes held me upright, merciless.

“Hold her,” a voice said. Male. Calm. Detached.

Hands gripped my shoulders.

Then the beating truly began.

Fists. Boots. The dull thud of flesh meeting force again and again. Every strike sent shockwaves through my body, lighting my nerves on fire. I tasted blood almost immediately—metallic, thick, pooling in my mouth as my teeth cut into my lip.

I wanted to scream.

I refused to.

I clenched my jaw and swallowed the sound, even as pain bloomed everywhere at once. My wolf raged inside me, thrashing against the restraints, against the rope, against me. She wanted out. Wanted blood. Wanted to tear them apart limb by limb.

But she was caged.

Just like I was.

I don’t know how long it lasted. Time stopped behaving normally after the third or fourth blow. Pain became the only constant—layered, endless, consuming. Every nerve screamed, every breath burned.

And through it all, disbelief threaded itself through my thoughts, sharp and cruel.

I had come here willingly.

That was the part that hurt the most.

I had believed this was the right place. The safest option. I had convinced myself that stepping into enemy territory—into the heart of wolves who hated everything I represented—was a calculated risk. Dangerous, yes. But manageable.

I had told myself my safety was… negotiable.

I hadn’t known it would be this negotiable.

Another blow landed, this time across my back, and I bit down so hard I thought my teeth might c***k. My vision—what little imagination could supply beneath the blindfold—swam.

I thought of revenge.

That was what had driven me here in the first place. I had been so certain that my hatred would protect me. That my purpose would shield me from fear.

I was wrong.

Fear seeped in anyway, cold and insidious, curling around my spine.

What if I had miscalculated?

What if coming here had been a mistake?

Mikael’s face flashed through my mind—not soft, not kind, but controlled. Calculating. A man who never offered anything without a price.

Power for protection.

Information for sanctuary.

Now, bound and bleeding, I wondered if I had underestimated how little my life was worth in the grand scheme of pack politics.

Another kick slammed into my thigh, and my knees buckled. The only thing keeping me upright was the rope biting into my wrists and the hands gripping my arms.

“I told you she’d last,” someone muttered.

“Not much longer,” another replied.

I memorized their voices.

Every tone. Every breath. Every cruel amusement they failed to hide.

If I survived this—and I would, I had to—I would remember them. I would hunt them down. I would make them beg.

That promise was the only thing anchoring me to consciousness.

I didn’t know how long they kept going. Minutes? Hours? Pain blurred everything together until my body stopped reacting the way it should. The blows dulled, not because they hurt less, but because my nerves were screaming too loudly to distinguish one injury from another.

My thoughts turned sluggish.

Heavy.

The room tilted. The world narrowed to the pounding in my head and the ache spreading deep into my bones.

I thought, distantly, that maybe this was the price.

That this was the cost of stepping into a war I wasn’t ready for.

Then something struck my temple—harder than the rest—and the world finally broke apart.

Darkness rushed in, merciful and complete.

***

Light dragged me back.

Not gently.

It seeped into my awareness first, bright and intrusive, pressing against my closed eyes. I groaned softly, the sound scraping my throat raw. My entire body protested the simple act of breathing. Every inch of me ached, deep and persistent, like pain had settled into my marrow.

I tried to move.

Bad idea.

Agony flared instantly, sharp enough to make me gasp. My hands twitched weakly, and I realized they were free—no rope, no burning drain. Just bandages. Clean cloth wrapped carefully around my wrists.

That was when I smelled it.

Fresh air.

Pine. Stone warmed by sunlight. The faint, unmistakable scent of wolves—but not hostile. Not sharp with aggression.

Safe.

My eyes fluttered open.

White curtains stirred gently in the breeze, sunlight spilling across the wooden floor in soft golden streaks. The windows were open wide, letting the outside in. Birds chirped somewhere beyond the walls, absurdly normal.

For a moment, I simply stared, disoriented.

I was alive.

The realization hit me all at once, stealing my breath more effectively than any blow had. My chest tightened, and I swallowed hard, emotions tangling painfully in my throat.

Saved.

The door creaked open.

I tensed instinctively, muscles screaming in protest as I turned my head toward the sound. A familiar presence filled the room before I even saw him—calm, commanding, heavy with authority.

Mikael stepped inside.

He looked exactly as he always did: composed, immaculate, dark eyes unreadable. But something in his gaze sharpened when it landed on me, something dangerous flickering just beneath the surface.

“You’re awake,” he said.