Coming Back as Enemy's Luna

34. Ignite

= Amara =

“So, what do you think about the pack?”

His question was the first thing to cut through the silence between us. The night wind moved gently around us, carrying the distant scent of pine and mud, but neither of us spoke again right away.

I glanced at him.

He wasn’t looking at me.

“Do you think you can make the entire pack accept you?”

His attention lingered on the sky above, eyes tracing constellations only he seemed to recognize, as though the answers he wanted were written somewhere among the stars. After a moment, I followed his gaze—but instead of standing, I carefully lowered myself onto the cool grass, stretching out on my back. I winced at the pain in my body, but it was bearable. When the pain subsided, my hands rested over my stomach, my legs straight, my body surrendering to the earth beneath me.

I caught him watching me, his brows drawn together in that familiar crease that only appeared when he was worried and trying not to show it.

“You’re wounded, Amara,” he said quietly, as if stating it gently might make it less true.

I met his gaze and managed a small smile, even as the darkness pressed in around us.

“It’s fine,” I replied. “This won’t kill me.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Why don’t you retreat for tonight?” he suggested after a moment. “Get some rest. You’ve done enough.”

I shook my head slowly and tipped my face toward the sky instead. Above us, the night stretched wide and endless. Breathing in the cool air, I let the silence settle before answering.

“I’d rather stay here,” I said. “Just for a while.”

He studied me, searching for something—weakness, sense, maybe permission to argue. When he found none, he said nothing at all. Instead, he exhaled softly and lowered himself to the ground beside me, mirroring my position as he stared up at the same sky.

Side by side, we lay there in wordless understanding.

The quiet returned, heavy but not uncomfortable. It wrapped around us, filled with things neither of us was ready to say. Moments passed—maybe minutes—before I finally broke it, remembering the question he’d asked earlier, the concern hidden beneath his restraint.

“I know it won’t be easy,” I said at last, my voice low, steady despite the ache in my chest.

My eyes fixed on a single star—isolated, distant, barely flickering compared to the others clustered around it. It was the kind of star you wouldn’t notice unless you were deliberately searching for it, unless you cared enough to look closely.

It seemed insignificant at first glance.

But that star burned harder than the rest. It was farther away, lonelier, expending more of its light just to be seen at all. And yet, over time, it blended seamlessly into the night sky, becoming part of something larger than itself.

Without it, there would be an emptiness—a subtle wrongness, like a missing piece in a puzzle no one realized was incomplete until it was gone.

I swallowed, still staring upward.

I couldn’t help it—the thought slipped in uninvited, sharp and familiar. For a moment, I saw myself exactly as I was now.

A star trying to blend…in.

But I’ll do well.

The words formed in my mind before they left my lips.

“I’ll make sure everyone sees… my worth,” I whispered, the last word barely audible, as if saying it too loudly might invite disbelief.

This wasn’t the first time people had looked at me and seen limitations instead of potential. I’d lived that reality once already. I had started at the very bottom of the pack hierarchy—overlooked, underestimated, and dismissed before I ever had the chance to speak. No one had handed me belief back then, back then when I was still in the Gravemire pack. I’d earned it the only way I knew how: through relentless work, through showing up when it was easier to quit, through proving myself again and again until denial became impossible.

I hadn’t risen because of luck. I had risen because I refused to stay where they placed me.

My standing in the Grevemire pack had only solidified when I became Elias’ mate—but even then, I knew better than to credit my position solely to him. I had already built my backbone long before our bond ever formed. Elias hadn’t given me strength; he’d simply recognized it.

So…starting from nothing wasn’t unfamiliar territory.

“I’ve been here before,” I said quietly, the certainty in my voice surprising even me. “I started at the lowest rank. I was an…omega. There was a time when no one believed in what I could do—when no one believed in me. Beginning again… that isn’t new to me.”

I meant every word.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Mikael watching me. His expression was hard to read, caught somewhere between amusement and skepticism, but the air around him carried something unmistakable. Mockery. Like he was already waiting for me to fail.

I released a slow, tired sigh.

Of course he would doubt me.

People like Mikael always did—especially when conviction didn’t come wrapped in arrogance or brute force. And maybe that was fine. I didn’t need his belief.

I’d survived worse than disbelief.

“I believe I can prove myself to your pack,” my voice steady, unwavering. “I believe that, given the chance, I can show them exactly why I’m the right choice for this position.”

I inhaled sharply, filling my lungs as though courage and confidence could be summoned with air alone.

“That In the end,” I continued, conviction settling deep in my chest, “they won’t choose me because they were told to. They’ll choose me because they want to—because they trust me more than anyone else standing in my way.”

I smiled, realizing that somewhere along the way, my words had stopped being for Mikael. I wasn’t trying to convince him anymore—I was convincing myself.

“Leave it to me,” I added, my voice steady despite the storm brewing beneath my ribs. “I can handle it, Mikael. You’ll see—you won’t regret agreeing to my proposal.”

I turned fully toward him then, angling my head just enough to meet his gaze. I needed him to understand this wasn’t confidence born of pride or impulse. It was certainty. It was survival. Whatever doubts he carried, I wanted them gone.

For a long moment, Mikael said nothing.

The silence stretched, thick but not uncomfortable, until he finally let out a low breath and a slow smirk curved his lips. His eyes drifted back to the open sky..

“Then I suppose I’ll see for myself what the rumors say about you,” he said.

I sighed, a quiet sound, and before I could stop myself, I smiled even more. Of all things, that was what he chose to bring up—the whispers, the half-truths passed from pack to pack like cautionary tales. The fact that he even had the space to tease me about them eased something tight in my chest.

Rumors.

I wasn’t even sure when they’d begun. Or how I’d come to be painted as the ideal Luna in the eyes of those who had never truly known me. Strong. Loyal. Worthy.

Was I still?

The question cut deeper than I expected.

I had been cast aside by my own mate—rejected as though I were nothing more than a mistake. Betrayed by the one person I had trusted like a sister. The memories surfaced without mercy, sharp and unwanted, and the faint smile on my lips vanished as my jaw clenched.

My teeth ground together.

Elias and…Seraphine.

Those two names, those two faces, were enough to light a fire beneath my skin. Not rage alone—but resolve.

Let them remember me.

I would prove to all of them that I was not someone to be discarded when convenient. Not a pawn to be pushed around, twisted, or broken at will.

I had survived their cruelty.

And this time, I would make sure they understood exactly who they had failed to destroy.

The silence lingered between us long after that. We lay there on the ground, staring up at the vast stretch of night sky. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Minutes blurred into something longer, something heavier. It was only when the night air began to bite—when the cold finally seeped through my clothes and into my bones—that we wordlessly agreed it was time to head back.

I clenched my teeth as I shifted, a sharp pain flaring along my side the moment I tried to sit up. I moved slowly, carefully, but it didn’t help. That was when it hit me—I should have listened to Mikael earlier. His warning hadn’t been dramatic. It had been practical.

Too late now.

By the time I managed to straighten a little, Mikael was already standing in front of me. His gaze flicked over me in a way that made it painfully obvious he’d noticed my struggle. Before I could protest, he crouched down, slid one arm behind my knees and the other around my back, and lifted me off the ground with effortless ease.

My breath hitched.

“What—Mikael!” My eyes widened in shock, and instinct took over before pride could catch up. I wrapped my arms around his neck, gripping tight for balance as the world shifted beneath me.

“I-I can take care of myself,” I blurted out, mortification flooding in all at once. My voice came out higher than I meant it to, heat rushing to my face. My neck felt like it was on fire, my cheeks burning just as badly.

“This is much faster,” he said simply.

That was all. No teasing, no explanation.

He entered the house through the rear entrance, moving with practiced ease, and even after we were safely inside, he still didn’t set me down. My arms instinctively tightened around his shoulders as the quiet of the house closed in around us, my heart pounding far too loudly for such a small moment.

“Y-you can put me down now,” I whispered, the words barely making it past my throat.

He didn’t respond.

He just kept walking.

Each step up the stairs made my pulse race faster, every second stretched thin by the closeness, by the warmth of him, by the way he carried me like it was the most natural thing in the world. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my hand, could smell the faint, familiar scent that somehow made it harder to breathe.

It wasn’t until we reached the second floor—until we stopped in front of my door—that he finally bent down and gently set me on my feet.

The sudden absence of his arms felt…noticeable.

“Uh, thank you,” I muttered, immediately dropping my gaze to the floor as if it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Get some rest,” he said, his voice calm, steady. “You have a long day ahead of you.”

I looked up without thinking.

Big mistake.

The moment our eyes met, heat rushed to my face, and I snapped my gaze away again like a flustered teenager who’d forgotten how eye contact worked.

“Alright,” I replied, the word coming out softer than I intended—almost a whisper.

“Good night.”

He turned away then, already heading toward his room like nothing monumental had just happened. Like he hadn’t completely thrown my pulse off rhythm. I watched his back as he walked away, my chest tightening for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely.

“Good… night,” I murmured, too late for him to hear.

And only when his footsteps faded did I finally exhale.