The Omega I Humiliated Became an Alpha… and They Forced Me to Be His Luna

Chapter 13 – The Story They Think They Know

Rowan stops at the end of the bench like he’s hit an invisible wall.

The hall hasn’t gone silent—not completely—but sound has thinned to a nervous buzz. Wolves are very bad at pretending not to listen.

“Walk with me,” he says.

Not a request.

My legs feel wooden as I stand. Siofra’s fingers brush my wrist, a brief squeeze. Brynn’s gaze is a weight between my shoulder blades as I follow Rowan out into the cold.

The night hits like a slap.

Stars spill across the sky, bright and indifferent. The central fire has burned down to embers, its glow painting the clearing in soft red. Farther out, patrol torches move like fireflies between the trees.

Rowan doesn’t speak at first. He crosses the clearing with long, unhurried strides, not looking back to see if I keep up. My wolf lopes in his wake, ears low, unsure if she’s following pack… or doom.

He stops only when we reach the edge of the training grounds, where the circle is an empty, dark scar in the dirt.

“Interesting dinner conversation,” he says at last.

I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I’d grabbed a cloak. “You heard.”

His mouth curves without humor. “I felt. Half the hall went from hungry to nauseous in under a minute. I thought someone had poisoned the stew.”

“I didn’t plan to make a speech,” I say. “Garin asked.”

“You answered.” He turns his head, eyes catching the faint light from the embers. “You could have lied.”

“I’ve been lying about that night for years,” I say quietly. “Mostly to myself.”

He studies my face, searching for something. Regret. Weakness. A crack he can slide a blade into.

“What do they think happened?” he asks. “Your wolves. The ones who weren’t there.”

I swallow. “That the moon made a mistake. That it chose a weak omega for their future alpha, and that I corrected it. That I did what a good leader should.”

“And tonight?” His voice is soft, dangerous. “What story did you give them instead?”

“The truth,” I say. “Or as close as I can bear to say out loud.”

His jaw tightens. “That you were a coward.”

“That I was afraid,” I correct, even though the word feels the same. “That I cared more about their opinion than your life. That I broke something sacred because it didn’t fit the picture I’d been given.”

Rowan’s hands flex at his sides. For a moment, I think he might explode, unleash all the years of swallowed anger in one blaze.

He doesn’t.

“You said you won’t ask for forgiveness,” he says.

“I won’t.”

“Good.” The word is a lash. “Because my pack’s forgiveness is not yours to demand.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“But.” He looks away, toward the trees. “They deserved to hear that it was wrong. Out of your mouth, not mine.”

The admission is small, almost grudging. It hits harder than any shouted accusation.

“Their story,” I say, “made monsters out of you and martyrs out of us.”

Rowan’s laugh is a harsh exhale. “And now?”

“Now,” I answer, “they know their Luna candidate is as flawed as the omega they threw away.”

His gaze snaps back to mine at the word Luna. The bond thread hums, subtle and electric, like it did in the infirmary. My skin prickles at my throat where his fingers almost touched.

“Stop calling yourself that,” he says. “Nothing’s decided.”

“You called me that to Siofra,” I shoot back. “In the infirmary.”

His eyes flare, caught.

“That was leverage,” he says. “A label to make sure she kept you breathing long enough for me to decide what to do with you.”

“Is that all I am?” I ask. “Leverage?”

He takes a step closer, anger sharpening his features. “You are a liability and an asset and a mistake I haven’t decided how to use yet.”

The words cut. They’re meant to. I make myself hold his gaze anyway.

“And you?” I ask, before I can stop myself. “What are you to me, Rowan?”

Silence stretches.

The forest seems to lean in, listening.

He opens his mouth, closes it again. For the first time since I arrived, he looks…uncertain. Not weak. Just momentarily stripped of the script he’s been using to survive.

“Once,” he says slowly, “I was the boy you spit out in front of your whole world. Then I was the rogue building something from your trash. Now…”

He shakes his head, a bitter smile twisting his mouth.

“Now I’m the alpha who has to decide whether trusting you again is bravery… or the stupidest thing I’ll ever do.”

My heart thuds against my ribs.

“You trusted me once,” I say. “You were a boy then. I was a girl pretending to be an alpha.”

“And now?” he asks.

“Now,” I say, voice low but steady, “I’m trying to be the kind of wolf who doesn’t run from her own choices. Or from the ones she broke.”

His eyes search mine, hunting for the lie.

After a long, suffocating moment, he exhales.

“Tomorrow,” Rowan says, “you run patrol with my wolves. You listen more than you talk. You watch how we move, how we bleed, how we bury our dead if we have to.”

He steps back, just far enough that I can breathe again.

“You want to change the story they tell about you?” he asks. “Story’s written in what you do next, not what you say over stew.”

He turns away, heading back toward the light of the longhouse.

I stand alone at the edge of the dark circle, breath fogging in the cold, the echo of his words settling over my skin like a new kind of armor.

Not forgiven.

Not forgotten.

But, for the first time, given a chance to write something different.