Chapter Two: What a Luna Is For Episode
885 Words
Faye learned quickly that being a Luna meant listening more than speaking.
It was a skill she had not known she would need so desperately.
She stood beside Gabriel during the morning council, hands folded neatly in front of her, posture perfect. The pack’s elders and patrol leaders filled the long hall, voices overlapping as they discussed border disputes and hunting rotations. The air smelled of coffee and damp stone.
Faye watched. Absorbed. Learned.
When one of the younger patrol leaders hesitated—clearly confused about the new boundary line—Faye leaned forward instinctively.
“We could rotate the western scouts earlier,” she said gently. “Just until the river freezes. It might reduce overlap.”
The room went quiet.
Not shocked. Not angry.
Just… still.
Gabriel didn’t look at her right away. He finished his thought, dismissed the patrol leader, and only then turned his head slowly toward her.
His eyes were cool.
“Thank you, Luna,” he said. “That will be all.”
The meeting adjourned moments later.
As the room emptied, Faye’s chest tightened.
She followed Gabriel down the corridor, her steps echoing behind him. “Was that—”
He stopped so abruptly she nearly walked into his back.
“You spoke,” he said flatly.
“I know, but—”
“When I did not ask you to.”
Her pulse skidded. “I thought—”
“That,” he said, turning to face her fully now, “is the problem.”
His presence pressed in on her, Alpha power humming beneath his skin. Not overt. Not flared.
Contained.
“You’re my Luna,” he continued. “That means you amplify my authority. You do not redirect it.”
“I wasn’t trying to redirect anything,” she said, heat creeping into her cheeks. “I just wanted to help the patrol—”
“You wanted to be useful.” His mouth curved faintly. “That’s admirable.”
Relief fluttered weakly in her chest.
“But usefulness,” he went on, “comes from knowing your place.”
The words landed softly.
They still knocked the air from her lungs.
“Yes,” she said. “You’re right.”
He nodded once, satisfied, and resumed walking. “Good. We’ll work on it.”
They worked on it.
By the end of the week, Faye had learned when to speak and when to stay silent. When to walk half a step behind him and when to stand at his shoulder. When to meet his gaze and when to lower her eyes.
She told herself she was adapting.
She told herself she was learning to be a Luna.
The pack praised her composure.
“She’s so calm,” they said.
“So steady.”
“Such a good match for Gabriel.”
At night, when the house was quiet and the bond pulsed between them, Faye lay awake listening to his breathing and wondered when calm had started to feel like numb.
The first time he punished her, it wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t loud.
It was an omission.
She had spent the afternoon helping the omegas prepare for the winter stores, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with flour. It felt good to be useful—to laugh, to work, to feel like part of something.
She didn’t realize the sun had set until the ache of the bond tugged sharply at her chest.
Gabriel wanted her.
She excused herself immediately, hurrying back to the Alpha house. The door was unlocked, the lights dim. Gabriel stood by the window, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the forest beyond.
“I lost track of time,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t turn.
“I felt the pull,” he said. “And you ignored it.”
Her throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to. I was helping—”
“I didn’t ask where you were,” he replied. “I’m telling you what you did.”
She fell silent.
Minutes passed. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. When he finally turned, his eyes glowed faintly.
“No dinner,” he said. “No touch. No bond comfort.”
Her breath hitched.
“Gabriel—”
“You need to learn,” he interrupted, voice even, “that when I call, you come. Immediately.”
The bond tightened painfully, a reminder of everything he could give—and take.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He watched her for a long moment, then stepped past her and went upstairs.
The door to the bedroom closed.
Faye stood alone in the dim kitchen, the smell of food she would not eat clinging to the air.
Her wolf curled in on itself, confused and aching.
Later that night, hunger gnawed at her stomach, sharp enough to make her dizzy. She pressed her palm to the bond, seeking comfort.
It gave none.
This was for her own good, she told herself.
He was teaching her.
Dominance was guidance. Control was care.
That was what everyone said.
Still, as she lay curled on the couch, staring at the dark ceiling, a small, traitorous thought slipped through the cracks of her certainty.
If this was love—
Why did it feel like being erased, one quiet moment at a time?
- Writer
