The Shattered Moon

Layla I never used to believe in fairytales. When I first met Marcus, he loomed so large he was like the hero in every tale I had ever day dreamed— he was imposing, grand, with a voice that awoke awkward silences. And for a bit, I was that lucky girl. The chosen one. His Luna. Now I woke up and counted how many bruises I could hide from everyone. I pulled my ivory sleeve over the purple and green on my arm. The color blended with the mark fading beneath my collarbone — one he’d left me with, not with love but with rage. I ran my palms down the front of my skirt, inhaling to fill my lungs. I got pretty good at playing pretend. Well, there was that and I was good at smiling while my world was crumbling. “Luna,” sneered a voice. I glanced over my shoulder. Rosa, one of the b***h wolves who made up the eastern patrol, was watching me. She elbowed the girl next to her, whispered something under her breath. They both snickered. I didn’t have to hear the words to know what they meant. The weak Luna. The one he should not have picked. And the whispers never changed. They didn't say that where Marcus could hear, of course. But me? They knew I’d never say anything. Because I was too scared to. I squared my shoulders and walked right by them, with a stony look on my face. My heels clicked against the marble floors of the packhouse. The Council was arriving today. Marcus had told me three times last night while he was swirling whiskey in his glass, his voice low and menacing. But I had forgotten. The dining hall stood bare. No centerpieces. No place settings. No warm bread or soup here on the table. My stomach dropped. “s**t,” I mumbled, and turned on my heel. I ran, oblivious of the fire roaring in my chest. The kitchen men gaped at me as I rushed in. I forced a breathless smile. “The Council will be here in twenty minutes,” I announced, hoping to sound calm. “I — I forgot to do the prep list. We must have a complete meal ready — wine, soup, the roast —” “We’ve begun already, Luna,” one of the cooks interrupted, glancing down to continue cutting on a board instead. “Alpha Marcus ordered it himself this morning.” My heart sank lower. Of course he had. He probably knew I’d forget. Knew I’d slip. It was like he waited for it. And each time I did, he had another excuse to make me seem littler. “Thank you,” I said, pulling away. “Just… yeah, let me know if you need anything.” They didn’t answer. It wasn’t long after I arrived at the main hall when the black sedans began creeping up the long driveway. Sleek, official, ominous. I pasted my smile back on and walked out to meet them, willing myself not to shake. Marcus was already in place, standing at the head of the stairs in his custom suit, everything about him screaming Alpha. He didn’t glance at me. The Council men emerged, all musty old gents in sharp clothes and eyes that scanned the estate. I gave a little bow, said hello, as I had been trained. “Luna,” one of them replied with a brief nod. “Pleasure.” “Welcome to Moonfang,” was the best polite answer I could manage. Marcus nudged his way past with all the ease and charm of a confident man. “We’re honored to have you.” In the hall, formal talk was being exchanged. Sitting assignments, wire activities, economic status. I became a shadow in the background. That’s what Marcus preferred. Be present. Be silent. Be still. Until I let him down. First came the soup — and it was cold. One of the bowls was chipped on the rim. I spotted it too late. Marcus saw it immediately. His face didn’t change, but I recognized that look. I knew what was coming. ‘‘Layla,’’ he said gently, his head tipped just a bit. The entire table went silent. I stepped forward. “Yes, Alpha?” “Is this all you got?” he asked. “For the Council?” “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for—” He pounded the table with his hand. The sound made me flinch. So did several of the guests. But Marcus didn’t care. “You did not intend to have cold food for the elders of our kind?” he hissed. “You forgot, didn’t you? Again.” My throat tightened. “I—” I was about to reply when he seized my wrist and pulled me off balance. A gasp went round. I heard a few chairs being scraped back. “Marcus ——” one of the council members started to say. But Marcus didn’t stop. He faced the room, his voice slashing and loud. “This is the result of when you make a weak girl your Luna. She can’t even do her one job. She makes me ashamed, ashamed of this pack.” He shoved me. It was not a strong shove, but I lost my balance. My knees smacked against the sacred marble floor and a grimacing sound erupted. Pain shot up my legs. I hit my palms flat to break myself. My head bowed instinctively. For a moment, no one spoke. No one moved. Then someone cleared their throat. Another sipped wine. And it went on. Like it was normal. Like it was deserved. I lingered a second longer than I should have, blinking back tears I wouldn’t allow to fall. Not here. Not in front of them. I pressed up slowly and my muscles shook. I didn’t look at Marcus. I couldn’t. My hands tightened at my side, but I made myself take a step back. Looking down, bowing my head to show myself obedient. “Remove yourself from my sight,” Marcus added in a low, icy voice. I nodded, barely, and spun around on trembling legs. Down the hall, the laughter kicked up again behind me. As if the show was over. I got up and started walking, but I didn’t know where to go. The pain in my knees burned. I felt it in my chest worse. The further away I walked from that room, the more the tears stung behind my eyes. By the time I reached the end of the hall, I could no longer hold them at bay. I leaned my back to the wall and sat down, with my head on my hands. He used to be kind. He used to hold me. Once upon a time his voice made me feel safe. Now it only made me flinch. The whispers weren’t wrong. I was weak. I didn’t come from a warrior family. I didn’t fight. I didn’t shift often. I should not be here beside a boy like Marcus. Maybe I never had. But I had not asked for this life to look like this. I would not have asked to be chosen and discarded. A sob moaned from my mouth even before I could catch it in my throat. I hated this. I hated him. But most of all, it killed me that some part of me deep down still hoped the man I fell in love with would return. That girl I had been, the gullible one — she was in there somewhere, quietly hoping. I turned my face to the ceiling, the chandelier light scorching my tears. And in that silent empty hall with a broken heart and aching body— — I choked back tears as I pleaded silently for anyone to save me.