CURSED BY THE RED MOON- MATED TO MY ENEMY

“Please don’t leave me. Please do not die, Alina!” Lyra Blackmoor woke with a gasp, her chest heaving and sweat slicking her palms. Her heart was hammering like a drum, the nightmare clinging to her like a shadow she couldn’t shake. The memory of her sister’s death—the screams, the blood, the horror—was vivid as if it had happened yesterday. And the words… her sister’s last, desperate plea echoed in her mind. “Run, Lyra, run and never come back.” Her eyelids fluttered open to the soft, dim light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, she didn’t move, letting her body sink into the mattress as though holding on to the remnants of her nightmare could somehow protect her. She had a love hate relationship with her nightmares. As much as they left her terrified, it was the only way she could still see her parent and sister’s faces. The only way she could also be constantly reminded of her plan to avenge their deaths. She caught the sight of the crimson moon scar around her wrist as her fists curled . The scar had mysteriously been on her ever since she could remember but it never bothered her. Not when she had more things to worry about. An exhale left her lips and just as she was about to close her eyes again to subject herself to more voluntary torture, a familiar voice broke the fragile silence. “Lyra, wake up. You’ve slept too long,” Freya murmured, crouching beside her bed. Her hand brushed a damp strand of hair from Lyra’s forehead. “Time to get ready. The pack event won’t wait, and neither should you.” Lyra turned to meet Freya’s calm, expectant eyes. Her friend had been the only constant in a life otherwise filled with shadows and betrayal. Since she watched her parents and sister get killed eight years ago- since she had been forced to flee and hide, Freya had been the one person she could trust. “Get up,” Freya shook her again. “I know you want to give normal socializing a chance by going to the party. So quit pretending and just get up already.” Lyra looked at the and shook her head. As much as she trusted Freya, moments like that brought about the familiar pang of doubt in her chest- how could anyone truly understand the fire that burned inside her, the anger that had been nurtured for years, silently sharpened in the quiet hours of training? Her life had been built on lies. By day, she was a black market trader, dealing in goods few dared to ask about, using charm and wit as her shield. By night, she trained relentlessly, perfecting the skills she would need to confront the man who had torn her family apart. Every movement, every calculated decision, every whispered strategy in shadow had been for one purpose- revenge. “Sure,” she eventually gave Freya a weak smile. She was right to an extent. She did want to go to the party. Not for the reason Freya thought thought. For eight years, she had searched for the man that killed her parents. The man that shot the final arrow that took her sister’s life. The familiar silhouette- his face- every single feature he possessed from that night never left her mind. She had searched packs far and wide and was still yet to find him. So she didn’t mind attending any event, gathering and ceremony as long as it increased her chance of finding him. And killing him. The ride to the gathering passed in a blur, Lyra’s mind half on the event and half on the silent countdown of days, hours, and minutes to the moment she would finally enact justice. When Freya left her at the entrance, citing duties elsewhere, Lyra slipped into the crowd like a shadow herself, her eyes scanning for anything familiar—or dangerous. The hall was alive with chatter, laughter, and the low hum of power. Pack members mingled in glittering attire, Lyra underdressed but barely caring. How she looked was the least of her concerns. But how he looked, was the her biggest priority. For a second, she allowed her gaze drawl around the took in a brief search for Freya. But in that split second, everything suddenly changed. Her stomach scrolled, her pulse spiked and her body, froze. The silhouette. That silhouette. Tall, broad-shouldered, the figure moved with effortless authority. She knew that posture, that presence, the curve of the jaw she had memorized in nightmares. She could recognize it even from a mile away. Her breath caught in her throat. It couldn’t be- But it was. The man who had destroyed her life, who had killed her family was here, in the flesh, real and dangerously close. The world seemed to shrink around her, and for a heartbeat, she felt nothing but the thrum of blood in her ears. Relief—or so she thought—washed over her. She had trained for this moment, dreamed of this confrontation, imagined it countless times. She could finally strike, finally bring justice to the man who had haunted her every waking thought. Her hand itched toward her concealed weapon, her muscles tensing for action. But then came the sensation. A pressure, sharp and urgent, swelling in her chest, tugging at her in a way she had never experienced. Confusion flared, clashing with the rage and relief that coursed through her. Lyra staggered slightly, fighting to focus. He was getting away, her eyes struggling to find him in the crowd. She could still feel him around though, an unsettling bond pulling her close to him. “No, this isn’t relief,” she muttered to herself. “What’s going on- why am I-“” The pull intensified, undeniable and insistent, filling her with a heat that made her knees weak and her thoughts scatter. The only thing she was supposed to feel was anger. Pure undiluted anger with a thirst for revenge. But what she felt instead, was the mate bond. The Moon’s claim. Lyra stumbled backward, heart hammering, mind spinning with disbelief. The man she had spent eight years planning to kill—the one she had cursed in whispers in the dark, the one who had haunted her nightmares—was not just present. He was bound to her. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms as her mind raced. Every plan she had made, every moment she had trained for, every careful calculation of her revenge, suddenly felt like dust slipping through her fingers. The reality of the bond pressed into her chest, demanding acknowledgment she was not ready to give. She shook her head, as he slowly turned to face her. She met his eyes in an instant, shivers flooding her spine immediately. She wasn’t mistaken. It was him. The very man she had spent every last minute of the past eight years preparing to kill. Her enemy. Her mate.