THE LUNA HE EXECUTED CAME BACK

Episode 2 – BLOOD ON THE SNOW

The blade came down with a whistling sound that seemed to go on for ages.

I didn’t cry out. I wouldn’t give them that symphony.

Then the cold came. Not the cold of the blade but the cold of the world leaving me. My body was kicked off the block, the iron chains rattling like a dirge as the snow swallowed my knees. The execution square was a tomb of silence, save for the whistling of the wind, and the distant mournful howl of a wolf who still remembered what meant loyalty.

I stained the virgin white snow with my blood.

It bloomed, a grotesque rose, steaming in the sub-zero air. Red. So much red.

And then I heard it.

The ripping.

It wasn't the skin or the bone. Then came the tie. Deep inside my womb, that tiny, flickering light—the heartbeat that had been my only comfort in the dark—went suddenly, terrifyingly still.

No, my soul protested. Not him. Get me, not him!

A soundless cry caught in my shredded throat. My mate bond screamed. A wild, feral thing reaching out over the void, begging Kael to feel the loss of his son.

I stretched for him through blood and ice.

And there was nothing.

Kael twirled. He didn't even look in the last minute. He was tall, the "righteous" Alpha, jaw set in a line of granite, hands clenched behind his back. Snow settled on his broad shoulders, melting onto his black cloak like the tears he would not let fall.

He didn't look back. No. As my life spilled into the dirt.

Coward. My mind whispered. The thought dissipated like smoke. Golden king ruthless.

Again the executioner jerked my head up, his hands trembling with sudden, belated guilt, to be sure the job was done.

"By decree of the Alpha Council," he yelled into the wind, his voice cracking, "Seraphina Vale, Former Luna of Nightfang, is executed for treason and carrying a bastard heir."

Falsehoods. All wrong.

My vision shut down. The world shrank to three things: the scent of cedar, the heat of my own blood, the unbearable, empty silence where my baby’s heartbeat should have been.

Kael…”

I tried jamming one more picture into his mind. The day we first met under the old oak. That's how he told me I was his soul.

The line went dead.

The blade came down again, making sure the "traitor" was gone.

I could feel my body convulsing, the nerves screaming in a last, agonizing protest as the warmth drained from me. The snow soaked my dress, heavy and frozen. My strength came in waves, each one pulling me deeper into the black tide.

That’s all. RIP.

I welcomed the dark. At least in the dark there were no Alphas to break their vows. At least there, my baby was waiting for me.

My heart stuttered. Once. Twice.

Then, the clock of my life stopped.

The square exhaled. Some wolves bowed their heads; others turned away, their tails tucked. A few, like Elara and Silas, watched with a cold, jagged satisfaction.

“Dispose of the body in the Ravine of the Forgotten,” Silas commanded.

The words didn't reach me. I was falling.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

But it didn't stay dark. That was the first sign the Goddess wasn't done with me. Death was to be a quiet meadow, a final rest.

CRACK. Instead--

A sharp, violent pressure slammed into my consciousness. It was like my soul was a piece of glass being smashed with a hammer. I felt myself falling, not into nothingness, but through time itself. Layers of my life were peeling away, memories splintering and reforming like a kaleidoscope.

And then, I heard it.

My wolf. Nyx.

She wasn't dying. She wasn't fading. She was coiled in the center of my spirit, a ball of white-hot, radioactive rage.

“We’re not finished,” she snarled, her voice vibrating through my very core. Moon Mother demands blood in return for blood.

Pain shot, worse than execution. It was like a soul being sewn back together with threads of fire. Symbols flared beneath my skin, ancient and forbidden runes of the Old World, glowing a lethal silver before sinking into my bones.

I sucked in my breath.

Cold and sharp as a knife, air ripped into my lungs.

I screamed, a guttural, primal scream, and it echoed through an impossible room.

The moon did more than shine, high above the world. For one beat it was the color of a fresh kill.

I jumped up.

My body twisted and writhing, breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps. Sweat dripped down my body and my nightdress stuck to my frame. My heart was a drum, beating a frantic rhythm against my ribs – too loud, too fast, too much.

I dug my nails into the sheets beneath me.

Sheets?

My eyes snapped open and I took in the room.

Dark wood ceiling. Beams carved. The scent of lavender and expensive sage. The heavy velvet curtains swaying in a gentle morning breeze.

My chambers. Our home.

My hands shook as I held them up to the moonlight streaming through the window. No shackles. No points. no bloods

I rested my palms on my belly. It was flat. Empty.

A sob tore free from my throat, jagged and agonizing.

“My baby…” I whispered, the grief hitting me like a physical avalanche. I doubled over, clutching my middle, the memory of the cold blade still burning in my phantom nerves.

This wasn't heaven. It was a nightmare. The Goddess had sent me back to the beginning of my torture.

A soft knock sounded on the door.

I jumped so hard I nearly fell off the bed. My heart leapt up in my throat, tasted of copper.

"Luna?" a soft, familiar voice said. "You're awake? "You'll be late for the morning training.

My blood went cold. That voice.

"Mira?" "My voice was a broken thread as I whispered.

Look, My maid. The girl who had been executed alongside me for trying to bring me water in the dungeons.

The door creaked open. Mira peeked in, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes bright and full of a life I had seen extinguished. “You slept through the dawn,” she teased, stepping inside with a basin of warm water.

I stared at her breathing chest. At her living face.

I glanced at the calendar on the wall. The year was three years before my death.

Suddenly my wrist burned. I hissed, clutching it as a fresh mark branded itself on my skin. It wasn't a mate mark—it was something older. A blooded crescent moon dripping.

My eyes darted toward the door.

Heavy, measured steps approached. His smell preceded cedar and thunderstorms.

My stomach plummeted into a bottomless pit.

Mira turned, bowing her head low. “Ah, here’s Alpha Kael,”

Kael. The man who saw me die. The man who let our son be killed.

A shadow fell across the doorway. One, solid blow.

“Seraphina.” Kael’s voice called. It was quiet. Very far. The voice of a man who had not yet broken his wife, but was already making ready the cage. “We need to talk.”

I dug my fingers into the silk sheets until they ripped.

A cold, crystalline hatred took root in my breast, thrusting the grief away.

“You killed me,” I thought, staring at the door as the handle began to turn. And this time I have the knife.