Nameless Luna

Chapter 2. Way out

Her fur was dark silver, like forged iron left beneath moonlight. A white base shimmered beneath black-tipped strands, every movement catching a phantom glow. Faint brown hues softened her muzzle, ears, and tail, as though nature itself had brushed warmth into an otherwise cold, metallic creature.

She stepped toward me.

Slow. Silent. Predatory.

So close.

Too close that I felt her breath against my skin—warm, steady, alive. It fanned across my face in gentle waves, carrying the wild scent of pine, frost, and something deeply animal. Her golden eyes held mine, unblinking, ancient, knowing.

I wasn’t afraid. I never was. And yet… I always woke the moment I touched her fur.

I jerked upright with a sharp gasp, my lungs burning as though I had been running instead of sleeping. Darkness pressed in from every corner of the small wooden room, thick and suffocating. My heartbeat thundered inside my chest, frantic and disoriented.

Again. The same dream.

For days now, sleep had become nothing more than a brief, restless escape, haunted by that impossible wolf. Every time I closed my eyes, she came. Every time I reached for her, I was torn back into reality. As if something refused to let me linger. As if something waited.

Then I heard it. A distant howl split the silence of the night.

Another answered. Then another.

The sound rolled through the forest like a living thing, echoing against stone and sky. Even from here, I could tell exactly where it came from—the cliffs bordering the pinewoods.

The midnight run had begun.

I turned toward the open sky, where silver light spilled through cracks in the wood.

Full moon. It was the only night the women of the Anderstone Pack could breathe. The only night we could rest for few hours before being used again. Not because mercy existed here—mercy had never lived within these borders—but because we were rendered useless.

None of us could shift. None of us ever could.

The rare meals we were given were always laced with wolfsbane when the pack was feeling generous. When they were not, powdered silver was added as well—a cruel precaution layered atop another cruelty. But we had no choice.

Eat and suffer… Or refuse and starve. I had seen both endings. Neither was kind.

For as long as I could remember, the women of this pack had lived wolfless, trapped in fragile human bodies while the men reveled in their strength.

I chose a different path.

At sixteen, I had already spent two years surviving on stolen scraps—bits of food meant for horses, pilfered in moments of careful silence. Half-rotten fruit. Wilted vegetables. Anything that could be swallowed without drawing attention.

It wasn’t much. But it kept me alive. Alive… even if barely.

My body reflected those years of hunger. I was thin to the point of appearing breakable, my limbs narrow, my ribs too visible beneath skin that had long since lost its softness. Weak, they would say.

Insignificant.

I encouraged the illusion.

Tonight, I would turn seventeen. But I preferred looking younger. Younger meant harmless. Harmless meant invisible. Invisible meant safe.

If fate had granted me a wolf—if one truly lived inside me—I would leave this place the moment I shifted. I would run before they could mark me, before they could decide my worth, before I became like every other woman trapped within Anderstone’s cruelty.

And the full moon run… That would be my chance. While they chased freedom beneath the moon, I would steal mine in silence.

My instincts whispered that the time was near. Something inside me felt restless, coiled, waiting for a breaking point I could not yet see.

Hope was dangerous. But it was all I had.

Then there was James. The thought of him hit with the quiet ache of an old wound.

Seven years. Seven years since he left. Seven years since his voice, his presence, his impossible promise became the only fragile thread tethering me to patience.

“I’ll be back for you.”

I still remembered the way he had said it—low, certain, filled with a conviction that had felt stronger than the pack’s laws, stronger than fear, stronger than reality itself.

Back then, I had believed him without question. Back then, I had still believed in many things. That thin, fading hope had become my strength.

If James returned—if he truly meant his words—and if circumstances allowed change… I would stay. I would stand beside him, no matter the scars Anderstone had carved into me.

But if he did not… If nothing changed… I would leave.

I would rather wander the wilderness as a lone wolf than spend another year surviving inside this living nightmare. Even the life of a rogue—hunted, uncertain, unforgiving—was kinder than the slow death waiting for women here. Freedom, no matter how brutal, was still freedom.

Out there, the howls continued. Wild. Exhilarated. Untouchable.

I rose from the narrow bed, my bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor. Moonlight spilled across my skin, pale and ghostlike, painting my reflection against the wooden wall of the stable.

Seventeen. Still wolfless. Still trapped.

But not for long. I could feel it. Something was coming.

And when it did… everything would change.