MARKED BY THE MOON

BRIGHTEST COLOR OF WRONG

The days that followed the queen’s funeral were strenuous. With the pack to manage and a rival pack coming up with different tactics to infiltrate the market space, Alpha Waylon was busy. From meetings with the pack elders to sitting in his chamber drafting plans to keep everything in place, he barely had time to rest.

Waylon sat in his study, exhausted, when his mind drifted to his adopted sister. He hadn’t set his eyes on her, nor had he heard any news about her since the queen’s funeral.

Suddenly, he found himself wondering how she was faring.

“Murphy,” Waylon called, and Murphy came in.

“Have you heard anything about Lucinda?” he asked. Murphy paused, trying to think.

“I don’t think so, Your Majesty,” he replied. “I don’t think she leaves her chamber.”

Waylon paused, then stood up and walked out of the study, heading toward her wing. Murphy followed closely behind in silence while Waylon internally blamed himself for the harsh words he had said to her. His mother would have been furious with him for everything he’d said.

From a distance, he noticed her chamber light was on, and he frowned. Why wasn’t she asleep by now?

Had Roan been visiting her? Was he there now? What did he want from her?

Waylon stormed down the corridor to her wing. The guards stationed there bowed immediately when they saw him.

“Your Majesty,” they greeted.

He stopped and turned to one of them. “Does she have a guest?”

“No, Your Majesty,” he replied.

Waylon walked to the door.

“His Majesty is here,” the announcer by the door said, and the door to her chamber opened.

Waylon stepped in and was surprised by what he saw.

Lucinda was seated at the far side of the table. Empty jars of wine were scattered across it. Her hair was unkempt, and her head was down, a jar still in her hand.

“Your Majesty,” Seraphine and the two other maids in the room fell to their knees.

“What is this?” His anger slipped into his voice.

“She has been drinking, Your Majesty, and forbade us from letting you know… forgive us, Your Majesty,” Seraphine said.

Waylon clenched his fist, walked to Lucinda, and nudged her. She slumped, mumbled some words, and then slurred to the other side.

“Lucinda…” He lowered himself beside her and called softly.

She lifted her head slowly, her eyes heavy and unfocused, and then she smiled at him.

Waylon stilled.

For a moment, everything around him faded.

Her hair was a mess, falling wildly around her face, strands clinging to her damp cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted, soft and flushed from the wine. Her eyes, though clouded, still held that strange, fragile spark of life.

She looked nothing like the composed girl he was used to.

And yet… she looked even more beautiful like this.

Something twisted in Waylon’s chest, sharp and unexpected. His fingers moved slightly, as though he wanted to touch her face, but he stopped himself.

What was he thinking?

This was Lucinda.

His adopted sister.

The thought came like a warning, snapping through his mind, but it didn’t stop the way his eyes lingered on her… or the way his breath unconsciously slowed.

“Oh… it’s the Alpha,” she said carelessly, her words breaking the moment.

Waylon blinked, his expression tightening as he forced whatever he felt back into place.

“You need to be in bed right now,” he said.

She jerked his hand off her and looked at him, her eyes shifting to disgust.

“You don’t tell me what to do… you are not my Alpha,” she said.

Waylon paused, taken aback. “I am your Alpha.”

“No, you are not,” she said, standing up, her ruffled ginger hair spilling around her shoulders. “Have you forgotten? I am human, and you… you are Alpha to werewolves, so you…” she wiggled her index finger at him, “…you are not my Alphaaaa!”

She screamed the last word, then staggered past him and walked toward her inner chamber, downing the remaining contents of the wine.

“Bring me more wineee!” she shouted as she disappeared inside.

“My Alpha… please pardon her… Your Majesty, she doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Seraphine pleaded, still kneeling with the other maids.

Waylon stood up straight.

“From now on, I don’t want these walls to know the colour of wine or alcohol,” Waylon said, then walked out without another word.

She had just said he wasn’t her Alpha.

Wow, humans are bloody ingrates.

After everything he had done to protect her all this while.

“Alpha, the rave document…” Murphy started as Waylon headed toward his room.

“Take the night off. I want to be alone.”

$ DREADMOON PACK $

“Your Highness…”

Brielle called from outside his inner chamber. She had been summoned by Prince Declan, and as her heart pounded, she kept wondering why he had called for her. She hadn't seen him since the last time he visited the laundry house.

“Come in,” she heard him say, and the door was opened for her. She walked in and found him sitting on a chair, his eyes landing on her. Immediately she stepped in.

“Brielle,” he said, a smile appearing on his face. She gulped at the effect his eyes had on her and tried not to meet them. “Come, have a seat,” he added.

“I can't… Your Highness, it's…”

“It’s my chamber, and you are not a maid here,” he said. She looked at him, wondering what he meant. He shifted in his chair, turning fully to face her before tapping the space beside him. “Come, have a seat,” he repeated.

She moved closer and sat beside him, looking everywhere but at him and trying to force herself not to touch him. Prince Declan reclined in his chair, his eyes never leaving her, smiling at how cute she looked, trying to stay away from him.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asked.

Brielle turned, her heart pounding so much. He was close…too close. She opened her mouth to speak but felt the words stuck in her throat. She shut her mouth, shook her head, and looked away.

“My hand,” he said, raising one of his hands. “It aches. I think I sprained my wrist.”

She looked at him and was instantly worried, her concern clear on her face.

“Is there a balm around?” she asked, her voice low and filled with worry.

“Yeah… over here.” He pulled out a balm from beside him. She took it from him and focused on it instead, proceeding to massage his hand.

“Thank you,” he said again. She paused, not accustomed to being thanked, then continued massaging his hand. He showed no sign of pain, making her wonder if she was massaging the right place.

“Am… am I doing it right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied in a very low voice, and she slowly lifted her head to look at him.

“You are not reacting,” she said, her voice low, her throat dry.

“I am used to it,” he said.

“Oh.” She looked back down. Deep down, she wanted to ask how he sprained his wrist, but she didn’t. Instead, she continued massaging, her body slowly relaxing in his presence.

“How did you get to the palace?” he asked. She paused her hands.

“I was sold to the late queen, and later Princess Cordelia inherited me,” she said. He took a deep breath.

“And your parents?”

“They died from an infection outbreak,” she said.

“I’m sorry for that… So, you have no one to go to if one day you are freed?”

“No… I don’t know if she is still alive or dead,” she said dreamily, then dropped his hand. “I am done.”

“But my hand still aches,” he said, a smile curving at the side of his face, which only made her fall for him even more.

“I need to leave. The sun is setting, and I have some things to do and…”

“I will ask someone else to do those. No matter how many,” he said. She paused, hesitating.

“Your Highness… I must go,” she said softly.

“Stay,” he said. “I don’t want you to leave,” he added, and that made her heart skip.

“Why?” The question slipped from her mouth.

“Because I like having you close to me…”

He leaned closer to see if she would pull back, but she didn’t. She didn’t know why, but she was stuck staring at him, her heart racing while her mind went blank.

“I feel so at ease with you around me, and it hurts to know I want you more than you’ll ever want me…” he said, leaning in deeper, pulling her closer. “Tell me to stop,” he pleaded.

But she shook her head and closed her eyes as his lips met hers.

He started softly, and her fingers tightened lightly against his sleeve as if grounding herself, while his hand stayed gentle against her cheek.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. She parted her lips, and he deepened the kiss, their lips moving together, until suddenly, without warning, the door swung open.

“Declan, I need you to…” Cordelia stopped mid-sentence.