99 Moons with Alpha Rhaegar

Elysia’s POV I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral. Not because I didn’t want to. I’d cried so much in the three days before that my eyes felt like they’d been scraped raw. But standing there, watching them lower her body into the ground wrapped in white cloth like she was something fragile and precious—when she’d spent her whole life being stepped on—I had nothing left. The pack gathered around the burial site like they cared. Like they hadn’t whispered behind her back for years. Low-ranking omega. No mate. Raising a scentless daughter. They didn’t say it to her face, but I heard it. I always heard it. Mira stood beside me, her hand squeezing mine so hard I thought my bones might crack. She was the only one who came because she wanted to, not because tradition demanded it. “I’m so sorry, Ely,” she whispered, her voice thick. I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak. Alpha Greaves said some words I didn’t listen to. Something about service and sacrifice and how my mother had been a loyal healer to the pack. As if that mattered now. As if loyalty ever got you anything but used up and forgotten. When it was over, people drifted away like smoke. No one stopped to talk to me. No one offered help or asked if I was okay. Except Killian. He stood a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, his amber eyes flicking toward me and then away, like he wasn’t sure what to do. He was the Alpha’s son—tall, strong, with the kind of face that made girls stare. I’d stared too, once or twice, when I thought no one was looking. But he didn’t come closer. He just stood there, and after a long, uncomfortable moment, he turned and walked away. Of course he did. I was alone. The pack celebration that night felt like a slap in the face. They called it the Harvest Moon Feast—some excuse to drink too much and pretend we were all one big happy family. My mother had been dead for less than a day, and they were laughing and dancing like nothing had happened. I shouldn’t have gone. I knew that. But Mira had begged me, saying I couldn’t hide in my tent forever, and some stupid part of me thought maybe…maybe..if I showed up, if I tried, someone would see me as more than the scentless girl no one wanted. I was wrong. I stood near the edge of the clearing, holding a wooden cup of watered-down ale I wasn’t even drinking. The fire blazed in the center, casting wild shadows over everyone’s faces. Music played—drums and flutes—and people danced, their bodies moving together in a way that made my chest ache. I didn’t belong here. “Look who decided to show up.” I turned. A girl named Senna stood there, her lips curled into a sneer. She was a beta, pretty in a sharp, cruel way, and she’d hated me since we were kids. “I didn’t think you’d have the nerve,” she continued, loud enough for the people around her to hear. “Shouldn’t you be mourning or something?” My throat tightened. “I am.” “Doesn’t look like it.” She tilted her head, her eyes glittering with malice. “Then again, I guess it’s not that hard to get over someone when no one cared about them in the first place.” My wolf stirred for the first time in days, a weak, pained sound in the back of my mind. *Ignore her. Walk away.* But I couldn’t move. Senna stepped closer, and before I could react, she tipped her cup forward. Red wine splashed across my chest, soaking through the plain gray dress I’d worn because it was the only clean thing I had. Laughter erupted around us. “Oops,” Senna said, her smile widening. “Guess I’m clumsy tonight.” Someone shoved me from behind—I didn’t see who—and I stumbled forward, my foot catching on a tree root. I fell hard, landing on my hands and knees in the mud. More laughter. Louder this time. “Scentless fat trash,” someone muttered, and I didn’t know who said it, but it didn’t matter. They were all thinking it. I looked up, my vision blurring, and my eyes found Killian. He was standing near the fire, a drink in his hand, watching. His face was blank. He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t stop them either. He just stood there. And that…that..was worse than anything Senna had said. I shoved myself to my feet, my hands shaking, and I ran. I didn’t stop until the sounds of the celebration faded into the background, swallowed by the trees. My breath came in ragged gasps, and my chest felt like it was going to split open. Why did I go? Why did I think it would be different? I collapsed against a tree, sliding down until I was sitting in the dirt, and finally—finally—I let myself cry. Not the quiet, polite kind of crying. The ugly kind. The kind where you can’t breathe and your whole body shakes and you don’t care if anyone hears because there’s no one left to care about you anyway. “You’re loud.” I jerked my head up, my heart slamming against my ribs. A man stood a few feet away, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. He was tall—taller than anyone I’d ever seen—and broad, his body built like he’d spent his whole life fighting. A dark cloak hung from his shoulders, the hood pulled low enough to shadow most of his face. But I could see his jaw. Sharp. Scarred. And his mouth, set in a hard line as he watched me. Smoke curled up from the cigarette between his fingers. “I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, wiping at my face even though it was useless. “I didn’t know anyone was…” “You always cry like that?” he interrupted, his voice low and rough. My cheeks burned. “I don’t…I wasn’t..” “You were.” He took a drag from the cigarette, his eyes—steel-gray and cold—flicking over me like I was something he was deciding whether or not to step on. “What happened?” I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What was I supposed to say? That I was pathetic? That no one wanted me? That my mother was dead and I had no one and I didn’t know how to keep going? “Nothing,” I finally whispered. His lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “Liar.” I looked away, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks, and I hated myself for it. For being weak. For crying in front of a stranger who clearly didn’t give a damn. He was quiet for a long moment, and I thought maybe he’d leave. That would be fine. I was used to being left. But then I heard footsteps, and suddenly he was right in front of me, crouched down so we were eye-level. Up close, he was terrifying. Scars crisscrossed his jaw and neck, and his eyes were the kind of cold that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a cliff. But there was something else there too. Something I couldn’t name. “You want to stop crying?” he asked. I blinked at him, confused. “What?” “Do you want to feel something else,” he said slowly, “something that isn’t hurting?” My breath trembled. “I… I don’t know how.” He grabbed my chin, his fingers rough and calloused, and tilted my face up. “Yes or no.” My breath hitched. My wolf stirred again, but this time it wasn’t weak. It was… alert. Curious. “Yes,” I whispered, barely audible. “Yes… please.”