His Luna BY Law

CHAPTER 1 LYRA Something wet trickled down my cheek. It felt cold, sticky, and unfamiliar. When I opened my eyes, the world around me swirled like a broken carousel. My fingers twitched against dirt, ash, and something softer—maybe moss. I didn’t know. But the smell was all wrong. It reeked of blood and burned flesh, and something inside me recoiled before I even understood why. Trees stood like charred bones in the distance, smoke curling into the gray sky. The ground was littered with bodies—some mangled beyond recognition, others still twitching, barely alive. My heart beat hard against my ribs, but I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be safe. Or who I even was. I sat up too fast and nearly choked on a sob, my hands clutching at my sides as pain rippled through my body. My skin was marked with bruises, scratches, and cuts. My throat felt sore, like I had been screaming. "Easy," a voice said behind me, deep and smooth—like melted obsidian. I twisted, or at least tried to, but my limbs felt foreign. A man stepped out of the smoke—tall and broad, with black hair that curled just slightly at the ends, his face cut from sharp angles. His eyes met mine, and I flinched. They weren’t cruel, but they held a feeling I couldn’t place. "Who... who are you?" My voice cracked, unfamiliar even to my own ears. He crouched beside me, his gaze scanning my injuries with clinical interest. "Your name is Lyra," he said, not missing a beat. "And I’m Killian—your fiancé." I blinked, just to be sure this was happening. The name rang hollow—like a lie too carefully crafted. "I don’t... I don’t remember that." Killian tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips—patiently, maybe too patiently. "That’s alright. You hit your head when the rogues attacked. You’ve been unconscious for hours, and I thought I lost you." I looked around again, the horror of the scene knitting a cold pit in my stomach. "Did we live here? Were we... were we with them?" He hesitated. "No, we were just passing through. The rogues ambushed the convoy, and we were lucky to escape." "Well, I don’t feel lucky." His jaw clenched slightly. "I know. But you will—once we get back, once everything starts to feel familiar again." My stomach twisted. I looked down at myself—at the blood staining my thighs and the ripped fabric of what had once been a dress. There was a strange sensation between my legs, a soreness I didn’t understand but didn’t want to think about. My fingers brushed against my stomach, a strange warmth lingering there. Killian stood and offered his hand. "Come on, love. Let’s get you out of here. This place is cursed now." I hesitated, because something deep inside me screamed not to trust him. But I had no one else—no memories, no anchor. My hand slipped into his. He led me through the wreckage with ease, like he wasn’t fazed by the death or the blood. Wolves howled in the distance, long and mournful, and though I didn’t remember what it meant, I knew somehow that I wasn’t one of them anymore. "You said we were engaged?" I asked as we reached the edge of the woods, where a beautiful black carriage awaited us. Killian opened the door for me. "We were—and still are. You disappeared three weeks before our ceremony, and I thought maybe you had changed your mind." "And I never contacted you?" I asked. "No, you vanished without a trace. We’ve been on the search ever since—through every territory." I frowned. "Then why don’t I remember any of it? Any of you?" He paused, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. "Because someone didn’t want you to. But you’re safe now, Lyra. I swear it." "Who would want to erase my memories? What did I know?" His eyes darkened, and for a moment, the tenderness vanished. "Enough to get yourself hunted. But we’ll talk about it later." I swallowed the unease crawling up my throat and got in. He closed the door with a soft click, then walked around to the driver’s side. The ride was quiet, the trees thinning as we moved. My gaze drifted to the window, and I could see my reflection—but I didn’t recognize the girl staring back. Blood smeared her temple, her hair tangled, her eyes wide and lost. She looked like prey. "You were very brave back there," Killian said, breaking the silence. "Fighting those rogues off the way you did. You saved yourself, Lyra. You just don’t remember." "You keep saying that. That I saved myself. But why don’t I feel strong? I feel... broken." He reached over, brushing his fingers against my knuckles. "Because trauma clouds everything. You’re healing. But it’s still in you—that strength. I’ve seen it." I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe anything that gave this fear a shape. My fingers curled back into my lap, and I stared out the window, searching for a familiar feeling. By the time we reached his pack's territory, dusk had settled—bathing the land in shades of amber and steel. The gates opened slowly, revealing a towering estate surrounded by high walls and guarded with silver-tipped spears. My chest tightened. Killian got down and came around to help me out. His grip was gentle but firm, like he didn’t trust me not to fall. Well, I didn’t trust myself either. "You’ll have your old room," he said as we walked through the stone halls, his hand on my lower back. "Nothing’s changed, really. We can pick up where we left off." "Where did we leave off?" I whispered, more to myself. He didn’t answer. The room he brought me to was too big, too clean, and cold. It didn’t feel like home. It didn’t feel like anything. He touched my cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to see the council. They’ll be happy you’re alive—and once the bond settles, everything will come back. I promise. "The bond..." I echoed. "It’s still there. Dormant, maybe—but it’ll wake up. Just like you did." Bond. The word echoed in my head like a scream in a cave. He closed the door behind him, and I stood in the center of the room, shivering. My reflection in the vanity mirror looked paler than before—more fragile. There were bruises on my collarbone, just beneath the skin, like fingers had pressed too hard. I touched them, and they didn’t feel like Killian’s. That night, I didn’t sleep. I lay on the edge of the bed, staring at the moon, feeling a weight inside me that wasn’t grief. It was something older—and hungrier. Then I heard it. Not a voice, not exactly, but a sound. Like something was trying to claw its way out of my chest, like a howl trapped in silence. I sat up, my heart pounding—and that’s when I saw it. A sealed envelope sitting on the windowsill, its edges lined with gold. And stamped with a crest I didn’t recognize. But my body did. I stood up, the floor cold under my feet as I moved toward it—and just as my fingers brushed the envelope, the door burst open. Killian stood there, his eyes locked on the letter. In a low voice, he said, "Don’t touch that." I snatched my hand back instinctively. "Why not? What is it?" "It’s nothing. Just old business. It doesn’t concern you anymore." I frowned. "But it was placed in my room, not yours. What if this helps me remember?" He took a slow step forward, his voice still even—well, too even. "Some memories are better left buried, Lyra. That’s not from someone you can trust." "And you are?" I asked, before I could stop myself. He stiffened. "I’ve only ever protected you," he said. "Don’t forget that."