The Runaway Luna's Daughter

Deception

Father,” Luca called, knocking on his father's bedroom door.

He pushed the door open.

“Father?”

The room was empty. He turned with a swirl as he headed down the stairs, his slippers slapping the stone steps as he descended hurriedly.

“Please be real. Please,” he muttered as he flew down the flight of stairs.

The door to the dining area was slightly ajar. He peeked in through the half-opened door.

Ferguson was seated, chatting lively as he ate breakfast with his Luna.

“Thank Goddess,” he heaved a sigh of relief.

He swirled around quickly to head back for his room but bumped into an omega carrying dishes on a tray. She was headed for the dining. The tray slipped off her hands onto the floor, the silverware clattering on the floor breaking into pieces.

“Watch where you're going,” he growled, his temper rising in a flash.

“I'm… I'm sorry my Lord,” she stuttered.

She went on her knees, her fingers grappling the broken dishes.

Luca retraced his steps back into the dinning. They had heard him; he might as well just go in.

The nightmare he had had seemed real. So real he had to come make sure his mother really did come back and it wasn't just a dream. This he had intended to do without calling their attention but it hadn't gone as planned.

“What's wrong Luca?” Cora asked, looking up from her breakfast. “You look a bit shaken. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah everything's fine,” he replied huskily. “Good morning father.”

He grunted a reply as he drank from his cup.

“I think I should go now.” Luca headed out the door.

The omega he had bumped into earlier had already packed the broken silverware into the tray and was picking it up. Her body quivered as Luca walked past her, his cold eyes glancing her way.

Her footsteps receded hurriedly as she squirmed into the kitchen.

“If you're not too busy my Lord, maybe you could show me around,” Cora touched Ferguson's hands tenderly. “A lot has changed around here.”

“You don't have to be so formal with me when we're alone.”

“I'm sorry my Alpha,” Cora's eyes lit up as her lips quirked up in a smile.

“I guess we could use the morning to get you acquainted with the place. Come with me.”

Ferguson stood up. Cora followed him. He took her on a tour of the pack house. They ended up at the far eastern wing where the sacrarium—where mythical objects and the deadliest of weapons—were kept. Only the Alpha held the keys to the room.

“I want to see the underground dungeons,” Cora said, her face expressionless.

Ferguson's eyes squinted as he stared into her face.

“Are you sure about that?”

She nodded.

The underground dungeon was where the most hardened of criminals—rogue wolves especially—were imprisoned never to see the daylight again; wolves who had committed serious treason—traitors who had betrayed the pack or their Alpha.

Two wolves stood guard at the door and they bowed as Ferguson approached.

“Open it.”

They obliged without a word.

The door screeched loudly as they pushed it open. The reinforced, steel iron door was all that stood in the way between the warm, amber-lighted pack house and the gloomy cells buried deep within its belly. A flight of stairs snaked down, curling like a serpent into the dungeon.

Ferguson led the way into the dimly illuminated stairwell.

Cora's nose twitched as the stench of unwashed bodies and sweat hit her nose.

Ferguson however, remained composed, head held high as he walked through the passageway.

On each side of the passage were wild looking wolves with overgrown hair and beards locked up in them. They sneered as the Alpha walked by followed closely by his Luna.

Cora's footsteps slowed as she got in front of a heavily secured door.

A bulky looking wolf was chained hands and feet to the wall, his head bowed down. Around his waist, a very heavy chain that held him down.

Ferguson stopped beside her.

“So nice of you to come visit me after all these while, Alpha,” the wolf's voice croaked heavily.

The way he spat out the word ‘Alpha,’ one could tell there was a lot of bad blood between the two.

“I see you're hale and hearty as always, Barlas. I'm glad,” Ferguson growled, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

The chains rattled heavily as Barlas laughed wearily. He looked up. His face was almost invisible amidst the hairs and beards that hid most of his face.

“You know…” he coughed, “one thing I can't wait for is to stand over you, look you dead in the eye then claw out your throat,” he spat. “But not before killing your Luna and son before you. Only then will I take what's rightfully mine.”

“If wishes were horses…”

“Beggars would ride, I know,” Barlas cut him off. He laughed a little—a dry, mirthless laugh.

“Mark my words Ferguson, you will die by my hands,” his eyes glowed a steel blue.

“Let's go, my Lord,” Cora's voice came in a whisper. "Please.”

“Mark my words Ferguson. Mark my words!” Barlas’s voice echoed after them as they left the dungeon, Cora hurrying as fast as her legs could carry her.

The door screeched shut.

“You’ve always been strong. Don't tell me you're shaken by the words of that maniac.” Ferguson held Cora by the shoulder. He gazed into her eyes.

Her face looked pale like she had seen a ghost. Her body jerked at intervals like a wolf that had been tased.

“I'm sorry my Lord. I just… I…” her voice trailed off. Her chest heaved as she inhaled and exhaled deeply trying to control her breathing.

Ferguson drew her to himself, his arms snaking around her back as he held her.

“We could leave the rest of the tour to another day.”

“No!” Cora pulled away from him. “Let's finish up today,” her voice softened.

Ferguson's eyebrows knotted as his eyes squinted.

“I didn't mean to raise my voice at you my Lord,” she said, making a little bow. “It's just… You always work your ass off looking after this pack might not have the time to show me the place because of your busy schedule. That's why I want us to finish up today,” her hands caressed his stubble.

“I can never be too busy for my Luna,” he pulled her close. “You know this.” He planted a kiss on her forehead.

The chains clanged as Ferguson opened the door to the sacrarium. He walked to one end of the wall. A sword hung there. The handle was shaped like a dragon. The blade was slim and its tip glimmered. He ran his hand over it.

“The wolf killer,” Cora said, drawing his attention.

“What?” he turned to her.

“The scathian blade. The wolf killer,” Cora repeated as she ran her hand over a glass shelf in which a small dagger was enclosed.

The dagger had a black and white handle made of wolf skin and a curved blade that glinted under the light. There were inscriptions on the blade, outlined in green making it look like a sorcerer's treasure.

“Does it really kill a werewolf and his wolf never to be reborn?” she asked, her gaze focused on the dagger.

“I wouldn't know,” Ferguson walked up behind her. “When I found Adolph’s body, that dagger was embedded in his chest. Zonda did say that it did indeed, kill a werewolf and his wolf.”

“Fascinating,” Cora muttered.

Ferguson inched closely. He held her waist from behind taking in the scent of her hair. He kissed her neck and allowed his breath to caress her skin.

Cora threw her head back as the Alpha's kisses trailed her neck.

“I'm all yours,” her hand gripped the edge of her dress.

Ferguson let go of her abruptly like her skin burned him.

“My Lord?” she turned around as she felt the Alpha pull away from her. Her face fell.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Ferguson raised a finger to her. He closed his eyes tilting his head to one side as he listened. His eyes glowed a bright red when he opened them.

“We need to get to the throne room,” he growled. “Now.”

The chains rattled as he locked the door.

“He's here, ” Luca alerted Zonda.

He looked like he had taken a trip through Hades—hair and beard disheveled, clothes unkempt.

The pack warriors—already in the throne room—stirred restlessly awaiting orders.

“Stay away from her!” Zonda pointed his fingers to Cora.

Her eyes widened with shock.

“What's going on here?” Ferguson's eyes flicked to Cora then back to Zonda. “Have you gone mad?”

“You need to step away from her. Trust me Alpha,” Zonda said hastily, his voice carrying a sense of urgency.

He muttered a spell to himself and his eyes lit up—a blinding white.

The floor cracked as he stabbed his staff into the ground, a strong wind blowing around him making his white hair flow in unison with his robes. At that instant, he looked like a very powerful druid.

“Could someone tell me what in the Goddess’s name is going on here?!” Ferguson roared. He stepped in front of Cora.

“What do you think you're doing?” he glared at Zonda.

His eyes glowed. Every fibre of his muscles trembled with rage. The sound of his roar—ferocious and loud—echoed alerting the wolves in the pack house.

Zonda's lit eyes surveyed the warriors closing in around him. He was heavily outnumbered.

Even Luca glared at him, a golden glow in his eyes. He panted heavily as his wolf stirred.

His eyes caught movement where his father stood.

“Watch out!” he roared.

Ferguson turned around to see Cora coming at him with her hands raised above her head. The scathian blade gleamed in her hand as she bore down on the Alpha, murderous intent in her eyes.

Zonda waved his staff towards her, catching her off guard and sending her flying across the room.

She regained her footing as she landed, a derisive laughter pouring out of her lips. Her laughter sounded like a thousand people as it echoed the entire room. She looked at the Alpha, an evil smile plastered across her face.

Ferguson's eyes darkened as he stared at Cora. His face turned into a wild scowl as his wolf threatened to break free. His lips curled up revealing a set of fangs as a growl left his throat filling the entire room.

“If she isn't Cora, then who is she?”