The Wolfless Luna

Chapter one

Nia’s Pov

The pregnancy test report slipped from my trembling fingers and fluttered to the floor like a dying leaf caught in an autumn wind. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle the gasp, but the tears came anyway—hot, fast, spilling over my cheeks in an instant.

After five years of marriage, five years of silent prayers beneath the full moon's gaze, of swallowing the pack's pitying glances and the whispered title of wolfless Luna, this was the day the Goddess had finally answered. The healer's voice still rang in my ears, soft with wonder: “You carry life within you, Luna Nia. The moon has blessed you at last.”

I could still feel the cool hands of old Mara as she pressed the parchment into my palms earlier that afternoon. The small stone chamber of the healer's den had smelled of dried lavender, crushed moonwort, and the faint metallic tang of bloodroot tinctures. I'd gone there reluctantly, convinced the persistent nausea and fatigue were merely the toll of another long season managing the pack's endless demands—hunts, border patrols, disputes among the betas. But when she placed her ear against my abdomen, listened to the subtle rhythm beneath my skin, and then looked up with eyes wide as harvest moons... everything changed.

Joy had bloomed inside me like starfire, almost too vast to hold. I had clutched that delicate parchment scroll, sealed with the healer's silver wax sigil, as though it were the most sacred relic in the pack vaults. My fingers had traced the faint embossed crescent moon, the symbol of fertility and favor, over and over, as if touching it might make the truth more real. My heart thundered with visions: Kieran's stern features melting into the rare, private smile he saved only for me in the quiet hours after council meetings; the nursery in the eastern tower—long empty, its stone walls echoing with nothing but dust—finally filled with cradle songs, soft furs, and the sweet, milky scent of new life; the elders doubtful murmurs silenced forever by the triumphant cry of our heir, proof that the Goddess had not forsaken me, that my silent wolf did not make me unworthy.

For so long I had carried the weight of failure like a chain around my neck. The pack's sidelong looks during feasts, the way conversations hushed when I entered a room, the quiet speculation about whether Kieran would ever take a true she-wolf to give him pups. I had buried every hurt beneath duty—organizing the winter stores, tending the sick, standing beside my mate as though nothing could touch me. But today... today the chain felt lighter. Today I could breathe.

I belonged. At last, I truly belonged.

The joy was so fierce it almost hurt, a bright ache behind my ribs. I needed to share this miracle before it burst within me. And who better than Liora—my dearest friend since childhood, my sister in heart if not blood? We had run together through the wild meadows as girls, shared secrets beneath the same silver-barked trees, mourned together when her mate fell in the border skirmishes three years past. She had known motherhood's joys and griefs; she had raised little Kai alone, turning her sorrow into strength. She would understand the depth of this gift. She would help me plan the announcement: perhaps a quiet rite beneath the ancient moon-oak at the heart of the courtyard, the pack gathered in reverent silence to witness the moon's favor upon their Luna at last. I could already imagine the soft glow on their faces, the murmurs of wonder, the way Kieran would pull me close in front of them all.

I hurried through the dark stone hallways of the pack keep, my soft slippers making almost no sound on the smooth old flagstones worn down by generations of wolves. For the first time in years, a faint stirring brushed against my soul—the ghost of a wolf that had never awakened at eighteen, yet today it seemed to flutter, hopeful, as though the pup inside me called to something long dormant.

Every step felt lighter, buoyant. I passed the training yard where young warriors sparred under the watchful eyes of the gammas, their grunts and the clash of wooden blades, a familiar music. I smiled at a pair of omegas carrying baskets of late-season apples, and they bowed, surprised by the unguarded happiness on my face. I didn't care. Let them whisper. Let them see.

Liora's residence lay at the quieter edge of the compound: a graceful stone cottage nestled among silver-barked birch trees whose leaves shimmered like moonlight even in daylight. Ivy clung to the walls in soft green veils, and wild roses—pale as moon petals—climbed the trellis by the door. She cherished her solitude here, away from the constant bustle of the main keep, and I had always respected it. Grief, I knew, needed its own territory.

But as I drew near the carved door, a sound stopped me dead.

A low, throaty gasp. Then another—soft, intimate, unmistakably feminine.

My steps faltered. A cold weight sank into my belly, heavy as iron, pressing down until it felt hard to draw breath.

No. It could not be.

I stood frozen on the path, the parchment still warm in my hand. The wind rustled the birch leaves overhead, a soft, mocking sigh. I told myself it was nothing. Perhaps she had taken a lover; after all these years of widowhood, she deserved comfort, warmth, someone to ease the loneliness that shadowed her eyes on quiet nights. But the man's voice that followed—deep, rough, achingly familiar—shattered the fragile hope.

Kieran.

My heart gave a sickening lurch, a painful thud that echoed in my ears.

I crept closer, pulse roaring so loudly I was certain it would betray me. The door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of candle-flame spilling into the shadowed path.

I did not want to look.

Every instinct screamed at me to turn away, to pretend I had heard nothing, to preserve the fragile dream still cradled in my chest.

I looked anyway.

Through the narrow gap: Kieran, shirtless, the scarred planes of his back flexing under the candlelight as he moved over her. Liora beneath him, legs entwined around his waist, dark hair fanned across the pillows like spilled ink. Their bodies moved in perfect, practiced rhythm—beautiful, intimate, utterly wrong.

The sight seared itself into me. The way his hand cupped her face with tenderness I had once believed was mine alone. The way her nails raked down his shoulders, leaving faint red trails. The low, shared breaths that spoke of familiarity, of years.

Betrayal struck like a blade of winter ice, straight through the heart—sharp, numbing, then burning with a fire I could not contain.

I gripped the doorframe until my knuckles bled white, the rough wood biting into my skin. Tears blurred the scene, but I could not tear my eyes away, as though witnessing it fully might make it less real.

Then Liora's voice, soft and teasing, drifted out:

“Shush! Don’t wake our boy…”

Our boy.

The scroll slipped from my fingers entirely now, rolling across the stones with a faint, accusing rustle. My other hand flew to my mouth, muffling the wounded sound that escaped me—a small, broken thing I barely recognized as my own voice.

Kai. Bright-eyed Kai, with Kieran's storm-gray gaze and stubborn chin. The child the entire pack believed belonged to Liora's late husband. The nephew Kieran doted on, trained with wooden swords in the yard, carried on his shoulders during festivals. The boy who called me "Auntie Nia" with such innocent trust.

Their son.

This was no fleeting sin. This had endured for years—long enough for a child to grow from secret to flesh, long enough for them to speak of him as ours without hesitation.

Nausea surged, bitter and hot, climbing my throat until I thought I might be sick right there on the path.

Inside the chamber, Kieran's voice rumbled, low and possessive:

“I will make it right, Liora. Kai will be the pack’s heir. My only heir.” A pause, the wet sound of a kiss. “I have seen to it. All these years…the moonroot in her evening tea. She will never conceive. She was never meant to.”

My vision blurred.

It was not my fault.

It had never been my fault.

Five years of shame—of blaming my silent wolf, my unworthy body, my failure as Luna—of lying awake in the dark while Kieran slept beside me, wondering why the Goddess had denied us. Of forcing smiles through moon cycles that brought only blood and emptiness. And it had been him. All along. Deliberate. Cruel. The tea I had drunk every evening, trusting it was for my health, laced with moonroot to ensure my womb stayed barren.

The betrayal deepened, layer upon layer, until it felt like drowning.

Pain—sharp, twisting—clawed through my abdomen. I stumbled backward, one hand cradling the tiny life I now felt slipping away, as though I could hold it inside me by sheer will.

No. Goddess, no—

I turned and fled, blind, branches whipping my face, skirts tearing on thorns. The cramps became knives, then fire, spreading through my core like wildfire through dry grass. Warmth trickled between my thighs—blood, bright and merciless, soaking the fabric, marking the path behind me.

I collapsed onto the mossy path, knees hitting the earth hard enough to jar my bones. A choked scream tore free from my throat.

The moon rose coldly above the birch trees, watching indifferently as my last fragile hope bled away into the earth.

Then darkness claimed me.