The Wolfless Luna

Chapter Two

Nia's Pov

The first thing I became aware of was the ache—deep, hollow, like a wound that had been carved out and left raw, bleeding not blood but something more vital: hope, dreams, the fragile future I had only just begun to imagine. My body felt heavy, unnaturally so, as though gravity itself had turned against me. It kept me stuck to the narrow bed with an invisible weight of sadness. The air in the healer's room was thick with the smell of herbs used for healing: the strong, bitter scent of moonwort to stop bleeding, the soft sweet smell of chamomile to soothe nerves, and under everything, the faint metallic smell of blood—my own blood—that wouldn't go away completely.

Soft furs lined the bed beneath me, thick wolf pelts from hunts, but even their luxurious warmth couldn't penetrate the cold void that had opened in my chest. It was as if the miscarriage had taken more than a life; it had stolen the last remnants of warmth from my core, leaving only an endless winter.

I opened my eyes slowly, lashes sticky with dried tears, to the dim, flickering glow of a single lantern. Old Mara, the pack healer, sat beside me on a low three-legged stool. Her wrinkled hands were folded in her lap, knuckles gnarled from decades of brewing potions and binding wounds. Her gaze met mine—kind, weathered, but filled with a sorrow so deep it mirrored my own.

"Luna Nia," she said quietly, her voice rough from years of smoke-filled nights and incantations spoken over the dying. "You are awake. The Goddess spared your life... but the child... I'm sorry. The miscarriage was swift. There was nothing to be done."

A sharp, piercing pain tore at my heart—sharper than any blade, deeper than the physical ache that throbbed low between my thighs. My hand moved instinctively to my abdomen, fingers pressing against the flat, empty expanse where life had briefly flickered. Nothing remained. Just loss. Echoing, merciless loss.

I stared at the ceiling, tears slipping silently sideways into my hair, soaking into the furs. The joy of yesterday—the sacred parchment scroll, the healer’s soft wonder, the visions of a nursery bathed in moonlight and filled with laughter—felt like a cruel dream from another lifetime, one that belonged to a different woman. And then the memories crashed back in full, merciless force: the low gasps behind the door, Kieran's scarred back flexing as he moved over Liora, her teasing whisper floating out—"Shush! Don’t wake our boy…"—his low confession about the moonroot laced into my evening tea for years. Years of deliberate sabotage. Years of lies I had swallowed with every smile, every dutiful kiss.

The pain in my heart twisted, sharpened, and slowly hardened into something colder, more dangerous. Anger. Resolve. They rose like embers in ashes, faint at first, then burning brighter.

I pushed myself up on trembling arms, the simple movement sending fresh waves of dizziness through me. Mara reached out in protest.

"Luna, you are weak—blood loss—"

"I need to go," I said, voice flat and distant, as though it belonged to someone else.

She argued gently, but I shook my head. She helped me dress in a simple linen shift, loose and pale, though every motion pulled at the raw wounds inside, reminding me of what had been torn away. I refused the healing draught she pressed into my hand. I wanted to feel every bit of this. Pain was the truth now. Pain would keep me from forgetting.

The doors opened onto the main path of the pack compound. I walked slowly, one hand braced against the cool, rough stone wall for support, each step a deliberate act of will. My legs trembled beneath me, weak from blood loss, but I refused to falter.

The pack was stirring for the evening rituals—warriors striding back from border patrols, their armor clinking softly; omegas lighting torches along the paths, flames leaping gold against the deepening dark; children darting between adult legs, their laughter bright and careless. And everywhere, eyes found me.

Whispers followed like shadows, slithering along the stone, carried on the evening breeze. "...poor Luna... lost the pup... wolfless and barren still..." "...did you see her face? Broken, truly broken..." Glances slid over me—some pitying, soft with false sympathy that stung worse than scorn; others sharp with contempt, the old disdain sharpened by fresh scandal. A beta female carrying a basket of herbs turned away quickly, hiding a smirk behind her sleeve. An elder seated on a bench shook his head slowly, as though I had brought this fate upon myself through some hidden flaw.

I kept my chin high, though each look burned against my skin. They had never truly accepted me—daughter of an allied Alpha, yes, brought here to seal alliances, but always wolfless, always heirless. I had spent five years proving my worth through competence and kindness, managing the pack with steady hands while they whispered behind them. Now I was reduced to the tragic figure in their fireside tales: the Luna who couldn't hold her mate, her child, or her dignity. Let them whisper. Let them gloat. Their judgment no longer mattered. Nothing mattered but the truth I carried like a blade in my chest.

Liora's cottage came into view at last, its ivy-covered stones glowing faintly under the rising moon like a false beacon of peace. As I approached the winding path lined with pale wild roses, the carved door swung open.

Kieran stepped out first—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark cloak swirling around him like night itself. Beside him, Liora—smiling gently, her dark hair catching the torchlight, her hand clasped around little Kai's small fingers. The boy skipped between them, clutching a wooden toy sword, his innocent laughter ringing out, utterly oblivious to the storm that brewed only steps away. They looked like a perfect family unit: the Alpha, his devoted sister-in-law, their shared son.

My stomach lurched violently. The sight was a fresh wound, mocking the emptiness inside me.

Liora spotted me first. Her expression shifted in an instant—concern blooming across her face, wide-eyed and perfectly practiced. She hurried forward, releasing Kai's hand.

"Nia! Goddess, you are pale as moonlight. We heard what happened—the miscarriage. I am so sorry. Come inside, let me—"

Her words were honeyed poison, dripping with false sweetness. I cut her off, voice low and edged with sarcasm that surprised even me, sharp as a silver dagger.

"Sorry? Truly, Liora? Or are you just relieved the obstacle has been removed? After all, you have already claimed everything else that was mine."

Her eyes widened in feigned shock, hand flying to her chest. Kieran stepped between us, his expression hardening into the familiar mask of authority.

"Nia, enough. I was merely taking care of my late brother's poor wife and child. There is nothing improper between Liora and me. You are letting grief twist your mind."

Liora clasped her hands together, voice trembling artfully as tears glistened in her eyes. "Please, Nia, don't misunderstand. Don't get angry. You know how unhappy my marriage was—how cold it grew. Kieran has only been helping me out of kindness, as family should."

As she spoke, Kieran slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close in a gesture of comfort that was anything but brotherly. Liora's head rested against his chest, eyes downcast in perfect vulnerability. Kai tugged at his father's cloak, looking up with innocent confusion, small brow furrowed.

Watching them, a surge of anger mixed with absurdity rose in me—hot, choking, almost laughable in its sheer cruelty. This was the man I had loved as my fated mate, the one whose touch once made my heart race? This was the friend I had trusted with my deepest fears and secrets since we were children? The hypocrisy was so vast it bordered on farce.

I raised my hand, fingers trembling with the force of the urge to slap Kieran, to feel the satisfying crack of palm against cheek, to wipe that smug certainty from his face. Justice, in that moment, felt like it could be measured in the sting of skin on skin.

But a strong grip caught my wrist mid-air. Kieran's Beta—tall, silent Garrick, ever the loyal shadow—held me firm, his face impassive, though a flicker of something like pity crossed his eyes.

"Enough, Luna," he murmured, not unkindly, but with the finality of duty.

Kieran released Liora and stepped closer, voice dropping low and cold, meant for my ears alone. "Stop imagining things that never happened, Nia. All this pain, this drama—it is just a figment of your imagination. Don't drag innocent people into your delusions."

The words hit like a lash across the face. Delusions. As if I hadn't seen them with my own eyes, heard the confession with my own ears. As if five years of lies—of moonroot in my tea, of stolen nights, of a child claimed as another's—could be dismissed with a shrug and a denial.

I wrenched my wrist free, staring at the man I had once called mate. The possessiveness in his storm-gray eyes was still there—twisted, dark, hungry—but now I saw it for what it truly was: not love, but ownership. A claim staked on power, on status, on control.

Disappointment flooded me, bitter and final, washing away the last traces of lingering affection. This was not the Kieran I had built a life with, the one I had stood beside through hunts and councils. This was a stranger wearing his face, a usurper in more ways than one.

"I want a divorce," I said, voice steady despite the tremor in my limbs.

Kieran's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Liora's breath hitched audibly, her perfect mask cracking for the first time. Kai looked between us, small face crumpling in confusion and budding fear.

But I didn't wait for their excuses, their lies, their attempts to twist this further. I turned and walked away, steps slow but deliberate, the moon watching overhead—cold, unyielding, eternal.