Revenge of the rejected luna

Chapter Four

Elara's POV

Who did this?

The question landed heavier than the pain in my ribs. I stared at him, my throat tightening as if invisible hands were choking the words before they could escape.

For a heartbeat, I considered telling the truth. The real truth. Names, faces, the cold certainty of betrayal. But the truth was dangerous. Truth had teeth. And once released, it never stopped biting.

Kael stood too close, too solid, too real, his shadow swallowing the weak lantern light inside the tent. His eyes weren’t just cold. They were sharp. Calculating. The kind of eyes that didn’t ask questions for answers, but for confessions.

I had seen eyes like his before. On men who believed pain was a language. On men who thought fear revealed everything worth knowing.

I swallowed. "I don’t know."

The lie slid out smoother than I expected. Too smooth. As if my tongue had learned the shape of deception long before my mind caught up.

His jaw clenched. I saw it clearly, the muscle ticking, the patience thinning.

"You don’t know," he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. "Those marks weren’t made by accident. They weren’t from rogues. Someone did that to you on purpose."

The air between us grew heavier, thick with unspoken accusation. I could feel his scrutiny like a blade pressed against my skin, searching for weakness.

Silence stretched between us. I focused on my hands instead of his face. They were trembling, fingers pale against the thin blanket pulled over my body. I hated the weakness. Hated that my body betrayed me even when my mind stood firm.

If I looked at him any longer, I might break. And breaking was not an option. Not again.

"I remember the pain," I said quietly. "Shouting. Then... nothing."

The words tasted dull and distant, as if they belonged to someone else. A version of me left behind in blood and shadow. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Pain had been everywhere. Sound had blurred into something animal. Fear had swallowed time whole.

Kael exhaled sharply, turning away from me like my presence itself irritated him.

"Funny how selective your memory is."

I flinched, but said nothing. There was no point defending myself when disbelief had already settled in his bones.

He paced once across the tent, boots heavy against the ground, each step deliberate, controlled.

"You expect me to believe you were tortured, dumped at my border, and just happened to forget who did it?"

"I didn’t expect you to believe anything," I replied, lifting my chin. The movement pulled painfully at my ribs, but I refused to show it. "I didn’t ask to be here."

That got his attention. He stopped moving and turned back to me slowly. His gaze locked onto mine, intense enough to make my pulse stutter.

For a moment, I felt pinned, like prey frozen under the stare of a predator deciding whether the chase was worth the effort.

"Careful," he warned. "You’re standing in my territory. Alive because I allowed it."

Alive. The word echoed inside me like mockery. Alive didn’t mean whole. Alive didn’t mean safe. Alive had once meant shackled, bleeding, pleading into silence.

I looked away before he could see the bitterness rise in my eyes.

"Then why ask?" I said. "If you’ve already decided I’m lying."

For a moment, he didn’t answer. The tent seemed to shrink around us, the lantern flickering softly as if uncertain whether to stay lit.

Then, quieter, more dangerous, "Because liars always slip."

A chill ran down my spine. Not fear, something colder. Something that whispered that this man didn’t rush conclusions. He waited. Watched. Let people damn themselves.

He stepped closer again, crouching slightly so we were eye level. I could smell him now, pine, steel, smoke. Power wrapped in restraint.

"If you’re running from something," he said, "it will catch up to you. And if it does, it becomes my problem."

I held his gaze, forcing my breathing steady even as my heart hammered.

"Then send me away."

The words surprised even me. They tumbled out before survival instinct could stop them.

His brows drew together. "What?"

"If you think I’m a threat," I said, voice firm despite the fear clawing inside my chest, "then don’t keep me here. Push me past your borders and be done with it."

His lips curled, not in amusement, but something sharper. Something almost grim.

"You wouldn’t survive."

I almost laughed. The sound hovered in my chest, brittle and hollow.

"You think I survived this because I’m weak?"

I gestured vaguely at my body, at the bruises hidden beneath layers of cloth. At the scars he hadn’t seen yet.

"I’m still breathing because I refuse to die."

Something flickered in his eyes then. Recognition, maybe. Or anger. Or something far more dangerous, understanding.

He straightened abruptly, the space between us widening like a drawn blade.

"You’ll stay until I decide otherwise," he said. "But don’t mistake that for protection."

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving the tent flap swaying behind him. Cold air rushed in briefly before the fabric settled again.

The silence he left behind was crushing.

I sagged back against the bed, exhaustion crashing into me all at once. My body ached in places I didn’t know could hurt, deep aches that lived in bone and memory alike.

My wolf, quiet, dormant, broken, curled deep inside me, barely stirring. She used to be strong. Confident. Now she felt like a shadow of instinct, watching from far away.

I closed my eyes. Images tried to surface. Hands. Voices. Laughter that wasn’t kind. A room with no windows. The smell of iron and fear.

I shoved them down ruthlessly. Remembering wouldn’t help me now. Surviving would.

Hours passed, or maybe minutes. Time felt strange here, stretched thin and unreliable. Pain made it slippery.

When the tent flap lifted again, I tensed instinctively, muscles screaming in protest.

A woman stepped inside, her presence softer, calmer. She carried a bowl that smelled faintly of herbs and warmth, grounding and human.

"You’re awake," she said gently.

I nodded. "I’m Mara," she continued. "One of the healers."

"Thank you," I said hoarsely. Gratitude felt unfamiliar on my tongue, but sincere.

She offered a small smile and set the bowl down beside me. "You should drink. Slowly."

I obeyed, the warm liquid soothing my throat as it went down, spreading heat through my chest. For a moment, I almost felt safe.

"He doesn’t trust me," I said quietly.

Mara snorted. "The Alpha doesn’t trust anyone."

That didn’t make me feel better. She adjusted the blanket around my shoulders, her touch efficient but kind.

"Rest while you can. Decisions are being made."

My stomach dropped. "What kind of decisions?"

She hesitated, then sighed. "Whether you stay. Or leave."

Leave. The word echoed with hollow finality.

After she left, I stared at the tent ceiling, panic creeping in despite my efforts to suppress it. Leaving meant exposure. Vulnerability. It meant being seen. It meant being found.

I couldn’t let that happen.

When footsteps approached later, heavier this time, I knew before I saw him. Kael entered without ceremony, his expression unreadable, carved from stone and restraint.

"We’re moving back to the main territory," he said. "You’re not coming."

The world tilted. "What?" I whispered.

"You’ll be escorted to the border at dawn," he continued flatly. "From there, you’re on your own."

My heart slammed against my ribs. "I can’t," I said quickly. "I’m not strong enough yet."

"That’s not my concern."

Panic surged, hot and choking. "Please," I said before I could stop myself.

His eyes flicked to me, sharp. "Don’t."

"I’ll work," I blurted out. "I can do anything. Clean. Help the healers. Cook. I won’t be a burden."

He stared at me in silence. The lantern flickered once.

"I won’t cause trouble," I continued, desperation bleeding into every word. "I just need time. Somewhere safe."

"There is no safe," he snapped.

The finality in his voice broke something in me. Before pride could stop me, before dignity could remind me who I once was, my body moved on instinct.

I slid off the bed. The pain was immediate, white-hot and blinding, but I barely felt it as my knees hit the ground. The rough earth bit into my skin through the thin fabric of my clothes.

Kael stiffened. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

I bowed my head, shame burning hotter than any wound. "Begging," I said softly. The word tasted bitter.

"I have nothing," I continued, voice trembling despite my efforts. "No pack. No protection. If you send me away, I will die. Maybe not today. But soon."

Silence.

"I don’t need kindness," I whispered. "Just permission."

His boots were inches from my knees now. I could feel his presence looming over me, heavy with restrained fury and something else I couldn’t name.

"This is not how wolves earn their place," he said.

"I know," I replied. "But it’s all I have left

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, quietly and dangerously, he said, "If I let you stay, you belong to this pack. To my rules. To my judgment."

I lifted my head just enough to meet his gaze. "I understand."

"And if I decide you’re useless?"

"Then I leave," I said. "But at least let me try."

His eyes searched my face, as if looking for cracks, lies, or weakness. All he found was resolve sharpened by desperation.

Finally, he exhaled. "You’ll stay. For now."

Relief crashed through me so hard I nearly collapsed. "But earn it," he added coldly. "Or I’ll be the one who throws you out."

I lowered my head again, swallowing the tears threatening to spill. "Thank you," I whispered.

He turned away without another word. And as the tent fell silent once more, I pressed my trembling hands into the dirt and made myself a promise. I would never kneel like this again. Not to him. Not to anyone.