HIS LOST LUNA

The Truth Inside

It had been an entire week since Fae had been locked away in the old shed behind the Bliss estate.

Seven miserable days.

Seven dark, silent, suffocating days.

The shed had no windows. The only light came from thin cracks between the wooden planks — tiny slivers that appeared only when the sun stood directly overhead. The rest of the time, Fae lived in complete darkness.

She had stopped counting the hours. Time blurred into one long, aching stretch of nothing.

Other than a few cups of water shoved through the tiny opening beneath the door, nothing else had been given to her. No food. No blankets. No change of clothes.

The water rarely made it into her hands. Most of it spilled onto the dusty ground when the person on the other side — usually a maid — pushed the cup too quickly or pulled their hand away too soon.

Fae had learned to kneel by the door whenever she heard footsteps approaching. She pressed her face low to the ground and waited. Sometimes water splashed onto her tongue. Sometimes she had to lap at the damp earth like an animal just to wet her throat.

Her body ached from hunger.

Her stomach had stopped growling days ago. Now it just felt hollow — a deep, empty pit that throbbed dully whenever she moved.

Her throat burned from thirst.

Her lips were cracked and peeling. Her tongue felt thick and swollen. Saliva had become a luxury.

And the stench.

The shed smelled of dirt, mold, old blood, and something sour — her own sweat, her own filth. She had not bathed since the night everything changed. Her hair was matted. Her skin was gray with grime. The bruises on her body had faded from purple to sickly yellow, but new ones had formed from sleeping on the hard stone floor.

The only thing she was grateful for was the quick dip she had taken in the waterfall before being dragged back home. Without that, she was certain she would have felt even worse. At least her skin had been clean for a few hours.

Curled up in the corner of the shed, Fae wrapped her thin arms around herself and stared blankly at the cracked wooden wall ahead of her.

She could not see the wall. It was too dark. But she knew it was there. She had traced the grooves with her fingers a hundred times.

One question had tormented her endlessly during the past week.

Why hadn't her grandmother asked about her?

Her grandmother — Celeste — was the only person in the Bliss family who ever showered her with love and kindness. Celeste tucked her in at night. Celeste brushed her hair. Celeste called her my seedling and meant it.

Surely, by now, Celeste would have noticed Fae's disappearance.

Surely, she would have marched into the living room and demanded answers.

And if Grandma knew…

Then Fae would not still be here.

That thought — small and fragile — was the only thing keeping a tiny flicker of hope alive inside her chest.

—

The rusty hinges of the shed door suddenly creaked open.

Light flooded in — harsh, blinding, painful. Fae squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away. After seven days in darkness, even the faint gray daylight felt like needles stabbing into her eyes.

She heard footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. The click of heels on packed dirt.

Then a familiar voice.

"Well, well. Look what the wolf dragged in."

Fae's eyes shot open.

"Fray!"

Her twin sister stood in the doorway, backlit by the pale morning sun. She wore a pretty pink sundress and white sandals. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves. She looked clean, fed, and perfectly groomed.

She wrinkled her nose as she stepped inside.

The smell hit her first. She fanned the air with her hand and made a disgusted face.

"Moon Goddess, you stink," she said.

Even in the dim lighting — with the door now half-closed behind her — Fray noticed how Fae, covered in dirt and filth, still looked beautiful.

Her face was thinner now, hollowed by hunger. Dark circles sat under her eyes. Her hair was a tangled mess. But her bone structure — those high cheekbones, that delicate jaw, those full lips — remained untouched by suffering.

Fray's chest tightened painfully.

Even after a week without food, without baths, without sunlight — her sister still outshone her.

It was not fair.

It had never been fair.

"Well, if it isn't the most popular girl in school," Fray sang mockingly as she shut the door behind her.

The shed plunged back into near-darkness. Only a few thin stripes of light sliced through the cracks.

Fae ignored the sarcasm. She pushed herself up onto her knees and crawled forward a few steps. Her body screamed in protest, but she did not care.

"Sister, thank goodness," she breathed. Her voice was raw — a hoarse whisper after days of silence. "I was beginning to think everyone forgot I was in here."

For a moment, Fray simply stared at her.

Then she burst into loud laughter.

It was not a kind laugh. It was sharp and cruel, bouncing off the wooden walls.

"Forgot?" she repeated between laughs, clutching her stomach. "Oh please, don't make me laugh too hard."

Her expression darkened instantly. The smile vanished. Her eyes turned cold.

"We didn't forget you, Fae," she snarled. Each word came out like a slap. "You're going to rot here."

Fae froze.

Her heart stopped. Then it started again — faster, harder, pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.

The hatred in her sister's eyes frightened her more than the darkness of the shed ever could.

"W-What did I do?" Fae whispered. Her voice shook. Her hands trembled. "What exactly is my crime?"

Fray crossed her arms over her chest. Her pink dress crinkled at the elbows.

"You should know."

"No!" Fae cried desperately. Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them. "That Robbie guy is your friend! He hurt me! He—"

Her voice cracked violently. A sob tore from her throat.

"He r***d me, Fray! Aren't you supposed to protect me? You're my elder sister!"

The words hung in the stale air.

Fray's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Whore."

The word hit harder than any slap.

Fae stared at her in disbelief. Her mouth opened. No sound came out.

"You don't even know who you slept with," Fray continued venomously. She stepped closer, her shadow falling over Fae's hunched form. "Robbie told me he found you drunk and tried helping you home, but you practically needed him before running away."

Fae's knees buckled beneath her.

She collapsed onto the dirt floor.

"No…" she whispered brokenly.

That could not be true.

Robbie had lied.

Robbie had twisted the story to protect himself — to paint himself as the victim and her as the aggressor.

Yet the damage was already done.

Her family believed him.

Fray believed him.

No one cared what truly happened to her.

A sob escaped Fae's lips — loud and ugly and raw. Horrifying thoughts flooded her mind.

If Robbie was innocent…

Then who had touched her that night?

Who had taken advantage of her after she escaped from Robbie?

Was he clean? Did he have diseases? Was he even human?

Fear swallowed her whole.

"He took my virginity…" she cried weakly. Her voice cracked on the last word.

Fray rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Oh, spare me the tears."

Fae wiped her face shakily with the back of her dirty hand. The tears kept coming, but she forced herself to ask the question that had been haunting her for days.

"Where's Grandma?"

Fray laughed again.

Without warning, she kicked Fae harshly on the side of her head.

The impact sent Fae sprawling sideways. Her skull cracked against the wooden wall. Pain exploded through her head — white and sharp and blinding. Stars danced behind her eyes.

Fray casually sat on the only chair in the shed. It was a rickety old thing — three legs and a broken back — but she perched on it like a queen looking down at a beggar.

"Grandmother left for Spain the same day Father threw you in here," she said smugly. She crossed her legs and swung her foot lazily. "Remember that retreat she mentioned? You helped her pack for the trip, remember?"

Fae's face was drained of color.

"No…"

Her grandmother had talked about that retreat for months. A spiritual journey to the mountains of northern Spain. Ten months of prayer, meditation, and pilgrimage.

Fae had helped her pack. She had folded Celeste's shawls and placed them carefully in the old leather suitcase. She had kissed her grandmother's cheek at the door.

She had not known — could not have known — that her parents would lock her away the very same day.

"For the next ten months," Fray continued with satisfaction, "Grandma won't be here to rescue you."

Something inside Fae shattered.

The little hope she had been clinging to — the tiny flicker that had kept her breathing through the dark hours — vanished completely.

She pressed her forehead against the dirt floor and wept.

Then her stomach churned violently.

A hot wave of nausea rose up her throat. She barely managed to turn her head before vomiting onto the ground.

Bitter yellow liquid splashed onto the packed earth. Even though she had not eaten in days, her body still found something to expel. The retching went on for several seconds, leaving her gasping and shaking.

"Ew!" Fray shrieked. She shot up from the chair and stumbled backward. "That is revolting!"

She waved her hand in front of her nose and moved toward the door.

But then she stopped.

Her hand hovered over the door handle.

A strange expression crossed her face.

Slowly, cautiously, Fray turned back toward Fae.

She sniffed the air carefully.

Once.

Twice.

Her eyes widened.

"You're pregnant."

Fae's entire body went cold.

"W-What?"

"You're pregnant," Fray repeated. This time her voice was lower, more certain. Her eyes had gone wide with something between shock and disgust.

"No… no, no, no!" Fae cried hysterically. She scrambled backward until her back hit the wall. Her hands flew to her stomach. "That's impossible!"

But deep down, terror crept into her chest.

She-wolves — especially Omegas — were naturally sensitive to such things. They could often detect pregnancies early through scent changes alone. The shift in hormones. The subtle sweetness in the air around a pregnant female.

And Fray was rarely wrong about anything concerning Fae.

"You disgusting b***h," Fray spat furiously. Her face twisted with rage. "Not only did you sleep around, but you came back carrying a bastard?"

She raised her leg and aimed a vicious kick toward Fae's stomach.

Instinct took over.

Fae curled around herself instantly, wrapping both arms around her abdomen. She tucked her knees to her chest and turned her back to the blow.

The kick landed painfully against her forearms instead of her belly.

Fray sneered down at her.

Even unwanted — even hated — unborn pups triggered powerful instincts in wolves.

A mother protected her child.

No matter what.

"Mother and Father need to hear about this immediately," Fray hissed. She spun on her heel, yanked the door open, and stormed out.

The door slammed shut.

The lock clicked into place.

Silence returned.

—

Fae sat there trembling.

Her arms still wrapped around her stomach. Her fingers pressed into her belly as if she could feel something there — a flutter, a heartbeat, anything.

Pregnant.

The word echoed endlessly in her mind.

A weak laugh escaped her lips.

Then she began crying again.

Everything in her life had fallen apart so quickly. Just weeks ago, she had still been trying to survive school gossip and family neglect. Now she was locked in a shed, accused of being a w***e, carrying the child of a man she could not even identify.

How had her life become this?

Slowly, Fae lowered her gaze to her stomach.

Tears rolled down her dirty cheeks.

"Don't worry, little one," she whispered softly. Her voice was barely a breath. "No matter how you came into this world… you're still my child."

Her fingers gently caressed her belly — a slow, circular motion.

"And I won't let you suffer the way I did."

For the first time in days, something flickered inside her eyes.

Determination.

She had to escape.

If not for herself —

Then for the life growing inside her.

A pregnant she-wolf could not survive long in conditions like this. No food. No water. No warmth. No medical care.

And she refused to let her baby die.

—

Back inside the Bliss mansion, Fray stormed through the front door and into the living room.

Her mother lounged lazily on the couch, flipping through a fashion magazine. Her feet were propped up on a velvet pillow. A cup of tea sat on the side table.

"Mother!" Fray exclaimed dramatically. Her voice echoed off the high ceilings. "You won't believe it! That b***h got herself knocked up!"

Farina immediately sat upright. The magazine slid off her lap and landed on the floor.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded. Her eyes narrowed. "Explain clearly."

"I said Fae is pregnant."

Farina stared at her daughter in horror.

Before she could speak again, a thunderous roar shook the house.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"

Both women flinched.

Maxwell Bliss stood near the entrance to the hallway. He had been in his study — had heard everything through the open door. His face was twisted with fury. His hands were balled into fists at his sides.

His powerful Alpha aura filled the room. It pressed down on Fray and Farina like a physical weight. The teacup rattled on its saucer.

Fray swallowed nervously. Her throat clicked.

"F-Fae is pregnant, Father."

"THAT DISGRACEFUL GIRL!"

Maxwell spun toward the back door. His heavy boots stomped across the hardwood floor. He grabbed his coat from the hook. His intention was clear — he was marching straight to the shed to deliver another beating.

But before he could take another step, the front doorbell rang.

Ding-dong.

The sound sliced through the tension.

Farina hurried to answer it, smoothing her dress as she walked. She plastered a polite smile onto her face and pulled the door open.

Standing outside was Commander Lasso — the Gamma of the entire Blue Moon Pack.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with silver-streaked hair and a scar across his left cheek. He wore his formal uniform: dark blue jacket, silver buttons, polished boots. His eyes — sharp and observant — swept over the interior of the Bliss home before settling on Farina's face.

Farina straightened instantly. Her back went rigid. Her smile became more respectful.

"Commander Lasso," Maxwell greeted stiffly, approaching from behind his wife. He forced his anger down and offered a shallow nod. "I hope there isn't a problem."

Lasso raised one eyebrow.

"I was about to ask the same thing," he said slowly. "Considering the shouting I heard from outside."

Maxwell forced an awkward smile. It did not reach his eyes.

"It's nothing serious. A family matter."

"Hm."

Lasso's gaze lingered on Maxwell for a moment longer than comfortable. He was not stupid. He had been a Gamma for twenty years. He had seen families hide dark secrets behind closed doors.

But he had no proof. And without proof, he could not act.

In the Blue Moon Pack, mistreatment of wolves — especially she-wolves and Omegas — was strictly forbidden. The Alpha had made that clear. Even privileged families like the Bliss family were not exempt from punishment.

Thankfully for the Bliss family, no evidence currently existed against them.

Lasso let out a slow breath.

"Well," he finally said, "I've come to announce that the pack is entering a state of emergency. Every member must gather immediately at the pack house."

Maxwell blinked. "State of emergency?"

"Border tensions with the Crimson Pack have escalated. The Alpha will explain more at the gathering."

Maxwell nodded slowly. "There was no need for you to come personally," he replied. "A wolf-link announcement would have sufficed."

"Normally, yes," Lasso agreed. He reached into his coat and pulled out several sealed envelopes. "But Second Lieutenant Michael requested that his letter be personally delivered."

He handed over the envelopes.

Maxwell accepted them quickly, tucking them under his arm.

"I'll take my leave now."

"The Moon Goddess bless you," Farina said politely, dipping her head.

Lasso turned and walked back down the path toward his black SUV. The engine started. The vehicle pulled away.

Once Lasso disappeared from sight, Maxwell's face darkened again.

"That slut will have to wait until we return," he growled. He shoved the envelopes onto the entryway table without looking at them. "Get ready. We leave in ten minutes."

The family quickly prepared to leave the mansion.

Farina rushed upstairs to change into something more formal. Fray reapplied her lipstick in the hallway mirror. Maxwell straightened his tie and muttered curses under his breath.

None of them noticed the envelopes sitting on the dining table.

None of them noticed the letters addressed to Michael — letters that might have contained questions about his missing sister.

They piled into the family car — Maxwell driving, Farina in the passenger seat, Fray in the back, scrolling through her phone.

As they pulled out of the driveway, Farina sighed dramatically and pressed a hand to her forehead.

"What did I do to deserve such a shameful daughter?" she lamented. "She isn't even seventeen yet."

"Wolfless. Worthless. And now a w***e," Maxwell snarled, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "When we get back, I'm sending her away. Pack or no pack."

Neither of them noticed the silent maid watching from the kitchen doorway.

Karissa.

She stood with her back against the refrigerator, a dish towel clutched in her hands. She had heard everything — the shouting, the accusations, the word pregnant.

Unlike the others in the household, Karissa had always been kind to Fae.

Karissa was an Omega herself. She had been born into a low-ranking family, married off to a minor Beta, widowed at thirty, and hired as a housekeeper by the Bliss family five years ago.

She understood the pain.

She understood humiliation.

She understood what it felt like to be looked down upon by people who had more money and higher rank.

And after overhearing Fray's announcement — after seeing the coldness in Maxwell's eyes — she could not ignore Fae's suffering any longer.

—

The moment the family's car disappeared down the gravel road, Karissa moved.

She hurried toward the kitchen and began gathering supplies.

A basket. A loaf of bread. A jar of soup — cold, but filling. A bottle of clean water. A small basin. A stack of towels. A clean nightgown.

She worked quickly, her hands steady despite the fear hammering in her chest.

If she got caught helping Fae, she would be fired. Possibly exiled. Possibly beaten.

But she did not care.

She tucked a small knife into her apron pocket — just in case — and slipped out the back door.

The guards were stationed at the front of the estate, as usual. No one watched the back. The Bliss family had grown complacent over the years. They did not think anyone would dare approach the shed from the rear.

Karissa crept through the garden, past the dormant rose bushes, past the old well, past the pile of firewood. The shed loomed ahead — dark and silent.

She glanced around. No one.

She knelt in front of the door and pulled a thin wire from her apron. The lock was old — cheap brass. She had picked it a hundred times during late-night visits to Fae over the years.

Click.

The lock opened.

Karissa pushed the door slowly, wincing at the creak of the hinges. She slipped inside and pulled the door mostly closed behind her — leaving a crack for light.

"Fae?" she whispered urgently. "Wake up."

A shape stirred in the corner.

Fae lifted her head slowly. Her eyes — red-rimmed and unfocused — blinked in the dim light.

"Karissa?"

"Yes, it's me."

Karissa knelt beside her quickly, setting the basket on the ground. Her eyes swept over Fae's condition — the dirt, the bruises, the hollow cheeks, the cracked lips.

The girl looked barely alive.

Karissa's heart ached.

"I heard you're pregnant," she said gently, unscrewing the lid of the soup jar. "You need to eat."

Tears instantly filled Fae's eyes.

No one had shown her kindness in days. No one had spoken to her without cruelty or disgust.

Karissa carefully helped her sit upright, supporting her back with one hand. Fae's body trembled like a leaf in the wind.

"Slowly," Karissa instructed, lifting a spoonful of soup to Fae's lips. "Small sips."

Fae opened her mouth.

The soup was cold — potato and leek, thick and hearty — but it tasted like heaven. The broth slid down her throat, warming her empty stomach for the first time in seven days.

Tears dripped into the bowl as Karissa fed her spoonful after spoonful.

Fae devoured everything desperately. The bread. The rest of the soup. The water — cool and clean and life-giving.

When she finished, Karissa set the bowl aside and dipped a towel into the basin of warm water.

"Hold still," she murmured.

She began cleaning Fae's face — wiping away the dirt, the tears, the dried blood from a cut on her forehead. She worked gently, carefully, as if Fae were made of glass.

Then she helped Fae out of her ruined dress and into the clean nightgown. She wiped down Fae's arms and legs with the damp towel, scrubbing away layers of grime.

For the first time in a week, Fae felt human again.

"Thank you," she whispered emotionally. Her voice cracked. "Thank you, Karissa."

Karissa smiled sadly. Her eyes were wet.

"You don't deserve this," she said. "None of this."

Among everyone in the Bliss mansion, Karissa was the only one who treated Fae like family. The two often completed chores together — scrubbing floors, washing laundry, folding linens — despite their different statuses.

In truth, Karissa was Fae's only real friend.

As Karissa prepared to leave, she squeezed Fae's hand. Her grip was warm and firm.

"Hold on a little longer," she whispered. "The family will be gone for hours. I'll come back tonight with more food and a blanket."

She paused at the door and looked back.

"You're not alone anymore."

The door closed.

The lock clicked.

But this time, the darkness did not feel quite so cold.

Fae curled up on the floor, one hand resting on her stomach, the other clutching the edge of the clean nightgown.

For the first time since being locked away —

She finally believed she might survive.