HIS LOST LUNA

The Shed

Fae woke in agony.

Every inch of her body burned with a pain so deep that she could barely breathe through it. Her limbs trembled as she tried to sit up. The rough sheets beneath her skin felt like blades scraping against her bruises. For a few seconds, she did not remember where she was or why her body felt shattered. Then, the memories returned.

The underground club.

The pounding music. The flashing lights. The glass of whiskey her sister had forced into her hand.

The dimly lit motel hallway.

The door. Room 450.

His hands.

His weight.

Her screams.

The way no one came. The way no one heard. The way no one knew what happened behind that closed door.

A strangled sob clawed its way up her throat, but she bit it back immediately when she noticed he was still there.

Sleeping.

Peacefully.

His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths. His face — what she could see of it in the faint grey light slipping through the curtains — looked relaxed. Calm. As though he had not destroyed her.

As though the night before had been nothing more than a dream.

Moon Goddess, how could someone commit such evil and sleep afterwards?

Fae’s stomach twisted violently. Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. Fighting against the ache between her legs and the throbbing pain in her ribs, she slowly pushed herself off the bed.

The room spun around her.

For a terrifying moment, she thought she would collapse. The floor tilted. The walls seemed to close in. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the dizziness to pass.

When she opened them again, she steadied herself against the wall. Her fingers pressed into the cold, chipping paint. She swallowed down the nausea threatening to rise.

Her torn dress lay scattered across the floor like a cruel reminder of what had happened.

She stared at the shredded fabric. The straps were broken. The hem was ripped. The front was stained with something dark — blood, maybe. Or tears. Or both.

With shaking hands, she gathered the ruined pieces and held them close to her chest.

Nearby, draped over a wooden chair, was a large black trench coat. His coat.

She stared at it for a long moment. The fabric looked expensive. Thick. Warm. It smelled of cedarwood and smoke.

The scent made her stomach lurch again.

But she had no choice. Her own clothes barely covered anything anymore. If she walked out in just the torn dress, everyone would see. Everyone would know.

She pulled the coat around her shoulders. The sleeves hung past her hands. The hem brushed her knees. She wrapped it tight and fastened the single button at the collar.

Moving as quietly as possible, she crept toward the door.

Every step hurts.

Her thighs trembled with each movement. Fresh bruises bloomed across her skin — purple and black and yellow, scattered like terrible flowers. Her ribs ached with every breath. Her neck throbbed where he had bitten her.

Tears blurred her vision, but she forced herself forward.

She needed to leave before he woke up.

Her fingers found the door handle. Cold metal. She turned it slowly, slowly, wincing at the soft click.

The door opened.

She slipped through and pulled it closed behind her without looking back.

—

The motel hallway was empty.

Flickering lights buzzed overhead. The carpet beneath her bare feet was stained and threadbare. Somewhere far below, a clock chimed — four in the morning.

The celebration downstairs had long ended. She could hear nothing from the club now. No music. No shouting. No laughter.

Only silence.

She made her way down the stairs, one slow step at a time. Her legs threatened to give out twice. She gripped the railing so hard her knuckles turned white.

The main floor of the club looked like a battlefield after a war.

Abandoned glasses sat on every table. Some had tipped over, spilling dark liquid onto the floor. Discarded shoes lay under chairs. A single earring glittered near the bar. The candles on the tables had burned down to nothing — just small pools of wax and dying wicks.

Two guards slept near the entrance. Their heads rested on their arms. Their chests rose and fell in deep, drunken sleep. One of them snored loudly.

Fae stepped over their outstretched legs and pushed open the heavy door.

The cold night air hit her skin like a slap.

She shivered violently.

The coat helped, but not enough. Her feet were bare. Her hair was matted. Her body was broken.

She looked up at the sky.

The moon hung high and pale, distant and uncaring. Stars scattered across the darkness like scattered salt.

Fae wrapped the coat tighter and began to walk.

—

She did not know where else to go except the waterfall.

Her waterfall.

The hidden place she had discovered eight years ago, when she was only seven years old.

She had been running away after another one of her father's punishments. That time, he had locked her in the cellar for three days because she had accidentally broken one of her mother's favourite vases. When they finally let her out, her stomach was hollow, and her lips were cracked.

She had run into the forest without looking back.

That was when she found it.

A small waterfall, hidden behind a curtain of hanging vines and old oak trees. The water fell from a rocky ledge into a clear blue pool. Ferns grew along the edges. Flowers she had never seen before bloomed in patches of sunlight.

The waterfall had welcomed her with cool waters and quiet peace.

It was there she had made her very first friend.

A wolf.

A young male wolf, whom she believed was not that much older than her, with dark fur and intelligent red eyes. He had stumbled upon her crying near the water's edge. Instead of running away or attacking, he sat down beside her and stayed.

They had spent only a single evening together. He could not speak — not in human form — but he had rested his head on her lap and let her stroke his fur. He had chased away her tears with his gentle presence.

Then she left, and he disappeared into the trees and never came back.

But somehow, in those few hours, he had treated her with more kindness than most people ever had.

Ever since then, the waterfall has become her sanctuary.

Her escape.

And tonight, she needed it more than ever.

—

The journey through the forest felt endless.

The trees stood tall and dark on either side of her, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. Owls called to each other in the distance. Somewhere deep in the woods, a wolf howled — long and low and mournful.

Branches scratched against her exposed skin. Sharp stones cut into her bare feet. Thorns tore at the hem of the coat.

But she barely noticed.

The pain inside her chest drowned out everything else.

She walked for what felt like hours. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. Sweat mixed with the blood on her skin.

Once, she stumbled and fell to her knees. Sharp gravel bit into her flesh. She stayed there for a long moment, head bowed, tears dripping onto the dirt.

Then she pushed herself back up and kept walking.

By the time she finally reached the waterfall, the sky was beginning to lighten faintly with the earliest signs of dawn. The blackness had softened into deep grey. The stars had begun to fade.

The sight of the cascading water broke whatever little strength she had left.

Fae stumbled forward and collapsed at the water's edge.

Sobs ripped violently from her throat.

"No…" she cried. Her voice was raw, broken. "No… no… no…"

Her screams echoed through the empty forest. Birds took flight from the treetops. Somewhere, a fox yelped and ran.

She dragged herself into the freezing water.

The cold bit into her skin instantly — sharp and shocking and merciless. Her muscles seized. Her breath caught in her chest.

But she welcomed it.

Maybe if the water was cold enough, it would wash away his touch.

Maybe if she scrubbed hard enough, she could erase the memory of his hands on her body.

Maybe she would stop feeling dirty.

Fae submerged herself completely beneath the water.

The world disappeared. All sound faded. All light vanished. There was only cold and dark and the frantic beating of her heart.

She stayed under until her lungs burned for air.

When she resurfaced, she clawed desperately at her skin.

She scrubbed her arms. Her shoulders. Her stomach. Her thighs. She dug her nails into every place he touched and scraped until the skin turned red and raw.

Tears mixed with the waterfall. Broken cries escaped her lips.

She hated herself for surviving.

Hated herself for being weak.

Hated the cruel fate that always seemed to find her, no matter how hard she tried to be good.

"What am I supposed to do now?" she whispered hoarsely to the heavens.

Her voice cracked.

"Moon Goddess… please tell me what I'm supposed to do."

The forest remained silent.

The waterfall continued to fall — indifferent, eternal, unmoved by her suffering.

The moon offered no answer.

—

Hours passed.

Fae sat curled beneath the waterfall, arms wrapped around her knees, chin resting on her folded arms. The water poured over her head and shoulders, cold and constant.

The trembling sobs slowly faded into numb silence.

Her mind wandered endlessly toward the people waiting at home.

Her father, Maxwell. His cold eyes. His heavy hands. The belt he kept looped through his trousers.

Her mother, Farina. Her curled lips. Her turned-away face. The words she had spoken the day Fae was born: Take that demon away from me.

Fray. Her twin. Her tormentor. The sister who smiled while she hurt.

What would they say when they saw her?

Would they believe her?

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

No.

Of course, they would not.

They never did.

When Fray had pushed her down the stairs at twelve, Fae's parents had believed Fray's story that Fae had tripped. When Fray had spread rumours that Fae was sleeping with older wolves, the pack had believed every word. When Fray had stolen Fae's first love — a sweet Beta boy named Tomas — Fray had made sure everyone thought Fae was the villain.

No one ever believed Fae.

Not once.

Still, despite everything, she knew she had to go back.

Running away would only make things worse. Her father would send patrols to find her. He would drag her home in chains. The punishment would be ten times worse.

Besides, where else could she go?

She had no wolf. No mate. No power. No money. No friends outside the pack.

If she left Blue Moon territory, she would be a rogue. Rogues had no protection. No home. No pack to feed them. They were hunted like animals by border patrols from every territory.

She would not survive a week.

So she had to go back.

—

By the time the sun began rising properly, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink and soft lavender, Fae forced herself to stand.

Her body screamed in protest.

Her legs wobbled. Her head spun. Fresh blood trickled from a cut on her foot.

She stumbled out of the water and onto the muddy bank. Her wet clothes clung to her. The coat — heavy and soaked — weighed her down like chains.

She wrung out her hair as best she could and began the long walk home.

The journey was a blur of pain and exhaustion.

She nearly collapsed several times. Once, she had to stop and lean against a tree for ten minutes just to catch her breath. Another time, she threw up behind a bush — bile and stomach acid burning her throat.

But eventually, the familiar sight of the Bliss mansion came into view.

The house stood at the edge of the pack's main village, surrounded by tall iron gates and manicured hedges. It was a large estate — two stories, white columns, a wraparound porch. The Bliss family had been wealthy for generations.

To anyone looking from the outside, it looked like a home.

To Fae, it looked like a prison.

Dread settled heavily in her stomach.

She walked up the gravel path. Each crunch of stone beneath her feet sounded like a drumbeat announcing her arrival.

The front doors were heavy oak, carved with the Bliss family crest — a howling wolf beneath a crescent moon.

She pushed them open.

—

The moment she stepped inside, she knew something was wrong.

The entire room was silent.

There is no clinking of dishes from the kitchen. No soft humming from the maids. There are no footsteps on the stairs.

Just silence. Heavy and thick and suffocating.

Her father sat rigidly in his favourite armchair. His hands rested on the armrests. His jaw was tight. His eyes — cold and grey like winter storms — fixed on her the moment she entered.

Beside him sat her mother, Farina. Her back was straight. Her hands were folded in her lap. Her expression was cold — not angry, not worried, just… unimpressed. As though Fae had done nothing more than track mud onto the carpet.

Fray leaned against the wall near the fireplace. Her arms were crossed. Her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile.

They had been waiting for her.

Fae’s throat tightened instantly.

She could feel their eyes on her — on the coat, on her bare feet, on her wet hair, on the bruises peeking out from her collar.

"A-ah…" she stammered weakly. Her voice came out like a whisper. She lowered her gaze to the floor. "Moon greetings, Father."

Maxwell did not return the greeting.

"Where are you coming from?"

His voice was dangerously calm. The kind of calm that came before an explosion.

Fae swallowed hard. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

"From a waterfall."

Fray let out a mocking scoff.

"Liar," she spat. Her voice dripped with venom. "Mother, she told me she was going to the restroom last night. Then she disappeared completely. She knew we were supposed to leave together afterwards."

Fae clenched her trembling fingers tightly around the coat.

"I'm telling the truth."

"Fae." Her father stood slowly from his chair. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with the build of a former warrior. "I will not ask again. Where are you coming from?"

Fear crawled down her spine like cold fingers.

"I really did go to the waterfall," she whispered.

Technically, she was not lying. She simply did not specify which waterfall. There were four known waterfalls within the pack territory. Hers remained hidden. No one knew about it except her.

Fray’s eyes narrowed cruelly.

"Oh, really?" She pushed off from the wall and took a step forward. "And did the waterfall give you a man's coat, too?"

Before Fae could react, Fray lunged.

Her hands grabbed the collar of the trench coat. She ripped it open with one violent yank. Buttons flew across the room. The heavy fabric fell from Fae's shoulders and pooled at her feet.

The room fell silent.

Gasps.

Fae stood in the torn remains of her dress. The shredded fabric barely covered her chest. The hem ended mid-thigh. Her bruises — purple, black, yellow — covered her arms, her shoulders, her ribs. Bite marks dotted her neck and collarbone. Hickeys bloomed like dark flowers on her throat.

Everything was exposed.

Farina gasped softly. Her hand flew to her mouth. Then, just as quickly, she turned her face away in disgust. She could not even look at her own daughter.

Fae instinctively crossed her arms over herself. Shame and panic flooded her chest. She tried to cover herself, but there was too much damage. There are too many marks. There are too many bruises.

"You disgusting child," Farina whispered.

Fae’s eyes widened. Tears pricked at the corners.

"No… Mother, please—"

"You have always been a liar."

Her father's voice boomed through the room. It shook the walls. It rattled the windows.

Fray flinched back slightly, even though the rage was not directed at her.

Maxwell stepped forward. His hand went to his waist. His fingers found the belt looped through his trousers.

"But this," he continued, unbuckling the leather strap, "this is the greatest disgrace you have ever brought upon this family!"

The belt came free. He folded it in half. The leather creaked in his grip.

Before Fae could speak again, he raised his arm.

The first strike landed across her shoulders.

The sound cracked through the room like a whip.

Fae screamed.

Pain exploded across her back. White-hot. Blinding. She stumbled forward, but her father followed.

The second strike hit her legs. She felt the leather bite into her thighs.

The third wrapped around her ribs. She doubled over, gasping.

Already weakened from the assault — from the cold water, from the long walk, from the hours of crying — her body could no longer endure. Her knees buckled. She crashed hard onto the floor.

"Father…" she cried weakly. Her voice was barely a whisper. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Please… I'm not lying…"

Another strike.

"I was r***d!"

The words echoed through the room.

Silence.

For one brief second — just a heartbeat — everything stopped. Fray's smile faltered. Farina's eyes widened. Maxwell's arm hung in the air.

Then Maxwell's face twisted into something darker.

"I will not listen to your filth!"

The belt came down again. Harder this time.

Pain exploded across her back. Again. Again. Again.

Fae curled into herself. She wrapped her arms over her head. She pressed her body into the cold floor. Sobs ripped from her throat — loud and ugly and desperate.

Her father's rage poured down upon her like a storm.

Fray watched from the corner. Her arms were crossed again. Her smile had returned, colder than before. She tilted her head slightly, enjoying the show.

Farina remained silent. Her face was turned away, but she did not leave. She did not stop him.

Not one person tried to stop him.

Eventually, Maxwell stepped back. His chest heaved. His face was flushed with exertion and fury.

He looked down at Fae's trembling body.

Disgust filled his eyes.

"Throw this shameful thing into the shed," he ordered coldly. His voice was flat now — all the rage drained out, leaving only contempt. "She is not to be given food or water."

Fae’s chest tightened painfully.

She tried to lift her head, but her neck would not obey. Her body had given up.

Farina finally looked at her again. Her daughter. The child who had almost killed her during birth. The child she had hated from the first moment.

There was no compassion in her gaze.

Only disappointment.

"This is the greatest disgrace you have ever brought upon this family," she said icily. Each word was a knife. "I curse the day I gave birth to you."

The words hurt more than the beating.

Fae felt something crack inside her chest. Something she did not know was still whole.

A maid stepped forward.

Fae recognized her. Her name was Greta. She was a retired warrior — strong, broad-shouldered, with iron-gray hair and hands like steel. She had never been kind to Fae. Not once.

Greta grabbed Fae by the hair.

Fae cried out weakly as her head was yanked back. Then Greta started dragging her across the floor.

The hardwood scraped against Fae's bare skin. Her heels left faint trails of blood. She tried to grab onto something — a table leg, the doorframe — but her fingers were too weak.

Fray watched her pass. Their eyes met for a moment.

Fray smiled.

Then Fae was pulled outside.

—

The shed stood behind the main house, hidden from view by a row of old pine trees. It was a small building — no windows, a single steel door, a roof made of corrugated metal.

Originally, it had been built to imprison rogue wolves temporarily before execution.

Soundproof walls.

Thick enough to muffle screams.

The door had a heavy lock on the outside and no handle on the inside.

No one outside could hear what happened within. But whoever was trapped inside could hear everything happening outside. Every footstep. Every conversation. Every laugh.

The perfect place to bury someone alive without technically killing them.

Greta yanked the door open. Rusty hinges screamed.

Then she threw Fae inside.

Fae's body slammed violently against the stone wall.

A sharp crack of pain shot through her ribs. Something shifted inside her chest. She gasped — a choked, wheezing sound — and collapsed onto the floor.

Before she could recover, the heavy door slammed shut behind her.

Darkness consumed the room instantly.

Complete. Total. Absolute.

Fae could not see her own hand in front of her face. She could not see the walls, the floor, the ceiling. There was only blackness.

The lock clicked into place outside.

Footsteps retreated. Greta was gone.

—

Fae remained collapsed on the cold floor for a long time.

She did not know how long. Minutes. Hours. Time lost all meaning in the dark.

Her body trembled violently. The cold seeped up from the stone floor into her bones. Her wet clothes clung to her skin, chilling her further.

Everything hurts.

Her back — raw and bleeding where the belt had struck.

Her ribs — sharp pain with every breath.

Her neck — the bite mark throbbing like a second heartbeat.

Her heart — shattered into pieces she could not gather.

Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself upright onto her knees.

The movement sent fresh waves of agony through her body. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. She tasted blood.

The silence inside the shed felt suffocating.

No wind. No birds. No insects. Just the sound of her own breathing — ragged and shallow — and the thundering of her own heart.

Outside, she could faintly hear voices.

Muffled, distant, but there.

The maids, probably. Going about their morning chores. Sweeping the porch. Watering the garden. Laughing about something one of them had dreamed.

Normal life, continuing on as though her world had not just fallen apart.

Tears streamed silently down her cheeks once more.

She pressed her hands together. Her bruised fingers interlaced. Her knuckles ached.

Despite everything. Despite the cruelty. Despite the hatred directed toward her. Despite the belt and the words and the cold and the dark.

One painful truth remained.

She still loved them.

Her father. Her mother. Even Fray.

Somewhere deep inside herself, buried beneath the pain and the fear and the shame, Fae continued believing that in their own twisted way, her parents cared for her.

Maybe that belief was the only thing keeping her sane.

Maybe if she stopped believing it, she would have nothing left at all.

She lifted her tear-filled eyes toward the ceiling. There was a tiny crack in the roof — so small that she had almost missed it. Through that crack, a single sliver of grey light filtered down.

The moon had set. Dawn had come.

But she prayed anyway.

"Moon Goddess," she whispered. Her voice was barely a breath. Raw. Broken. "Please calm their anger."

Her voice cracked.

"And please… let Grandmother come."

She waited in the darkness.

And the darkness waited back.