Rebirth Of The Rejected Luna

The Mark Beneath The Skin

Chapter 9: The Mark Beneath the Skin

The council chamber was colder than usual. A late autumn chill had crept into the stone walls, but Rina Hollowbrook didn’t shiver. She stood tall, blood still crusted on her temple from her latest fight in the Alpha Trials. Two guards flanked her as they led her through the archway.

Kael was already there, seated in the high chair reserved for the acting Alpha. He wasn’t wearing his ceremonial black, just a fitted training shirt and boots still coated in dirt. But even stripped of royal polish, Kael commanded the room with a silence that said he didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard.

The moment she entered, his wolf stirred.

Rina could feel it.

Her own wolf bristled beneath her skin, muscles tensing involuntarily.

"Rina Hollowbrook," Elder Marten began, voice clipped. "Your latest match drew… attention."

“Is that a problem?” she asked coolly.

"No,” Kael said, silencing Marten with a single word. His gaze never left her. "It’s not. We just want to know who trained you."

Rina tilted her head. “You calling me here to compliment my footwork, Alpha?”

Kael’s eyes darkened.

She could feel his restraint—like a coiled spring under pressure. The wolf in him itched to react, to touch, to confirm what it already knew. She hadn’t worn perfume. She never did. But something in her scent kept lashing at him like an old memory clawing its way back.

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then:

“You fight like someone who lost everything.”

That struck a chord. One she hadn’t expected.

“Maybe I did,” she said quietly. “Maybe you helped.”

The room fell into a thick silence.

Kael stood. Walked slowly toward her.

“Where are you from?”

She met his gaze. “You wouldn’t know it.”

“I think I would.”

Kael’s voice had dropped, intimate now, meant only for her. She hated how her pulse reacted, how her body remembered the low rumble of it. He was taller now, broader than the boy she remembered standing in silence while her world burned. But his eyes, the shade of storm clouds and ash, were still the same.

“I’ll make this simple,” Kael said. “You entered under a false name. The council can tolerate ambition, but not lies. So I’ll ask again: who trained you?”

Rina didn’t blink. “A rogue. Who taught me what pain tastes like. What it means to survive.”

Marten bristled. “A rogue? You admit to consorting with outlaws?”

“I didn’t consort,” she snapped. “I learned. There’s a difference.”

Kael didn’t stop her. Didn’t interrupt. He was studying her more closely now, the lines of her face, the faint scar across her collarbone. The way she stood — back straight, weight distributed evenly on the balls of her feet, always ready to strike.

The resemblance wasn’t physical. It was spiritual. A mirrored wound.

“You remind me of someone,” he said finally.

Her chest tightened. “Maybe someone you failed.”

Their eyes locked.

The air shifted. Everything else faded — Marten, the guards, the cold — until it was just them. Something primal moved between them. His wolf pushed forward, hard enough that her own answered instinctively, a soft whine under her breath.

Kael took one step closer.

“Your scent,” he murmured. “It’s wrong. But familiar.”

She fought the pull. Fought the urge to lean into it.

Kael reached toward her face, slow and measured, fingers barely grazing the blood-dried cut above her brow. The second his skin touched hers, a jolt slammed through her spine.

Rina gasped. Stepped back.

So did Kael.

Their wolves had recognized each other.

But it was impossible. Adira was dead. And this girl, this furious, brilliant, impossible woman, couldn’t be her.

Rina clenched her fists. “Is this interrogation over?”

Kael gave her a long, unreadable look.

“Yes.”

She turned sharply and left the room without waiting to be dismissed.

Behind her, Kael remained still, hand frozen midair, as if her skin had burned something into his fingers.

Outside the chamber, Rina walked until the air no longer carried his scent.

She hated this. Hated how her wolf kept whimpering, restless and confused. For seven years, she'd silenced that part of herself. Had forced her body to forget what it meant to crave, to ache, to feel anything for Kael Evernight.

And now?

Now she couldn’t stop trembling.

In the shadows of the outer corridor, Ronan was waiting.

He saw her face, her shaking hands. The fury beneath the fear.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing,” she said tightly.

Ronan stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Then why do you look like you just saw a ghost?”

“Because maybe I did.”

Ronan studied her carefully. “He suspects you?”

“I think he suspects something. But he doesn’t know who I am. Not yet.”

“And your wolf?”

She shook her head. “Loyal to a ghost.”

He looked away. That small movement — the way his jaw tensed — said everything he didn’t say out loud.

She had trained with Ronan. Bled beside him. Laughed with him on nights when neither of them had anything left but fire and ash. And yet, her wolf — the oldest part of her soul — didn’t yearn for Ronan.

It still howled for the one who watched her die.

“You’re shaking,” Ronan said softly.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.” He moved in front of her, placing both hands on her shoulders. “This plan was supposed to be about revenge. About burying Adira. But if you’re falling for him again—”

“I’m not,” she hissed. “I’m not falling for him. I’m not that stupid.”

Ronan searched her eyes. He didn’t believe her.

Neither did she.

That night, Rina dreamed of fire. Of a scream trapped in her throat. Of Kael standing on the steps of the council chamber, watching as her parents were dragged away.

He had done nothing.

And yet her wolf still loved him.

She woke before dawn, heart hammering. She’d known this would be difficult. But she hadn’t counted on her wolf betraying her at the first brush of his touch.

This was supposed to be about vengeance.

And now?

Now it was getting personal.