Little Luna: ECLIPSE-BOUND

Chapter 4

Liora’s bare feet pounded against the forest floor, each step sending jolts of pain through her exhausted body. Branches whipped across her face and arms, leaving fresh welts atop old scars. The thin white shift hung in tatters from her frame, torn further by the desperate leap through the study window. Glass shards had sliced her left calf, and warm blood trickled down her leg, leaving a faint crimson trail that any wolf could follow. But she could not stop. Not yet.

Behind her, the howls of the Eclipse Pack rose like a nightmare symphony. Thorne’s alpha command thundered through the night: “Find her! The Little Luna belongs to me—alive!”

The mate bond pulsed in her chest like a rotten tooth—faint, frayed at the edges, but stubbornly intact. No rejection words had been uttered. No final severance. Only betrayal and violence had poisoned it. With every ragged breath, she felt echoes of Thorne’s fury, his wound throbbing in sync with hers. And worse… she felt the distant heat of his body seeking solace in another.

Even now, as she ran for her life, the bond fed her visions. Luciana’s lithe form beneath him in his chambers, claws raking his back as he thrust into her with punishing force. Thorne’s growls of release mingled with curses aimed at the “defective mate” who had dared draw his blood. Each moan, each slap of flesh, sent a fresh stab through Liora’s soul. The golden thread between them blackened further, feeding the shadows coiling in her veins.

The Eclipse Shadow Curse awakens, a feminine voice—her mother’s?—whispered in her mind. Betrayal is its nourishment. Take what they owe you.

Liora stumbled over a root, catching herself on a moss-covered trunk. Her vision blurred with tears and moonlight. The silver dagger remained clutched in her right hand, its blade still stained with Thorne’s blood. The shadowroot infusion made the wound burn with wolfsbane fire, slowing his healing. She hoped it hurt like hell.

Twelve years of torment flashed before her eyes as she pushed onward. The day her parents died: the old Alpha’s kind rule shattered by Thorne’s coup. Her father’s head rolling across the ceremonial stones. Her mother’s final words: “Hide the blade. When the moon darkens, let the shadows claim what is yours.” Years in the dungeons—starvation that made her ribs protrude, whippings that left her back a lattice of silver scars, casual violations stopped only by her small size and quick reflexes. Beta Garrick’s hands on her body just nights ago. The mockery. The endless “Little Luna” taunts.

She had been nothing. Now, the goddess had made her everything to the one wolf who despised weakness most.

A new howl split the air—closer. Hunters.

Liora veered left, deeper into the forbidden northern wilds where even Eclipse wolves rarely ventured. Ancient trees loomed taller here, their canopies blocking most moonlight. Shadows thickened, responding to her presence. She whispered a silent prayer and let the curse guide her. Cool darkness wrapped around her like a cloak, muffling her footsteps and scent. For the first time, she felt her small body grow lighter, faster. Strength stolen from Thorne’s wound coursed through her limbs.

But the price came swiftly. A wave of dizziness hit her. The curse drained her life force in exchange. Her heart stuttered. She pressed on.

Hours blurred. The forest grew denser, wilder. Rivers she crossed left her soaked and shivering. Thorns tore at her exposed skin. Hunger gnawed sharper than any wound. Yet the mate bond refused to let her forget. Every time Thorne buried himself in Luciana or another willing she-wolf—using them to drown the unwanted pull toward his fated mate—the bond weakened further. Liora felt it as physical pain: sharp tugs in her chest, nausea, a hollow ache between her legs that mirrored his pleasure twisted into her torment.

She hated how her body still responded faintly to the bond. Unwanted heat bloomed low in her belly despite the revulsion. The goddess’s cruel joke.

“Over here!” A male voice shouted. “I smell blood!”

Three hunters burst through the undergrowth—Beta Garrick leading them, his face twisted in savage glee. Two enforcers flanked him, claws extended, eyes glowing gold in the darkness.

“There’s the little defect,” Garrick snarled. “Alpha’s going to reward us well for bringing you back broken and bleeding.”

Liora backed against a massive oak, dagger raised. Shadows writhed at her feet. “Stay away.”

Garrick laughed. “Still defiant? After stabbing your mate? You’ll wish you’d accepted his offer to be his breeder.” He lunged.

She moved faster than she ever had. The curse surged. Her small hand slashed the dagger across his forearm. Shadow essence exploded from the cut, burrowing into his skin like living veins. Garrick screamed as his strength visibly drained—muscles weakening, wolf retreating. One enforcer grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms. His hot breath reeked of blood wine.

“Hold still, b***h. I’ll take a taste before we deliver you.”

His hand shoved between her thighs, rough fingers probing. The bond flared in protest—Thorne’s distant rage at another male touching what was his. Even poisoned, the alpha possessiveness burned through.

Liora screamed. Power detonated.

Shadows erupted from her body like midnight tentacles. They wrapped around the enforcer’s throat, siphoning his life force. He gurgled, collapsing as his skin grayed. The second enforcer shifted partially, lunging with fangs bared. Liora ducked, driving the dagger into his side. More shadows fed.

Garrick, weakened but still dangerous, backhanded her hard. Stars exploded behind her eyes. She tasted blood. But she rolled away, scrambling to her feet. The curse whispered victory even as her own knees buckled.

“Run all you want, Little Luna,” Garrick spat, clutching his arm. “The Alpha will hunt you himself soon enough. The bond won’t let you hide forever.”

She fled again, the forest swallowing her. Behind her, the hunters’ howls grew fainter. But the damage was done. Exhaustion crashed over her like a tidal wave. The temporary power boost from siphoning faded, leaving her hollow and trembling. Blood loss from her cuts and the glass wound made the world spin.

Dawn approached, gray light filtering through the canopy. Liora’s steps slowed to a stumble. The northern border. She could feel it—the air grew heavier, charged with different magic. Shadowveil territory. Neutral ground turned dangerous by old rivalries. Stories spoke of a hybrid alpha there: Riven Nightshade, half lycan, half demon. A monster even Thorne feared to provoke openly.

Perfect. Anywhere but back.

She collapsed against a boulder near a small stream, dipping her hands into the icy water to clean her wounds. The dagger she cleaned meticulously, the blade seeming to drink the blood hungrily. Reflections danced on its surface—her mother’s face, then Thorne’s furious amber eyes, then a new pair: crimson, ancient, burning with demonic fire.

The bond tugged sharply. Thorne was healing, but slowly. She felt his wolf snarling in frustration, demanding its mate. His repeated betrayals with other females kept the bond from strengthening, turning it into a chain that chafed both. Good. Let him suffer.

Liora allowed herself a bitter smile. “I am no broodmare,” she whispered to the water. “And I will never be yours.”

Visions from the curse assaulted her as she rested. Flashes of an ancient eclipse—her bloodline, women who siphoned power from unworthy mates, who toppled tyrants or became them. The price: shortened lifespan, madness if the shadows consumed too much. Balance required a true mate bond, pure and reciprocal. Something Thorne could never offer.

Hours passed. She caught a few fish with her hands, eating them raw for strength. The forest sounds shifted—birds quieter, predators more cautious. Something watched her.

By midday, fever set in from the untreated wounds. Infection? Or the curse’s backlash? Liora shivered despite the warmth, curling into a hollow beneath a fallen log. Sleep claimed her in fits, haunted by dreams of Thorne pinning her down, his body claiming hers while shadows devoured him from within.

A distant roar woke her—Thorne’s howl, carrying across miles through the bond. He was coming. Not personally yet, but his elite trackers.

Liora forced herself up. Every step was agony. The shadows helped, cloaking her, but they drained her faster now. She crossed a ravine on shaky legs, the stream below rushing white. One slip and she would fall to her death.

Halfway across a narrow ledge, the trackers found her again.

Four wolves this time, shifted and massive. They snarled, circling. The largest—Garrick again, partially healed—lunged.

Liora fought like a cornered shadow beast. Dagger flashing. Shadows whipping. She wounded two, siphoning enough strength to send one tumbling into the ravine. But Garrick caught her leg, claws sinking deep. Pain exploded. She stabbed downward, catching his shoulder. He howled but didn’t release.

“You’re coming back,” he growled through the shift. “Alpha will chain you to his bed until you swell with his pups.”

Terror and rage fueled her. The curse peaked. A burst of pure eclipse energy erupted. Shadows blinded the remaining trackers. Liora wrenched free, kicking Garrick’s muzzle and scrambling up the opposite side.

She ran blindly now, vision tunneling. Blood poured from her leg. The bond screamed—Thorne feeling her distress, his wolf torn between fury and unwanted concern. She felt him push another female away mid-act, distracted by the pull. Small victory.

The trees changed. Darker bark, glowing runes carved into some trunks. Shadowveil land. The air tasted of brimstone and old power.

Liora’s legs gave out at the edge of a moonlit clearing. She fell to her knees, then face-down into soft moss. The dagger slipped from her fingers. Consciousness faded.

Footsteps approached—heavy, deliberate. Not wolf paws. Boots.

A deep, resonant voice cut through the haze. “What fragile little thing has wandered into my territory?”

Strong arms lifted her. She caught a glimpse through slitted eyes: tall, powerfully built male with midnight hair that seemed to absorb light. Subtle demonic horns curved back from his temples, partially hidden. Crimson eyes glowed with lycan gold flecks. His scent—smoke, night-blooming flowers, and raw dominance—wrapped around her.

The mate bond with Thorne flickered weakly in protest.

A new thread, stronger and darker, began to form. Hybrid. Dangerous. Hers?

Riven Nightshade’s voice rumbled against her ear as he carried her. “Easy, little shadow. You’re safe now… for the moment.”

Liora’s last thought before darkness took her fully was simple: the chains were not yet broken. But perhaps new ones—far more tempting—awaited.