Reborn Luna: His Darkest Regret

The grand hall of Silvercrest Pack blazed with candlelight, and Selene Ashford was drowning in it. She stood at the far end of the servants' corridor, a tray of empty wine glasses balanced in hands that wouldn't stop trembling. Through the arched doorway she could see them—the wolves of Silvercrest in their silks and silver-threaded cloaks, laughing with their heads thrown back, drinking wine the color of blood. Celebrating the woman who would soon become their Luna as if the Moon Goddess herself had descended from the sky. Vivian Nightshade. The name coated Selene's tongue like ash. She'd been summoned here tonight to serve. Not as a guest—Omegas were never guests. She was here as a reminder of her place. A piece of furniture that breathed and bled and loved in silence while the man the Moon Goddess had chosen for her prepared to crown another. "Move faster, Omega." A Beta guard shoved her shoulder. The impact rattled her teeth. "The Alpha's toast is about to begin." Selene stumbled, caught herself against the stone wall, and kept walking. She'd learned a long time ago that falling was a luxury Omegas couldn't afford. The hall swallowed her. She moved between the long oak tables, refilling glasses with mechanical precision. Years of practice. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor where they belonged. Omegas didn't make eye contact. Omegas didn't speak unless spoken to. Omegas didn't exist—not really. They were shadows that cleaned up after the real wolves were done living. But the whispers followed her anyway. Look at her. The Alpha's rejected mate. Still serving wine like nothing happened. How pathetic. She should have left the Pack. What kind of wolf stays where she's not wanted? Selene's jaw tightened. Her hands stayed steady. She'd perfected the art of being nothing over the past three months, and she performed it now with the same quiet dignity she'd performed every humiliation. Three months. That was how long it had been since the Marking Ceremony. Since Kael Blackthorn had scented her and the bond had snapped into place like a key turning in a lock. For one breathless moment his wolf had surged forward and hers had answered. The Moon Goddess had spoken. The mate bond—that sacred, soul-deep connection every wolf dreamed of—had been real. And then Vivian had stepped between them. "Poor thing," she'd cooed, her voice dripping with manufactured sympathy. "The bond must be a mistake. An Omega? Mated to an Alpha? The Moon Goddess would never be so cruel to you, Kael." Kael had hesitated. That hesitation was the first crack in Selene's world. She'd watched it happen—watched the doubt flicker across his silver-gray eyes, watched his wolf retreat behind a wall of uncertainty—and she'd known, right then, that she was already losing. Now, three months later, that crack had become a chasm. Kael had never formally accepted the bond. He'd never formally rejected it either. He'd just pretended it didn't exist, and Selene, raised to believe that silence was survival, had let him. Tonight Vivian would be formally invested as Luna. Once that happened, the bond would be severed by default. A Chosen Luna's claim always superseded a fated mate's. Pack law. Tradition. The knife Vivian had been twisting in Selene's chest for three months. "Selene." The voice cut through the noise like a blade. She looked up. Vivian stood at the head of the hall, resplendent in a gown of crimson silk that clung to her curves. Her golden hair cascaded over bare shoulders, catching the candlelight and throwing it back tenfold. She had the smile of a queen surveying a kingdom she'd stolen and would never give back. Beside her, one hand resting possessively on the small of her back, stood Alpha Kael Blackthorn. Selene's wolf howled. The sound was primal, desperate—a scream from somewhere deeper than her throat. She forced it down, forced her face into the blank mask she'd perfected over eighteen years of being nothing. Her heart pounded. Her blood burned. But her expression stayed stone. "Yes, Lady Vivian?" Her voice came out steady. A small victory. She collected those like coins. Vivian's smile widened. She had the look of a cat who'd already caught the mouse and was just deciding how long to play with it. "I believe the Alpha's glass is empty. Do attend to him." The hall went quiet. Every wolf in Silvercrest knew what Selene was to Kael. What the Moon Goddess had intended. And every wolf was watching to see what would happen when the rejected mate was forced to serve the woman who'd stolen her place. Selene walked forward. Each step drove a knife deeper into her chest. The bond screamed at her—closer, closer, he's right there, our mate, our mate—and she swallowed the scream and kept walking. That was what Omegas did. They swallowed everything until there was nothing left. Kael's eyes met hers. For a heartbeat, something flickered in those silver depths. His jaw tightened. His hand curled into a fist on the table. The bond between them pulsed—a dying heartbeat—and Selene saw it. Saw him. The wolf who'd surged toward her at the Marking Ceremony. The wolf who'd recognized her as his. Still in there somewhere, buried beneath layers of Vivian's poison and Kael's own fear. Then Vivian laughed—a light, musical sound that tinkled like breaking glass—and the moment died. "The wine, Selene," Vivian said sweetly. "Don't keep your Alpha waiting." Selene poured. Her hands didn't shake. The wine didn't spill. She performed the task with the same quiet dignity she'd performed every cruelty, every small death, every silent assassination of her soul over the past three months. When she finished, she stepped back. "Will there be anything else, Lady Vivian?" Vivian tilted her head, studying Selene the way a predator studies prey. "Actually, yes. Since you're here..." She raised her voice, addressing the hall. "I have an announcement." Selene's blood went cold. Not the cold of the dungeon—something worse. The cold of knowing, with sudden and absolute certainty, that something terrible was about to happen. "As many of you know, I've spent the past several months investigating a matter of grave concern to our Pack." Vivian's voice dripped with practiced sorrow. She was a performer, and the hall was her stage. "It pains me to speak of it on such a joyous evening, but I cannot in good conscience remain silent." She produced a leather folder from beneath the table. The movement was smooth. Rehearsed. She'd been waiting for this. "This contains evidence of treason against Silvercrest Pack. Communications with the Ironvale Alpha. Detailed maps of our border defenses. A signed confession from a co-conspirator who has already been dealt with." The hall erupted. Gasps and murmurs. The scrape of chairs as wolves leaned forward, hungry for blood. Selene couldn't breathe. The air had turned to glass in her lungs. "The traitor," Vivian said, turning those beautiful, venomous eyes on Selene, "is standing in this room." Kael straightened. "Vivian. What are you saying?" "I'm saying, my love, that your former mate has been selling Pack secrets to our enemies." Vivian opened the folder and spread documents across the table like a merchant displaying wares. "Maps. Patrol schedules. The locations of our safe houses. All of it, traced back to one source." She pointed at Selene. The gesture was theatrical, almost lazy, as if the accusation was an afterthought. "The Omega." The word hit like a fist. Selene felt it in her chest, in her bones. "That's not true," she whispered. "I've never—" "Silence." Kael's voice was ice. He was looking at the documents now, his expression unreadable, and Selene felt the last thread of hope inside her chest snap. She'd spent three months believing—foolishly, desperately—that somewhere beneath the cold exterior, Kael knew her. Knew she could never do this. She'd been wrong. "Alpha, please." She took a step toward him. "You know me. You know I would never—" "I know nothing about you." He didn't look up from the papers. "I never did." The bond in Selene's chest began to tear. Not metaphorically. She could feel it—the sacred thread the Moon Goddess had woven between their souls—fraying, strand by strand, as the wolf she loved condemned her without a trial. "Guards," Vivian said, her voice ringing with authority. "Take the traitor to the dungeons. She will face the Council's judgment at dawn." Hands seized Selene's arms. Rough hands. Cruel hands. The guards' claws were half-extended, digging into her skin through the thin fabric of her dress. She didn't fight. What was the point? The only wolf who could have saved her was still staring at those forged documents, his jaw set, his eyes cold as winter stone. "Kael." Her voice broke on his name. "Please. Look at me." He looked. And in his eyes she saw nothing. No recognition. No bond. No memory of the night they'd first scented each other, when his wolf had surged forward and hers had answered, and for one perfect moment the world had made sense. "Take her away," he said. Vivian smiled. The smile of a woman who'd already won and was just enjoying the victory lap. The guards dragged Selene through the hall. Past the tables where wolves she'd grown up with—served with, bled with—sat in silence. Past the Beta who'd shoved her earlier, now looking anywhere but at her face. Past the Elders who knew. They had to know. An Omega could never have accessed those documents. The maps were too detailed. The handwriting too precise. The whole thing was a lie dressed up in a leather folder. No one spoke. No one moved. The great doors swung shut behind her, and the last thing Selene Ashford heard before the darkness swallowed her was the sound of Vivian Nightshade raising a glass. "To Silvercrest," the false Luna said. "And to justice." The wolves cheered. The wine flowed. The music swelled, and the celebration went on as if nothing had happened. As if an innocent girl hadn't just been dragged to the dungeons on forged evidence. As if the Alpha's true mate hadn't just been condemned to death by the woman who'd stolen her place. And somewhere in the cold stone bowels of the Pack house, Selene pressed her forehead against the iron bars of her cell and waited for the darkness to claim her. She didn't cry. She had no tears left. She just sat there in the silence, listening to the distant sounds of the celebration, feeling the bond in her chest fray strand by strand, wondering how everything had gone so wrong. Three months ago the Moon Goddess had chosen her. Three months ago she'd believed—truly believed—that her life was about to change. That she would be loved. That she would matter. She'd been a fool. And fools paid for their foolishness in blood. To be continued...