The Alpha's Luna Is Mine

You'll Regret This

Kiera's POV

“You don't need to hold my hand. I am still the Luna of this pack regardless of my offense. Leave me; I can walk,” I said to them, but they all kept a straight face, tightening their hold on my arm as though I was perhaps talking to myself.

“That's an order,” I said with my Luna authority, but it seems I am speaking to the wind. The most embarrassing part of it all is that they're not using a car; they intentionally want the entire pack to witness this embarrassment.

“Gerald, use the car!” I voiced out as I began to see my people staring in surprise.

He didn't even flinch; he kept walking towards the dungeon. At this point it is of no use to say a word; it's obvious he won't listen to a thing I say. Perhaps the minute he was given that order, he stopped seeing me as a Luna and saw me as a criminal. I didn't bow my head in shame; I held my head up high, staring back at anyone who stared at me. I am still the Luna.

This is so unexpected of the guards, the same group of people I treat as my family. We stay at the dining table and eat together; I drop every manner of authority. I laugh with them, discuss, and joke around with each of them. Just in a blink I turned to the enemy because his Alpha is back; my words don't matter any longer.

Perhaps they never saw me the same way I see them; perhaps it has always been a facade; perhaps it all was a pretense. Void filled my chest, tears threatening to drip down my cheeks, but I held it. As I looked at my people, I wasn't even walking; my shoes were crushing on the ground because I was being dragged like a criminal.

The pack members gathered, staring, murmuring words I refuse to hear. I promise one thing: I will take my revenge on all the guards, all of them. I don't mind whether they're part of this or not, but I promise all of them will taste the wrath of my vengeance.

“Gerald, you'll pay for this humiliation,” I muttered as I looked up at him. He still kept a straight face. One thing is sure: I won't stay long here.

Finally we arrived at the dungeon, and they both threw me like a piece of rag and closed back the iron bars.

He came back yesterday, and today I am already spending the night in the dungeon. If I had had a glimpse of what his return would be like, I could have made rituals and fasted every day for him to die in the war. But no, I had so many imaginations. I smiled whenever I thought of him. Every single day I prayed for his safety, for him to return into my arms, and now? My prayers have been answered, but then fate had the most painful things in store for me.

I slowly took off my shoes and straightened my toes. I pray Tasha dies from the pain. How can she do that to herself just to get back at me? Do not release the herbs and leaves to anyone; I will be the one to prepare them,” I mind-linked to Martha immediately. They will still need my help, whether she does or not. I won't stay here forever, and I will most definitely not be killed.

The face of the man from the other night I saw in the Alpha's mansion flashed into my head, and my heart began to beat heavily. What the hell is he doing here? I hope he isn't here to tell Preston anything. Did he trace me down to this pack? Is he a member of this pack? But then he didn't have our scent on him; no matter how drunk I was, I could have picked up the scent.

All manner of things kept running through my mind until daybreak. I didn't take any food last night, and I'm so damn hungry right now. I couldn't even sleep well; there are so many insects here. Likewise, I just hope I don't contract the virus and die before she dies; that would be so ridiculous.

“Hey,” I called out to a particular soldier sitting opposite the dungeon, puffing smoke in and out.

“I'm hungry; get me something,” I said to him, and he looked around and smirked, then continued going through his phone and smoking.

“Get me something to eat; didn't you hear that?” I asked, and he stood up and opened the dungeon and walked in, then held my jaw so tight as though he aimed at crushing my bones. I began to punch him hard with both hands, even kicking him, but it seemed to have no effect on him.

“You're a prisoner here; nobody cares about your status in the four corners of these walls,” he said, then began to take slow steps and finally hit my head hard on the wall. I swear I saw tiny stars flash through my eyes.

“This doesn't smell like or look like your mansion. I'm not putting on a maid's clothing, am I?” he asked, and I slapped him hard, and he raised my head and hit it hard on the wall again.

“You don't order me around, you don't ask for food, you plead for a drop of water to your mouth and for the leftovers on my plate. Did you get that?” he said with rage on his face as he looked directly into my eyes.

I spat in his face immediately, and he slapped me hard, and my nose immediately began to bleed. He left my jaw and held my neck tight enough to squeeze off the life in me, then held my hands upwards, and I felt a clip around my wrist. With my hands still hanging up, another tight, big clip was around my ankles.

“Ahhhhh” I screamed as I tried to squat, but I couldn't even bend my knees; tears dripped down my cheeks on their accord.

“Mark my words, you'll regret this,” I muttered as tears kept dripping down my cheeks.