Reborn: Luna Takes It All Back

The Journey

Selena awoke to the stench of mould, her skull throbbing in time with the wagon’s wheels. She tried to rise, but her limbs refused her, heavy and unresponsive.

Moonlight filtered through the slats, painting fractured patterns across the hollow-eyed faces around her—women and children huddled close, silent tears streaking their cheeks. The youngest whimpered, a broken sound quickly hushed by trembling hands.

The air was thick with fear. Her wolf stirred, restless, claws scratching at the edges of her mind. How far had they taken her? Why were slavers so deep in the West? Why had no pack raised the alarm?

The rough boards bit into her skin as she shifted, splinters digging into her cheek. She pressed her forehead to the floor, breath fogging in the chill, and through the gaps in the wood, sought the stars. But the sky was unfamiliar—peaks loomed, their jagged silhouettes blotting out the constellations she had grown up under.

She whispered a prayer to the goddess, but the only answer was memory—Sif’s touch, Ray’s laughter, promises once whispered in the dark. The recollection cut sharper than any blade, tearing deeper than the shackles at her wrists.

Her wolf howled against the grief, pacing, pressing for strength. Selena held her chest as though she could keep herself from splintering apart. Why? What had I done to deserve their betrayal? Did none of it mean anything?

A lurch of the wagon threw her sideways; her head struck wood, and the world went black.

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When next she woke up, rough hands dragged her into another wagon. Numb but no longer insensate, she struggled until they bound and gagged her like the rest.

A group of men argued nearby, their voices low and clipped. One stepped forward—a man marked by three deep claw scars that carved his face from brow to lip, leaving him locked in a permanent scowl.

His gaze slid over the captives like a butcher weighing livestock.

“This all yer got?” His Eastern accent grated.

The slaver leader jerked a woman forward by her hair. “Do you know how hard it is to find stock in the West? Rogues on our heels every step. But look—healthy skin, good hips. If she can’t work the fields, she’ll fetch coin in the brothels.”

The woman trembled in his grip. Selena’s wolf snarled inside her, teeth bared, but her body stayed bound, trembling from the drug still in her veins.

Scarred Man circled the woman like a hawk. “Fine. I’ll take five women, four boys. Quickly now—I won’t linger with rogues in the territory.”

Selena’s ears caught on that word: rogues. Her chest tightened. Since when were rogues bold enough to roam here? Had she failed so completely as Luna? Or—worse—was no one watching because Ray had ensured they looked away?

“Get up, b***h!” a slaver barked, hauling Selena upright by her arms.

The Scarred Man’s gaze locked onto her. Selena met it head-on, unflinching. Her body was gagged, bound, weakened, but her spirit—her Luna’s spirit—would not break. She would not bow.

“Kneel, slave,” he ordered.

The command slammed into her like a physical blow. Her knees buckled. Her wolf howled, thrashing, trying to rise against the invisible chain, but the Alpha’s voice shackled them both. Pain lanced through her skull.

Selena gritted her teeth. No. No. A Luna bows to no one but her mate and her goddess. Inch by inch, breath ragged, she forced herself upright again.

The Scarred Man’s lips twisted into something cruel, the scars making his grin grotesque. “Defiant,” he murmured, almost amused. “I’ll enjoy breaking this one.”

He fisted her hair, jerking her head back until her neck strained. Fangs flashed as if to punctuate the promise. Selena’s eyes burned with fury, though her gag smothered every sound.

Satisfied, he shoved her back into line and turned to complete his transaction. Gold clinked. Captives were divided like chattel, shoved into a new wagon.

This one was cleaner, the wood oiled and reinforced, iron bars sealing its windows. Comfort, not for mercy, but for longevity. Slaves lasted longer when kept alive.

Selena pressed to the bars, searching for landmarks, but soon the forest gave way to jagged peaks. Cold seeped into the wagon. Mountains. Territory she did not know.

Escape would be near impossible here.

“Damn it,” she cursed inwardly, glaring at the rotten floorboards. Ray. Sif. What lies will you spin for the pack now? Will they weep for me, never knowing the truth?

A child beside her whimpered. Instinct forced her to soften, to press her bound hands against the girl’s back, murmuring through her gag until the child’s sobs quieted. Even in chains, she could not stop being Luna.

The wagon jolted to a halt. Men dragged them out, lined them up.

“Strip them,” the Scarred Man commanded.

Selena fought, but rough hands wrenched and tore. Cloth ripped, fluttering to the dirt. Cold air lashed against her skin.

Shame seared her cheeks. Sif had been the only man to see her bare, and even that memory now festered as betrayal. To stand naked here, among strangers, robbed of dignity—it was another wound layered atop the rest.

The captives huddled, arms crossed over breasts, trembling. Some sobbed openly, others stared blankly, souls already broken. Selena straightened her spine. She would not give him the satisfaction of her collapse.

The merchant paced down the line, appraising them like a farmer at the market. His eyes lingered on Selena, and his smile twisted into something cruel.

“Welcome,” he drawled, voice dripping with promise and malice, “to Helle.”