A mismatch of moonlight

The courtyard tasted of dust and iron. Luna spat a mouthful of blood onto the cracked stone, her lungs burning as she circled the massive Enforcer. The other males of the pack stood in a wide arc, their breath hitching in the cold morning air as they watched the Alpha's daughter. With a predatory snap of her jaw, Luna lunged, sweeping the Enforcer’s legs and pinning him to the dirt before he could blink. ​A heavy silence fell over the yard. It wasn't broken by cheers, but by the slow, rhythmic tapping of fingers against stone. ​Luna looked up. Her father, Alpha Silas, stood on the high stone balustrade, his shadow stretching long and dark across the training grounds. He didn't look proud; he looked disgusted. He gave a sharp, two-finger beckon—a gesture for a dog, not a commander. When she reached the upper gallery, dripping sweat and vibrating with adrenaline, Silas didn't even turn to face her. ​"Look at you," he rasped, his voice like grinding gravel. "Covered in filth, brawling with soldiers as if you have no bloodline to protect. I am tired of this, Luna. I feel it is time you start behaving like a lady of this pack. Enough with this warrior attitude." ​Luna flinched as if he’d struck her. "Dad, I am your only child. I’ve bled for this dirt every day of my life so I can lead this pack when you're gone. How am I supposed to protect us from the Red Moon without being a warrior?" ​Silas finally turned, his eyes cold and devoid of moonlight. "You won't lead them with a blade, Luna. You’ll save them with a vow." ​They rode in a grueling silence to the edge of the Black Valley—the site where the Red Moon Pack had last descended. The ground was still scarred, littered with the charred remains of watchtowers and the shallow graves of fallen wolves. ​"Look at this, Luna," Silas said, gesturing to the wasteland. "We are a pack of warriors, but even warriors can be drowned by numbers. We cannot win this war alone. We need an alliance. Your suitor will be here tomorrow at noon. He is the Crown Prince of the Snow Pack." ​The blood drained from Luna’s face. "What? Father... you’re marrying me off?" ​She hauled on her reins, spinning her horse around and galloping back toward the territory. When she reached the manor, she collapsed into her mother’s arms in the dim hallway. ​"The Red Moon is at our throats," her mother whispered, pulling back to cup her daughter's face. "Your father chose the Snow Pack because their ice is the only thing that can stop the Red Moon's fire." ​Through a long hour of bitter persuasion, the fire in Luna began to dim.As the sun began to dip, the sound of heavy hooves returned to the courtyard. Silas was back. He walked straight past their quarters, his cape billowing like a shroud, and headed into the Council Chambers to finalize the price of her life. That night, she scrubbed the dried blood from her knuckles, watching the grey water swirl down the basin like the remains of her old life. She was no longer a commander; she was a ghost dressed in silk. She had been trained to protect the pack, and this—becoming a political sacrifice—was simply a different kind of battlefield.