The Alpha's Lost Luna

3

Liz

My stomach growled with an intensity I was all too familiar with. I had been resigned — more like confined — to my room for the rest of the evening after completing my chores.

The party was in full swing below, and I was not allowed to show my face. Not to participate. Not to eat. Not to dance. Not even to walk to the bathroom. The consequences if I were caught would be severe.

I wondered how creative Luna Faye would be with it tonight. Would she beat me? Probably. Would she add additional tasks to my already overflowing list of chores? That was a given. Would she take away my meals for however long she wished? Who knew... would she bind me to the stockades in the courtyard for all to see? That one seemed particularly appealing to her.

We rarely had prisoners here. Occasionally, a rogue who had cared to cross into the territory without permission, or a vampire foolish enough to attack and get captured. But those were always kept in the cells beneath the packhouse.

The stockades were reserved for something else entirely. A more... humiliating form of punishment. Punishment reserved for pack members to ensure they learn their lesson and their place.

I curled my knees up to my chest and clenched my jaw to stave off the growing hunger gnawing at my insides. I hadn't been allowed to grab food before being ordered to my room earlier that evening. I usually kept dinner rolls or small pieces of bread that I had stashed in my apron earlier in the day for moments like this. But those had long since been devoured.

They had been partying for hours now. The sun had set so long ago that I was certain it was late enough to be considered morning. The clock in my room had stopped working a few days ago, leaving me with no real sense of time anymore.

I turned the page in my book, hoping to get lost in the fantasy world of a prince and princess. I had read this story so many times that parts of it were nearly memorized. But it was one of the only possessions I had been allowed to keep.

In the story, the prince adored the princess. Protected her. Cherished her. I wished for that kind of love. The devotion they showed each other made my chest ache with envy. Yet... I couldn't stop reading it.

My stomach growled again. I worried my bottom lip between my teeth. Surely, I could be quiet enough. I was fast. I have learned how to move silently over the years. How to make myself small, unseen, forgettable. I could sneak down to the kitchens and grab something — anything — and make a quick escape before anyone noticed.

Before common sense could stop me, I slammed my book closed.

Hunger had won.

My thin nightgown slid down my thighs as I stood, and I tugged the hem back into place. I glanced at my reflection in the broken floor-length mirror against the wall. I had no curve that was desirable. My clothes were tattered and ripped. My hair was long brown and wavy. My eyes, a usual pale shade of green, were dull and lifeless. My freckles stood out in a wild pattern on my face of milky skin.

I stared at my reflection, barely even recognizing myself. I hated it.

The mirror had once belonged to Gloria. She used it when she sewed costumes and gowns for the pack. Now it showed a thin girl with tangled wavy hair and pale green eyes that looked far too tired for someone my age. Too run down.

I eyed my appearance again and sighed when my eyes glanced at my feet. Barefoot it is.

Slowly, carefully, I cracked my door open and peeked into the hallway. I called on my wolf and took several deep breaths through my nose. Scenting. Listening. The corridor remained empty. When I detected nothing unusual, I opened the door wider and slipped outside.

The scents hit me immediately. Roasted meat. Fresh bread. Sweets dripping with sugar and fruit. My stomach clenched painfully. I pressed a fist against it, hoping it wouldn't betray me with another loud growl.

The party below was alive with noise. Werewolves were loud and rambunctious even on a normal day. Add in alcohol to the mix and the entire pack turned into a chaotic storm of laughter, shouting, and music.

I moved quickly down the familiar paths of the packhouse. I knew these hallways so well I could walk them with my eyes closed.

Every creak in the floor made me freeze. Every distant voice made my heart pound. Invisible. That was the goal.

When I finally reached the kitchen, relief flooded through me. Finding it empty and devoid of people, I stepped inside. Several trays of food had already been discarded on the counter. I swiped a plate and began stacking it quickly with slices of roasted meat still glistening with juices, soft rolls warm against my fingers, and a handful of berries, and a few pieces of fruit. My gaze landed on a half-eaten slice of cake.

I stared at it for a long moment. I hated scraps. Hated eating the leftovers someone else had abandoned. Hated being so unwanted in a pack that refused to let me leave, yet treated me like something less than human. It was partly why my frame was so thin. Why I was weaker than everyone else. Why I was always hungry.

Deciding that tonight, I didn't care, I placed the half-eaten slice of cake on my place. Then I ran. I slipped out the back door into the gardens.

The night air wrapped around me as I wove along the paths. Bushes of roses and flowering plants surrounded the stone walkways, their fragrances drifting softly on the breeze. The gardens were beautiful, almost painfully so. I clutched my plate closer to my chest as I pushed through the final row of shrubs and reached the cliff's edge.

The ocean stretched endlessly beyond it. A narrow stone path carved into the cliffs wound down toward the beach below. Hardly anyone comes down here anymore. But I did. Often. This place was where I came to think. To breathe. To pretend I belonged somewhere.

My bare feet moved easily over the rock and sand as I trotted down the winding path. The waves grew louder the closer I got, crashing rhythmically against the shore. A smile spread across my face — rare and fragile. The wind tugged at my hair, carrying the salty scent of the sea.

As much as this pack despised me... as much as I hated living here... the land itself felt like home. Not the people. Never the people. But the water. The sand. The cliffs. Like I was meant to be here. Nature welcomed me in ways the pack never had.

I dug my toes into the cool sand and climbed onto a high rock overlooking the ocean. Then I began to eat.

The meat was tender and rich, bursting with flavor. A soft moan escaped me before I could stop it. They had spared no expense for tonight's celebration. No detail was overlooked. No luxury denied. Not when it came to Roan Steele's return. The entire pack had waited years for him to come home.

My wolf whimpered softly inside of me. We wanted to be loved like that. We wanted a home. To be celebrated. To be cherished. Werewolves weren't meant to be solitary creatures. And yet I had spent most of my life feeling completely and utterly alone.

My watery gaze drifted out across the ocean as my thoughts wandered.

Somewhere out there... my mate existed. I had a family out there. I knew it. There had to be someone meant for me. Someone who would love me. Someone who would see me. I imagined what he might be like. Tall, strong, handsome, kind. He would laugh easily and smile often. He would spin me around in the kitchen while dinner cooked. He would tuck flowers into my hair and listen patiently while I rambled on about the latest fantasy novel I had read.

A soft smile ghosted my lips. He would hold me. Protect me. Love me... at least... I hoped so.

I continued nibbling at my food, savoring every bite, prolonging the moment before I had to return to my room. The punishment waiting for me would be worth it. The quiet. The air. The freedom. Then suddenly... I froze.

A strange charge prickled across the back of my neck.

I glanced toward the sky. Clear. No clouds. No storm. Yet the feeling remained. My wolf stirred uneasily beneath my skin.

Someone was watching me.

The pressure rolling through the air was unmistakeable. Dominant and powerful. Heavy. It pressed down on my instincts, urging submission. But it didn't feel malicious. Or angry.

It felt... curious.

Without moving too much, I tried to glance over my shoulder. Nothing. No movement. No scent. No sound. Still, the feeling didn't disappear.

Deciding not to tempt fate any longer, I stood and cast one last lingering look towards the ocean. Then my gaze shifted to the alcove carved into the cliffs nearby. The place where I had been found as a baby.

So many emotions surfaced whenever I looked at that spot. Loneliness. Hope. Questions that had never been answered.

When I was thirteen, I had carved my initials into the stone there. Proof that I had existed. That someone had been there. That I had mattered... at least a little.

My throat tightened. I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to cry.

No. I would not cry.

I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders and ran. Up the stone path. Across the gardens. Back toward the packhouse. The feeling of those unseen eyes followed me the entire way. Curiosity turned to irritation. Then something colder. Indifference. Whoever it was clearly couldn't identify how they felt about what they had seen.

I slipped through the side door used by the omegas during chores and rushed down the hallways toward my room. My heart pounded wildly in my chest. Only when I slammed my door shut behind me did the pressure finally lift.

I collapsed against the wood, breathing hard. Relief flooded through me. But even then... I could have sworn the faint scent of cedar and storm air lingered in the room.