SLYRA’S POV
Silver moonlight bathed the Blackmaw territory, turning the celebration grounds into something almost magical, if magic could exist in a place that had slowly become my prison.
“Stand up straight, Luna. Your posture reflects on all of us,” Lady Vela hissed as she glided past me, her elaborate silver dress catching the firelight. Her voice was low enough that only I could hear, her smile never faltering for the benefit of the pack members watching us.
I straightened my spine, feeling the ornate Luna pendant—a symbol that should have granted me respect—weighing heavy against my chest. My fingertips brushed the intricate wolf design, a reminder of promises made and slowly being broken.
“Yes, Lady Vela,” I murmured, though she had already moved on, leaving the scent of expensive perfume and thinly veiled contempt in her wake.
The Blackmaw Moon Festival should have been a night of celebration, of unity. Instead, I stood alone at the edge of the gathering, watching my mate, Rovan, speak with the council elders across the clearing. He hadn’t looked in my direction once since the ceremony began.
“Wine, Luna Slyra?”
I turned to find Neressa, Rovan’s sister, extending a goblet toward me, her smile sharp as a blade. Behind her, a cluster of pack women watched with barely concealed interest.
“Thank you,” I said, accepting the drink with steady hands. I refused to show weakness.
Neressa lingered, adjusting the fur draped across her shoulders. “Quite the turnout tonight,” she said conversationally. “The Redfang delegation seems particularly… comfortable.”
I followed her gaze to where several wolves bearing the distinctive red markings of the neighboring pack mingled with our own.
“It’s good for inter-pack relations,” I replied diplomatically.
Neressa laughed, the sound like ice cracking. “Of course. Relations. That’s what matters most, isn’t it?” She leaned closer, her voice dropping. “Speaking of relations, the council meeting yesterday was fascinating. So many discussions about bloodlines and… fertility.”
My grip tightened on the goblet. The whispers had been growing louder over the past months—whispers that I was barren, that I had failed in my most basic duty as Luna.
“I wouldn’t know,” I replied evenly. “I wasn’t invited.”
“Weren’t you?” Neressa’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “How strange. I was certain Rovan would have mentioned it to his Luna.”
A younger pack member approached us nervously. “Lady Neressa, your mother is asking for you.”
Neressa sighed dramatically. “Enjoy the festival, Luna.” She emphasized my title with subtle mockery before departing.
I took a deep breath and scanned the crowd again. Rovan remained surrounded by council members, still not looking my way. Three years married, and the distance between us had grown from a crack to a chasm.
“They say the runt will be replaced soon,” a voice murmured nearby, not bothering to lower their tone enough. “A Luna without lineage was a mistake to begin with.”
“Shh, she’ll hear you,” another responded, though I detected no real concern in their tone.
I pretended not to notice, sipping my wine and watching the dancers circle the central bonfire. The flames leaped high, sending sparks toward the full moon that hung heavy above us.
“Luna Slyra.”
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