The one million moon-credits from the Blackspire Matriarch arrived sooner than expected.
I clutched the stamped lunar seal so tightly my fingers trembled as I sprinted toward the healer-sanctum, desperate to pay the deposit for my father’s moon-mending ritual. His shattered leg couldn’t wait any longer.
But moments after I handed the payment to the registrar and prepared to confirm the ritual time with the High Moon-Healer, a young maid stepped in front of me.
“All the bone-menders… every last one,” she whispered, eyes wide with fear, “have been reassigned.”
I blinked at her, stunned, thinking it must have been a clerical shift or ritual scheduling error.
When I asked for an explanation, she leaned in, voice barely above a breath.
“It was Alpha Draven’s command. The specialists were summoned to tend to Lady Molthaven.”
Myrielle Molthaven. The name hit me like a blow.
“Lady Molthaven hasn’t eaten in days,” the maid went on nervously. “She fainted this morning… and twisted her ankle when she fell. The Alpha was worried about long-term damage, so he ordered the entire bone-menders circle to examine her.”
A piercing ring filled my ears. The hallway warped and tilted.
I seized the girl’s wrist. “Please—my father can’t wait! His leg won’t heal on its own. He needs the ritual now!”
The maid swallowed, but her gaze slid away.
No one in the healer-sanctum dared defy an Alpha’s directive.
Half out of my mind with panic, I ran toward Myrielle’s recovery chamber, only to have two pack sentinels block my way.
From inside, I heard her fragile, airy voice.
“Draven… is that Lunessa outside?”
The door slid open.
Alpha Draven stood framed in the light—tall, composed, his aura cold enough to frost the stone floors. His dark eyes swept over my disheveled face and for a heartbeat, his brows drew together.
Then his voice struck like a blade.
“Lunessa, how could you be so heartless? Myrielle hasn’t eaten because she feels guilty about you. Now she’s hurt herself and you dare question me for calling healers? You’re behaving like a pup.”
Something inside me cracked. “He’s tended our pack’s far fields since before I took my first breath! If that leg gives out—his whole world crumbles! You know what this means for him!”
He exhaled sharply, dismissive. “It’s only a few days’ delay. He’s not dying. Stop causing a scene.”
My blood turned to ice.
Inside, Myrielle sat on her bed, wrapped in pale furs, her figure trembling just enough to seem delicate. She lifted her shimmering eyes toward him.
“Draven… don’t scold her. It’s my fault. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be so upset. Maybe you should just let the healers—”
“Don’t worry about her,” Draven interrupted softly, adjusting her blanket with tender care. “She’s being unreasonable.”
Something in me shattered beyond repair.
Tears blurred my vision as my hand swung on instinct.
Crack.
My palm met his cheek with a sharp, echoing slap.
“If the healer-sanctum won’t treat my father,” I choked out, chest heaving, “then I’ll take him elsewhere.”
Draven’s expression iced over, fury flickering in his eyes. But before he could speak, Myrielle laughed—a quiet, mocking trill.
“Transfer him?” she echoed sweetly.
“You think moving a patient in his condition is easy? What if something goes wrong during carriage? Can you afford another setback?”
Her gaze drifted lazily toward me, a poisonous glimmer lighting her eyes.
“But…” she added, voice dripping honey, “I might be willing to help. If you kneel. Beg me properly. Press your forehead to the ground and apologize.”
My body stiffened.
Draven—The man who once swore to protect me—didn’t even flinch.
He simply nodded and said, calm and cold,
“She’s offering you mercy, Lunessa. Stop being stubborn. And now you’re striking people? Really?”
He touched his cheek, unreadable. “Do as she asks. Myrielle deserves to be happy.”
I looked between them—the Alpha I had trusted with my heart and the woman who now smiled at my father’s suffering.
My vision blurred until both of them became distorted shapes. But my father… my father was still waiting.
Biting back a sob, I lowered myself to my knees.
Bang!
My forehead struck the stone tiles, pain exploding through my skull.
Blood trickled down my temple. I bowed again.
And again.
My voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and broken. “Please… I’m begging you… let my father have his ritual…”
The world dimmed at the edges.
From the bed, Myrielle’s lilting voice drifted out. “Draven, my ankle really hurts… will you massage it?”
Without looking at me—not even once—Draven knelt beside her and began to gently rub her foot.
Something inside me went utterly, completely silent.
Time passed in a blur.
Eventually, Draven finally lifted his head, frowning slightly as though annoyed by the sight of me bleeding on the floor.
“That’s enough,” he said flatly.
He turned to his beta-maid.
“Arrange the moon-menders. Her father will have his ritual.”
My entire body trembled as I pushed myself upright, using the wall for support. My legs felt like lead, as if bound in chains.
Draven stepped toward me, hand outstretched—almost gentle.
I flinched back violently.
For a split second, shock flickered in his eyes.
As if he truly couldn’t comprehend why I would recoil from his touch.
But I didn’t wait.
Ignoring the agony ripping through my skull and chest, I turned and staggered down the stone passageway—toward my father’s chamber.
