After My Mate’s Murderer Forced Me to Be His Luna

Five years. That is exactly one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days of suffocating in a bond that felt more like a shackle than a blessing.

Today marked the fifth anniversary of my mating ceremony to Alpha Vincenzo Snyder. In any other pack, the air would be thick with the scent of jasmine and roasted meats, a celebration of the Moon Goddess’s union between the Alpha and his Luna. But here, in the Silver Moon Pack, the air only smelled of damp earth and my own humiliation.

We stood at the edge of the Whispering Woods for the ceremonial Pack Run. Tradition dictated that the Alpha and Luna lead the hunt, running flank to flank, a symbol of their united strength. The wind bit at my exposed arms, raising gooseflesh, but the cold was nothing compared to the icy stare Vincenzo cast in my direction.

He stood tall, stripping off his shirt to reveal the broad, muscular chest that had once made my heart stutter—not because it was his, but because it was a cruel, mirror image of the man I had lost. Keith. My fated mate. The Moon Goddess had a twisted sense of humor, gifting me a second chance with a male who wore my dead lover’s face but carried a monster’s soul.

"Nora," Vincenzo’s voice was a low growl, devoid of any warmth. "Step back."

I froze, my bare feet digging into the dirt. "Vincenzo, it’s the anniversary run. The pack expects the Luna to—"

"The pack expects strength," he cut me off, his eyes flashing with a dominance that forced my wolf to whimper in submission. "Look at you. You’re frail. You reek of misery. You’ll only slow us down."

Before I could protest, a sleek, dark shape emerged from the crowd of shifting wolves. Selene Hunt. The Beta female. She didn’t even bother to hide the smirk on her lips as she dropped her robe, her body toned and ready for the shift.

"Don't worry, Luna," she purred, the title dripping with sarcasm. "I’ll keep the Alpha warm tonight."

Vincenzo didn't reprimand her. Instead, he shifted. His massive grey wolf—so like Keith’s, yet lacking the silver sheen—shook out his fur. He nudged Selene affectionately with his snout, a gesture of intimacy that stole the breath from my lungs. With a howl that signaled the start of the run, they took off into the trees. The rest of the pack followed, leaving me standing alone in the settling dust, the whispers of "The Barren Luna" floating back to me on the wind.

***

The banquet hall was alive with the roar of laughter and the clatter of silverware, but silence fell like a guillotine the moment I walked in. I kept my chin high, forcing a mask of indifference onto my face as I approached the head table.

My seat—the Luna’s seat—was empty. But Vincenzo had pulled another chair intimately close to his own. Selene sat there, still flushed from the run, wearing a dress that left little to the imagination.

I sat down. No one served me. My plate remained empty while Vincenzo used his fork to feed Selene a piece of rare steak, the red juice staining her lips. The sight made my stomach turn.

"Alpha," I said, my voice trembling slightly before I steadied it. I had to be the Luna, even if they didn't treat me like one. "Regarding the border patrols for the upcoming winter solstice..."

Vincenzo slammed his goblet down, wine sloshing over the rim. The entire hall went deathly quiet.

"Do not speak," he commanded, his voice laced with the Alpha Tone—a psychic weight that slammed into my mind, forcing my head to bow against my will. "You sit there with that sullen, pathetic face and ruin the appetite of my warriors. If you cannot provide me with an heir, and you cannot lead a run, the least you can do is stay silent."

Laughter rippled through the room. It started with Selene and spread to the Deltas and Omegas. They weren't laughing with me; they were laughing at the hollow shell of the woman who was supposed to be their queen.

I couldn't breathe. The walls of the pack house, usually a symbol of safety, felt like they were closing in to crush me. I stood up, the legs of my chair screeching against the floor, and fled. I didn't run to our bedroom—it hadn't been ‘ours’ in years. I ran up the narrow, creaking stairs to the only place Vincenzo never bothered to look.

The attic was dusty, filled with the scent of old paper and dry wood. I locked the door and collapsed against it, letting the tears finally fall. Moonlight streamed through the single round window, illuminating a battered black case in the corner.

My trembling hands undid the latches. Inside lay the vintage acoustic guitar. It was the only thing of Keith’s that Vincenzo hadn't burned or thrown away, mostly because he didn't know it existed.

I sat by the window, cradling the instrument like a child. My fingers, calloused from years of playing in secret, found the familiar chords. I didn't sing—Vincenzo would hear me—but I played the melody of "Moonlit Rain." It was the song Keith had written for me a week before the accident. Before he drowned.

*I will find you in the silver light, Nora. Always.*

As the soft notes filled the dusty room, I closed my eyes and pretended, just for a moment, that the man downstairs didn't exist. That the face I saw in my nightmares wasn't Vincenzo’s, but the gentle, loving face of the boy who had promised me forever, only to leave me in hell.