I cradled Nyra against my chest, her small body trembling, her soft fur chilling beneath my fingers. Each shallow breath felt like it was slipping further from her, and I could feel her Moonlight fading.
“Brexon… Alpha,” I whispered, my voice trembling, raw with desperation. “She needs your blood… our pup needs you!”
Brexon’s jaw tightened, fangs glinting as his gaze flitted between our daughter and the young cub clinging to Lyssa. Orrin. His son. The hidden pup who had been kept from him for so long.
I saw the storm within him—the Alpha’s instinct warring with his heart. A second later, he said, “Forgive me, Veleria.”
They hit me like a hammer, knocked the air out of my lungs.
“No,” I whispered, wrapping my arms tighter around Nyra. “You're not serious.”
He was silent.
Turning to the Healer, Brexon’s eyes glimmered with frost. “Begin the bond. Save him.”
A strangled cry tore from my throat. “Brexon—”
He didn’t look at me. Not once.
The healers moved quickly, their hands glowing with silver Moonlight as they prepared the transfusion. Pack guardians flanked the clearing, silent, eyes unreadable, watching the legendary Alpha of the Silvermoon Howlers make his choice: not his daughter, not our daughter.
I pressed my forehead against Nyra’s, tears soaking into her frost-cold fur. “Don’t worry, little moonbeam,” I whispered. “I won’t leave you.”
She didn’t stir. Her paws slipped from my hands, limp and fragile.
Then—nothing.
The world lurched, a dizzying drop. I must have screamed, because rough hands were suddenly on me, pulling her away.
“Where are you taking her? No!” I thrashed, my voice raw and feral, clawing at the air.
Brexon didn’t intervene.
He stood firm, one hand resting over Orrin’s shoulder, while my entire world splintered apart.
In that moment, something inside me shattered. I would never forgive him. Not in this life, not in the next.
Not under any moon the Goddess hung above us.
***
The burial was private.
Rain fell like a gentle curse, soaking through my mourning cloak, but I barely noticed. I lingered at the edge of the earth, watching the rune-inscribed coffin descend, the final resting place of our daughter. My tears had long dried; my heart felt hollow, a cave of nothing but fury and grief.
Brexon remained a few paces away. Warriors forming a silent barrier around him, unyielding and unfeeling. Not once has he spoken to me since that night. Not like I care. He had made his choice. And now, our pup was gone.
The pack priest murmured blessings, spoke of the Moon’s guidance, of reunion beyond life, but there was no solace, no plan. Only emptiness where Nyra had been.
Then Brexon moved.
A crystal communicator glowed at his ear; his face was cold iron. Moments later, he turned and walked away. He didn’t stay for the rites. He didn’t watch the last shovelful of earth cover his daughter.
It was pretty obvious. Lyssa called him, and he went—like a fool.
A bitter laugh escaped my throat, but I swallowed it. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms.
The Alpha of the Silvermoon had abandoned his daughter’s final rite because Lyssa summoned him. I should have screamed, demanded he stay, but I was too broken.
I let him walk. As the last of the soil covered Nyra’s coffin, I swore to the Moon—I would never forgive him.
Lyssa had taken everything from me. She left Brexon once, choosing another male over him. When that male fell in battle, she came back, crawling for all he had—his power, his territory, his daughter, my life. And Brexon—blind, foolish, heartless—had let her.
***
I lingered until the Moon reached its zenith. The graveyard lay silent, the only sound the wind rustling through ghost-oaks. My legs ached, my body soaked and numb, yet I could not move.
Memories swarmed me, drowning me in what I had lost.
Brexon.
He used to be a loving mate, even with the curse of leadership weighing on his shoulders. I remembered the night rogues kidnapped me. The rough ropes biting into my wrists. The snarls and laughter of wolves who thought they could use me to break an Alpha.
Then—howls. Snapping bones. Screams.
And Brexon.
He tore through them alone, silver eyes blazing with feral rage. His wolf fought without hesitation—fangs tearing, claws slashing until the clearing was painted red. When the last body fell, he shifted, running to me.
“Were you harmed?” he asked, voice hoarse, trembling as he cupped my face.
I shook my head, tears slipping between us.
He pulled me close, chest warm and solid. “I would raze every territory, burn every rival clan, for you, Arwen.”
A broken sob escaped me.
He had meant it once.
Then, another memory rose: the healer’s lodge. Brexon, wrapped in bandages, wounded by silver arrow while shielding me. Yet, even then, he had smiled.
“I cannot wait any longer,” he murmured, producing a small velvet box beneath his cloak. His fingers trembled, but the Moonstone ring within shimmered.
“Brexon—” I gasped.
“Be my mate,” he whispered.
“You’re wounded. We’re in the healer’s hut.”
He broke into that sly, arrogant grin. “Are you going to deny a dying Alpha?”
“Don’t be silly.” I laughed through the tears. “You are nothing close to dying.”
“Then be my Luna,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Because whatever storms come, you belong to me, Arwen.”
Memories pounced upon me like hunting wolves.
The night Nyra was born. Brexon paced outside the birthing den, growling at anyone approaching. And then, when he held her for the first time, the world shifted.
“My little moonbean,” he whispered. “Perfect, isn’t she?”
I had never seen him weep before, but that night, his eyes shone.
“I will never let her hurt,” he vowed, kissing her soft forehead.
Lies. All of it.
My hands sank into the cold earth. Memories refused to leave me.
The Moon Festival.
Brexon had reserved the entire sacred glade. No other wolves. No elders. No guards. Just us.
Nyra squealed. “All this… for me, Daddy?”
He scooped her up, spinning her. “All for you, my moonbeam.”
She pressed her tiny hands to his cheeks. “And for Mommy too?”
His grin turned playful, almost smug. “Of course it is.”
When the spell lit fireworks burst across the night sky, he slipped his arms around my waist from behind, pulling me into his warmth.
“This is worth every battle I fought,” he whispered against my ear, voice rough with emotion, “A world just for you. For her. For us.”
A sharp, bitter sound tore from my throat—half laugh, half broken breath.
Lies.
Once, he had fought for us. But when the moment truly mattered—when Nyra needed him most—he turned his back. He walked away. Leaving both her and me. And now I was left kneeling at our pup’s grave, while he was probably tangled in Lyssa’s embrace.
The betrayal burned hotter than wildfire, but I could not cry. Because a piece of me had already died.
And it would never return.
