Hiding Me as His Luna, I Become the Luna of His Enemy

“Lyra, Alpha Darius has signed off on your resignation from the MoonCorp. But… I don’t think he realized it was you. Do you want me to let him know?”

Lyra kept her gaze on the parchment in her hands, the faint shimmer of moonlight glinting off the silver ink. Shaking her head, she said, “No need.”

“Lyra.” The steward from the Council sighed softly, as if trying one last time. “He still cares about you, you know. Everyone in the pack thought you and the Alpha were destined mates. Maybe… just think it through?”

A bitter scoff slipped past Lyra’s lips.

Little did they know—whatever bond existed between her and Alpha Darius Halvorn wasn’t mere gossip. They were already bound by the Moon.

Their union was sacred, marked by the ancient rites of their ancestors. But love and duty were two different beasts and Lyra had learned that lesson in blood three moons ago.

A rogue ambush had shattered her spine. She had needed her bonded mate to come to the healer’s hall and give consent for the Moonforge surgery that would save her.

But she lost count of the howls she sent through their mental link before he finally answered. Worse, when he did, his voice was cold and impatient.

“It’s just a minor attack. You’ll heal. Hang on—I’m still at Mireille’s moon feast.”

Mireille Vaylen.

Her closest friend.

That was the night Lyra realized her mate had betrayed not just their vow—but the Moon Goddess herself.

In the end, as she lay fighting for her life, she had to sign her own consent rune with trembling hands.

Just before she was wheeled into the Moonforge chamber, Darius arrived—his arms around Mireille.

The woman had cut her hand on a crystal chalice. For her sake, he pulled the healer aside, demanding she be treated first.

That brief delay—the minutes they lost—cost Lyra blood and breath.

She spent the next seven nights in the Healing Chamber, not knowing if she would ever walk—or shift—again.

That was when she finally accepted the truth.

Some bonds, when they rot, must be severed. Now that I’ve healed, it’s time to walk away.

Lyra looked up at the steward, her voice calm. “People change,” she said softly. “I stood by him through the hardest three years of his reign. That’s enough.”

For all those years, the woman Darius truly loved had always been Mireille.

Lyra was merely a byproduct of that one night long ago—when Darius had been drugged at a Luna’s Feast and ended up in her den.

When the scandal threatened the Alpha Council, he had offered to mate her—on one condition: no one must ever know.

Now that Mireille had returned to Frostmere, Lyra had no intention of clinging to a bond the Moon had clearly abandoned.

But before she left, she had one last thing to do. Four parting gifts—each one a celebration of the freedom they would soon have from one another.

***

With the dissolution parchment in her satchel, Lyra pushed open the carved doors to the Alpha’s chamber.

Inside, Darius stood before the great hearth, trimming the stems of moonlilies—white blossoms that glowed faintly in the dark. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms.

He had never been one for romance. He used to mock other Alphas who gifted their mates with flowers.

“Pointless things,” he’d said once on Moon’s Eve. “Dead within a week.”

In the three years they’d shared the same roof, Lyra had never received so much as a single petal.

Those lilies weren’t hers; they were Mireille’s favorite.

A few clipped stems dropped into the fire before he finally turned. “Back to duties already? How’s the recovery?”

He placed the bouquet in a crystal vase shaped like a crescent moon, adjusted a petal and added, “About that night… I didn’t mean for things to go that way. Mireille’s not like you. She’s fragile. One little scratch and she faints. Besides, there was only one healer on call.”

He smiled. “But I knew you’d be fine. You’ve survived worse, haven’t you? Grew up with nothing. A small wound’s nothing to you, right?”

Lyra almost laughed.

He had no idea—she was the only daughther of Kaiden from Wolfhart Pack in Lycanthra, an ancient bloodline said to be blessed by the first Moon Goddess. The only hardship she’d ever known began the day she bound herself to Darius.

He might have known, had she not severed ties with her family to mate him in secrecy.

But she let him believe what he wanted. Silence, to Darius, always meant obedience. For that, to him, she always had such a good temper—perfect for keeping around

He walked toward her, holding the bouquet like a prize. “Hey, do you think these are beautiful?”

As the lilies neared her, her throat seized. She turned her head, coughed once, twice—sharp and violent.

The allergy burned through her veins, a spark that triggered her wolf’s pain. He shoved her aside, snarling, “Watch it!”

Her back hit the sharp edge of the obsidian desk. The wound along her spine tore open again, blood seeping through her tunic.

While her vision swam, Darius’s attention never left the flowers.

“You almost ruined them!” he barked. “Do you have any idea how rare these are? Cultivated under moonlight from the High Vale!”

Realizing she couldn’t even compete with a bouquet, Lyra let out a bitter laugh.

I stayed three years with this male for this? I must have been blind to love such a fool.

He had never cared enough to know her body couldn’t tolerate moonlilies. Nor that her wounds weren’t yet healed.

She steadied herself, drew a breath and pulled the documents from her satchel.

“Alpha Halvorn,” she said, offering the parchment. “I need your signature.”

That made him pause. For the first time, his gaze lingered on her. When it was just the two of them, she had always called him by name only—never “Alpha Havorn.”

“You just got out of the Healing Hall,” he murmured. “You should be resting.”

Still, he reached for the parchment. Just as his fingers brushed it, his crystal communicator chimed.

Lyra caught the name glowing across the rune-lit surface.

[My Moon]

He had saved Mireille that way, while her own name in his device was simply “Lyra Wolfhart.”

That contrast said everything.

He answered with a grin, bouquet in one hand and strode toward the door.

“I won’t be back for dinner. Head home after the council meeting.”

Lyra stepped in front of him, flipped to the last page and pressed a quill into his palm.

“Sign it first.”

The Alpha’s brows furrowed. He was always cautious—never sealed anything without reading it thrice.

But just as he was about to scan the script, his communicator chimed again.

Even through the near-muted sound, Mireille’s voice purred softly, “Darius, I’ve been waiting forever… come to me now.”

For once, the ever-cautious Alpha didn’t read a single word. He flicked his wrist and scrawled his name across the silver line.

“There. Happy now? Can I leave?”

Looking at the glowing signature, Lyra nodded faintly.

“Yes. You’re free now.”

This time, she meant it. She gave him the freedom he’d been chasing since the night they met.

As he left, he tossed over his shoulder,

“This chamber hasn’t been cleaned in moons. You’re here—why don’t you handle it?”

The heavy slam of the door echoed through the chamber.

Darius’s office had always been off-limits. Not a speck of dust in sight. Only Lyra ever knew where the spare key was, which drawer housed the wipes, how he liked the edges of papers perfectly aligned.

As she approached his desk, a silver frame caught her eye.

Mireille’s smile gleamed from behind the glass—the same frame that once held Lyra’s face.

Then her gaze drifted to the wastebasket by the cabinet. Her own photo lay there—face-down, edges crumpled like discarded parchment.

Her lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. It sliced.

There had been a time when she’d called Mireille “sister.” But for Darius, her “sister” had always been his moon.

Although Lyra had once loved him, she had buried those feelings for the sake of friendship—until that fateful night three years ago.

That was when Mireille vanished, swept away by a noble from the distant Varghelm Kingdom.

That night, Darius drank too much, unaware that his wine had been spiked. What followed was a mistake—just one reckless night between an Alpha and his lost love’s closest friend.

The memories flickered through Lyra’s mind like dying embers.

She brushed a tear from her cheek, then opened the drawer. Inside lay an old photograph and a sealed letter—never opened, never answered.

For four years, she had loved him enough to write ninety-nine moon-letters. But since Mireille’s return to Frostmere, every time Darius chose her, Lyra burned another one.

The 99th letter turned to ash in the Healing Hall. The one in her hand was the last.

It was time to let go.

With a small chest of her belongings, Lyra walked out of the MoonCorp and called through her rune-etched communicator.

“Lucian,” she said calmly, “didn’t you say you liked me? One moon from now, once I get the dissolution certificate—we’ll be bonded.”