The Alpha Claimed His Luna's Killer

The Alpha King’s family was condemned, their entire pack executed.

The newborn heir, Ambrose Collins, was spared due to his age, and I was assigned as his caretaker.

For eighteen years in the exile lands, I raised him, and in gratitude, he chose me as his mate.

That same year, the Alpha King’s name was cleared, and Ambrose was restored to his rightful position as the Lycan King.

The pack’s council urged him to take Angelica Burke, the daughter of the Beta, as his Luna.

But Ambrose insisted on bringing me, his mate, back to the pack’s territory.

Yet, misfortune struck, and I died on the journey to the capital.

Before my spirit could even pass, Ambrose hastily wed Angelica and crowned her Luna.

From then on, everyone whispered that the Lycan King seemed like a different man.

---

Angelica had someone lace the ceremonial mate wine with a potent drug.

Her loyal Omega, Savannah Clark, couldn’t help but ask, “My Queen, why go to such lengths? Tonight is your marking ceremony. The King wouldn’t dare slight you, especially with the Burke family’s standing.”

Angelica, dressed in her ceremonial robes, sat on the ceremonial bed, a smug smile playing on her lips. “You don’t understand.

“The King may not slight me tonight, but to ensure I conceive quickly, I need to take matters into my own hands.

“With this, the King will have no choice but to comply.”

She suddenly looked up, her eyes meeting mine as I floated in the air.

I froze, startled.

But then I remembered.

I was dead. Angelica couldn’t see me.

“Besides,” she continued, “that lowly Omega only just died, and before her spirit could pass, the King crowned me Luna. It still feels... uncertain.”

The “lowly Omega” she spoke of was me.

Days ago, when she intercepted my journey to the capital, she had called me the same.

“You’re from a rogue pack, a mere Omega. How could you ever be Luna?

“If you leave now and swear never to return to the capital, I might spare your life.”

The moment I met Angelica, I knew trouble was brewing.

When she offered me a chance to live, I truly thought I could survive.

I begged and swore, but she betrayed her word.

“My Queen, the King is here,” a servant announced, and Angelica’s demeanor shifted instantly.

She stood, her posture elegant, her voice soft and demure, a stark contrast to her earlier tone.

I watched as Ambrose entered, his presence commanding, his aura powerful.

He helped her rise, his touch gentle.

Angelica stared up at him, her breath catching.

Ambrose, now the Lycan King, was no longer the scruffy heir I had known in the exile lands. His face was clean, his features sharp and striking. No wonder Angelica was captivated.

But back in the exile lands, his beauty had brought us nothing but trouble.

In a place like that, there were countless who coveted him.

He once considered disfiguring himself to spare me the burden, but I stopped him, and we resorted to smearing dirt on his face daily.

Angelica, flushed, spoke in a sweet, coquettish voice. “My King, forgive me.”

Ambrose, of course, didn’t blame her.

They moved to the ceremonial bed, and a servant approached with the mate wine.

I tried to stop Ambrose from taking the cup, but my hand passed right through his.

No matter how I shouted or pleaded, he couldn’t hear me.

Luckily, Ambrose paused, his gaze fixed on his hand where I had tried to grasp it.

“My King? What’s wrong?” Angelica asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Ambrose frowned, his eyes flicking to the wine, then shook his head.

“Were you thinking of... Kalani again?” Angelica ventured cautiously.

Kalani was my name.

Back in the exile lands, I worked tirelessly—washing clothes by day, emptying chamber pots by night—just to save enough to send Ambrose to the pack’s academy.

When he returned from his first day, he asked me, “What’s your name?”

I had no parents. At six, I was assigned to him as his caretaker. Everyone called me “lowly Omega.” I didn’t have a name.

“I have no name,” I had replied.

Ambrose looked at me, his lips pressed together thoughtfully. After a long moment, he said, “From now on, your name is Kalani.”

That day, I gained my name.

Even now, the memory brings a smile to my face.

“Kalani? She was nothing but a lowly Omega.”

After my death, everyone referred to me as Kalani, the Luna. Everyone but Ambrose.

He disliked the title, perhaps because, as the Lycan King, he was ashamed of my rogue origins, unwilling to acknowledge that he had once mated someone like me.

And truthfully, when he took me as his mate in the exile lands, it wasn’t out of desire.

I let go of the imaginary grip I had on his sleeve.