Andromeda
“My pup?” Instinctively, my hand went to my still-flat stomach.
A cold spike of fear stabbed through my chest, stirring memories I’d buried deep—the pain of loss.
I couldn’t bear the thought of laying my pup to rest again.
The figure before me turned slowly, his shadow stretching long across the floor.
“He’s fine,” he said flatly, though something in his voice hinted at secrets I wasn’t ready to hear.
His eyes glinted in the dim light, unreadable.
“Alpha Altair sent me,” he continued, his tone low, almost reverent, “to make sure that pup survives—to protect Winchester… and you.”
My breath caught. “He knows?”
The man’s lips curved—not quite a smile.
“Yes,” he murmured, each syllable deliberate, heavy with unspoken meaning. “He always knows.”
I didn’t quite believe him, but I trusted Altair somehow—they anchored me just enough to keep from shattering.
Even in the wreckage, it seemed there was still something worth fighting for.
I pushed myself upright, my limbs heavy from the wolfsbane still dragging through my veins.
But the Moon Goddess had granted me resilience—for me, and for the life I carried.
On the bedside table sat a neatly wrapped box, still sealed. A note rested on top:
Your phone’s broken. Use this so I can reach you. All the data you need has been transferred.–AG
By the next morning, I was out of the hospital.
In the corridor, I overheard omegas whispering that Alpha Rigel was busy preparing the ritual to mourn Athena.
I doubted it was purely grief—more likely, a performance. A way to convince the pack, and himself, that he’d truly lost his heir.
Back at the pack house, I began packing my things, and Athena’s.
Among Athena’s things, I found a small scrap of paper, scrawled in her big, uneven handwriting:
On my fifth birthday, I want Mum and Dad to take me to the funfair.
Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them.
Such a simple wish—yet not a single grown werewolf around her had been able to make it come true.
That was the last time I would allow myself to cry.
From this moment on, only vengeance would burn in my heart.
I sent one of my most trusted omegas to keep the note safe, along with the moonstone ring Alpha Rigel gave me on the night of our Mating Ceremony.
Both will be returned to him during the final ritual—the day we honour Athena’s death.
I packed away the rest of Alpha Rigel’s gifts in a box—the letters, the perfumes, the trinkets that once whispered promises. My intention was clear: burn every last one.
In the back garden, flames danced hungrily in the metal drum, devouring gemstones, dresses, handbags, shoes—every fragment of a love that had rotted long ago.
The blood-sealed parchment from our Luna bond ceremony went in last, curling to ash under my gaze.
The heat was nothing compared to the fire simmering inside me.
Footsteps crunched the gravel behind me. “What are you doing?” Alpha Rigel’s voice was sharp, coiled like a whip.
I didn’t turn. “These are old. Taking up space.”
He stepped to my side, eyes on the blaze as if trying to read it. “You could have told me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you,” I said, voice cool. “You’ve got Alpha duties to attend to.”
Like keeping Mata Hari warm at night.
His sigh was low, practiced—designed to sound tender. “Luna Andromeda… about yesterday, I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”
A hand settled on my shoulder, light as a spider’s web, and just as empty. “Let me make it up to you,” he murmured. “I want to give you the Carlson villa—”
“Give it to Mata Hari.” My tone sliced through his words, cold and clean. “She’ll like it more.”
He paused, brows knitting, as if the rejection was a puzzle.
The villa—perched high in the mountains—was the kind of gift most she-wolves would kill for.
Not me. I hated the thin, biting air, the suffocating pine. I’d always craved the sea—a quiet cottage where the tide sang me to sleep.
He studied me for a long beat, eyes searching for cracks. “And… I want you to swap rooms with Mata Hari. She needs the space—”
“Fine,” I cut in, flat as stone.
No fight. No spark. Just silence. My heart had sunk to the bottom of a black lake—cold, heavy, immovable.
“There’s something else,” he ventured, careful now. “I’m naming Oasis as my successor. You don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” I said smoothly. “You’re the Alpha. I can’t give you an heir, after all.”
His head snapped toward me, fury flickering in his eyes. “What’s wrong with you?” His voice sharpened, the mask cracking. “You’re… different.”
I gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m just making peace with reality.”
His jaw worked as silence stretched between us. Then he stepped closer, voice dropping into that poisoned velvet tone he wore like a crown.
“I promise, Andie, you’ll always be first in my heart. Even if Mata Hari stands beside me.” His thumb brushed my cheek as if sealing a vow. “She may carry Carlson Hallow’s heir—but you… you’re the one I’ll always come back to.”
A sweet venom of a promise. First, but never only.
“I’ve always loved you, Andie. You know that.”
I didn’t flinch when his hand cupped my face. Love? It was obsession wrapped in the velvet of false tenderness.
When he leaned in, I turned away, voice cutting like ice. “I want to visit Athena’s grave.”
He stilled, searching my profile for something—pain, surrender, anything he could use. Finally, he nodded.
“Alright,” he said softly. But his tone held an edge, like a leash drawn tighter.
When he left, I pulled the new phone from my pocket and texted Altair, confirming the form I’d sent via email.
His reply came fast: Got it. Everything’s in order.
I made one call, and he picked up.
“Hello…”
“Are you ready?” Altair’s voice was deep, almost hypnotic.
“Yeah. Three hours. I need to finalise an investment withdrawal and… dismantle Nebula’s firewall.”
Minutes later, an email arrived—my one-way e-ticket. Destination: Athens, Greece.
I stared at the screen, the confirmation like a key in my hand… or a blade ready to sever my last tie to this place.
Outside, the fire in the drum had died, leaving only ash and the warped metal shell of one of Athena’s toys.
I turned away without looking back.
I rolled my suitcase out of the pack house, the air around me feeling lighter with every step.
Through the taxi window, the pack house blurred into the distance.
At the airport, my inbox chimed with confirmation of the investment withdrawal.
With a single tap, my virus began quietly tearing through Nebula’s firewall.
The sound of the telly blurred out the bitterness clawing at my memories.
The newsreader’s voice broke through, reporting a massive pile-up at the Oxford Circus junction in central London.
Cars were all crushed together, twisted up and swallowed by the flames. A bus was sprawled across the road, having flattened a taxi almost flush with the tarmac.
A list of the dead rolled out almost instantly.
The name Andromeda Carlson came last on the list of victims—dead at the scene, her face unrecognisable.
Altair had pulled it off flawlessly, and I couldn’t help the smile that curved my lips.
I, Andromeda Nielsen, sever my bond with the South Hallow Pack. I am no longer their Luna.
