I jolt awake from a fitful shift.

Lunar firecrackers explode over my manor, their deafening booms rattling the ancient stone walls. Colorful sparks-meant to mimic a moonbow-rain down like a mocking curtain, bathing the scene in a sickly, otherworldly glow.​

Juliet Darkmore's sickly-sweet croon pierces the silence.

"Good rising, Clara!"

Her voice drips with false cheer.

I turn to find Caleb Waverly standing behind her, his alpha grin splitting his muzzle as he nuzzles her ear.

A pack of his minions trails in, their cameras glinting.

This is Caleb's private manor-only we hold the moonstone key.

Yet here they are, invading my sanctuary, filming every moment of my distress.

If I'd slept in my usual form, they'd have caught me bare and vulnerable, at their mercy.​

"Juliet brought you a lunar greeting, and you can't even bare your throat?"

Caleb's voice is a low growl, filled with barely concealed anger.

"She hired a professional pack photographer for your pre-ritual footage."

He flings a bundle of enchanted mane at me-a fake wig-with a force that sends it skidding across the floor.

"Wear this. Your baldness might spook Juliet."​

I curl my lip in disgust, letting the wig fall to the floor.

His friends snicker, their scents sour with amusement.

Caleb's alpha aura flares, but I meet his gaze head-on. "I won't wear it."​

Caleb's muzzle twists in fury.

"Clara Ashford, have you no respect for pack tradition?"​

Juliet slips under his arm, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"She's just groggy from the lunar shift. I don't mind, Caleb."

She turns to me, faking a pout.

"Won't you model the mating gown for the pack? I picked it specially for you."​

"If you want a display, visit the mortal zoo," I snap, my voice filled with venom.​

The pack gasps in shock.

They expect me to cower, to submit to their demands, but Juliet's lip quivers, a performance worthy of an award.

"Don't you like my choice? I thought-"​

Caleb nuzzles her, his eyes fixed on me with hatred.

"It's an honor she chose for you. Yield the gown."​

I toss the lunar mantle at Juliet's feet.

"Take it. It reeks of your musk anyway."

My height towers over hers by two handspans-this gown was tailored for her. "You even stole my fitting, didn't you? The gown was never my size."​

"You never told me-"​

"Told you?" I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound.

"I did tell you," I snarl.

"While you were hunting across pack territories with Juliet, chasing lunar storms like lovesick pups." The memory of his cold words still stings: "This trivial matter bothers you? Find a seamstress to alter it."

But without his alpha stamp, the manor's tailors dared not touch the gown; everyone knew it was Juliet's favorite, enchanted with her scent.​

"So you withheld this to torment Juliet?"

Caleb's snout curls in disgust.

"I never thought you'd be so venomous."​

He twists my every growl, convinced I plot against his lover.

But explanations wither on my tongue.

What's the use, when his ears only hear Juliet's lies?​

Juliet's whimper splits the manor.

"Clara should cherish the gown. I might never have a mating ritual."​

Caleb's arms lock around her, his alpha voice booming at me.

"Since you despise the gown, Juliet will wear it this afternoon. You'll have endless moons as my luna-surrender a few hours."​

My moonflight ticket burns in my pocket-nine hours till lift-off.

Caleb misreads my silence, adding, "Apologize to Juliet now, and you can still be the Luna..."​

I look him dead in the eye, a cold smile spreading across my face.

My lips curl in a smile: "Very well. If she craves , I'll yield them."

My future plans no longer smell of his musk.

But my alpha misreads my submission as defiance, his brow furrowing: "Clara, can't you show grace? A simple apology shouldn't spark a war."

Confusion gnaws at me.

He got what he wanted-so why does his aura still roil with anger?

Caleb slams the door: "Don't come crawling back, disgraced and begging."

Never again.

His gaze skims past the trunk at my bedside, blind to the obvious.

To keep me from disrupting the ritual, he chains the door with wards.

Five winters I've worn this courtship token, a wolftooth carved by his first hunt.

Daily I polished it with my scent, but now its surface dulls, like the love it once symbolized. Juliet wanted a seaside mating, so Caleb chose this manor by the Lunar Cliffs.

Beyond the window, waves crash against moonlit rocks. With a snarl, I fling the token into the surf. It vanishes in a splash.

The lunar ceremony proceeds, but the Luna is swapped.

A beta growls low: "Alplha Caleb, has this gone too far?"

Caleb Waverly spins his moonstone ring, alpha aura flaring unsteadily.

"I'm granting Juliet a whim. I'll repay Clara tenfold."

"She's my true luna-she'll forgive me."

Yet his instincts twitch. Every past quarrel, Clara came whining back.

She once warned: "Caleb, if I don't come to you within a sun-cycle, I've rejected the bond."

He thought this was no different.

As the lunar hymn swells, he watches Juliet pad down the aisle, but his gaze keeps flicking to the manor entrance.

No one appears.

When exchanging moonstone bands, his hands shakes-Juliet's wrist feels wrong, too thin, scentless of Clara's wild rose musk.

Outside, the blood moon rises-Clara's favorite hour for bonding. Caleb snarls inwardly: I'll host a grander ritual later. That night, he drowns in firewater, sleeps through a full moon. Waking, he scents the air-no Clara. His manor door is chained , padlocked

He lunges, claws ripping at the chains. "Open! Clara's inside!" A trembling servant is hauled up: "Mr. Waverly,Juliet ordered the lock two moons ago. I thought you knew."

Caleb releases him, horror freezing his veins. "What did you say?"

Panic floods his veins like poisoned silver.

These chains-forged from lunar iron-could bind an adult alpha werewolf.

He imagines Clara trapped here, her scent fading in this manor's shadowed corner, too far for any pack howl to reach.

Years ago, he found her broken by silver whips, her mind scarred with lunar PTSD.

It took moons of sacred herbs to heal her.

Now he smashes the silver-reinforced door, howling: "Clara! Where are you?!"

The manor lies empty, save for her trunk.

As he rages to interrogate every guest, the manager plays a surveillance rune.

On screen, Clara leaps from the window without a backward glance.

Caleb replays the runes, desperate for a flicker of hesitation.

None exists.

She even left behind the hundred-moon tapestry she'd stitched for a year-each thread dyed in her blood, blessed by the Moon Goddess.