That night, I thought perhaps the bond had won, pulling us back together as it always did. Kieran's hands had been warm against my skin, his whispers low and ragged as though he needed me. For a heartbeat, I let myself believe the storm had passed—that whatever shadow Selene cast between us, it could not reach us in the quiet of our chambers.
But dawn came, and with it, distance.
Kieran was gone before the sun rose, leaving behind only the echo of his scent on the sheets and the hollow ache in my chest. By the time I stepped into the courtyard, the whispers had already returned, sharper than claws, crueler than teeth.
"The barren Luna."
"The Alpha's mistake."
"Poor Elara."
Everywhere I walked, I felt them—eyes, measuring, mocking. My name passed from lip to lip like poison carried on the wind.
And Selene, oh Selene, she thrived in it.
She carried herself like she was already Luna, chin lifted, smile perfectly rehearsed, words dripping with honey. She made a show of linking her arm with mine during gatherings, of speaking kindly to me before others, as though I were a fragile child she had taken under her care.
But I could see it—the glint in her eyes, the satisfaction she tried to hide when people turned away from me to listen to her.
"Elara," she whispered one evening during supper, leaning close so only I could hear. Her voice was soft, almost sweet. "They talk because they're afraid. You know how people fear weakness. But don't worry—I'll always defend you."
I looked up sharply, meeting her gaze. The way she said it, so smooth, so practiced, told me she had been feeding the fire herself. Still, I only murmured, "How generous of you."
She smiled, serene, and pressed her hand over mine as though we were sisters. "Of course. We women must stand together."
My stomach turned, but I stayed silent. If I fought back, it would only make me look bitter. And already, the pack believed me bitter enough.
The days turned into weeks.
Kieran kept his distance, except in moments when the bond tugged him back toward me, moments when he would look at me as if he remembered I existed. But Selene was always there, sliding herself into his orbit, soft laughter spilling from her lips as though she alone understood him.
I saw the way he softened when she touched his arm, the way he smiled when she leaned close. And though I told myself I didn't care, each time, the bond burned hotter, reminding me that my heart still beat for him even when I wished it wouldn't.
One night, I heard them in the hall, their voices low.
"You've been working too hard," she whispered. "Let me help you, Kieran. You don't have to carry the weight of the pack alone."
His sigh followed, deep, weary. "Sometimes I think you see me more clearly than anyone else."
The words struck me like claws to the chest. I bit my lip until it bled, refusing to let the tears fall where anyone could see.
The worst came at the market square.
I had gone to gather herbs for the healer when I overheard a group of women at the stalls.
"Elara looks so pale," one said.
"Wouldn't you, if your mate chose another?" another replied, laughing.
"It's only natural. Selene is stronger, healthier. She'll give the Alpha the heir he deserves."
My hands trembled so violently that the basket slipped from my grasp, herbs scattering across the stones.
"Here, let me help you."
I turned and found Selene kneeling gracefully beside me, gathering the herbs into the basket. She smiled at the women, her voice raised just enough for them to hear. "Don't be so cruel. Elara is still our Luna."
The women bowed their heads in embarrassment, murmuring apologies, but the satisfaction in Selene's eyes told me all I needed to know. She had staged it perfectly. She was the savior, and I the pitiful creature in need of saving.
The humiliation stretched on until I felt hollowed out, my spirit cracked like dry earth. Even my brother, Darius, began to worry.
"You're wasting away, Elara," he muttered one evening, pressing a hand to my forehead. His eyes softened with the same protectiveness he had carried since we were children. "I don't trust her. I don't trust any of this."
"Neither do I," I whispered back. But what could I do? Kieran didn't see Selene's games. And the more she played the part of my protector, the more he looked at her with that gentle fondness that used to be mine.
The night of the full moon changed everything.
The pack gathered for the run, torches casting golden light across the courtyard. Selene stood radiant beside Kieran, her gown flowing like water, her hand resting delicately on her stomach as though protecting the child she claimed to carry.
I stood off to the side, my body weak, my breath shallow. I had barely eaten in days, the weight of whispers pressing me into the earth.
Then it happened.
Selene swayed, her hand flying to her forehead. "Oh—" she gasped, her voice trembling. And with perfect precision, she collapsed into Kieran's waiting arms.
"Selene!" he shouted, gathering her against his chest. The crowd surged around them, voices filled with panic and concern.
And in that moment, my vision blurred. The world tilted. My knees buckled. I fell.
But no one noticed.
All eyes were on Selene. All hands reached for her. And I, their Luna, crumpled to the ground unseen.
"Elara!"
A voice cut through the haze. Strong arms caught me, lifted me from the cold stone. It was Darius, his face etched with fury as he looked around at the pack that ignored me.
"Where is the physician?" he roared. "Now!"
The crowd parted reluctantly, some glancing guiltily my way but quickly turning back to Kieran and Selene.
Darius carried me, his grip fierce, his jaw set. "You're not dying on me, Elara," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I won't let them destroy you."
Through the blur of my vision, I caught one last glimpse of Kieran. He was on his knees, cradling Selene as though she were the most precious thing in the world. His head bent low, his lips moving with words I could not hear.
And he never once looked my way.
My vision dimmed, the world sinking into silence.
The last thing I felt was my brother's arms tightening around me.
Then—nothing.