Bound To The Secret Luna

The snow was thick, falling in slow, silent waves as the forest burned behind them. Blood dripped from the fangs of her father’s silver Wolf. Her mother’s fur shimmered under the moonlight, covered in soot and flame as she turned her gaze back to Seraphine.

"Run," her father growled, voice vibrating with power. "Survive, Seraphine. You must survive."

She didn’t want to. Her heart clawed to stay, to fight beside them, but her Wolf—Alice—had already begun dragging her away, limping, bleeding, crying inside her mind.

That was the last time Seraphine heard her parents’ voices. That night, Mooncliff Pack fell.

A splash of cold, fetid water tore her from the memory, dragging her into the present.

Seraphine gasped, sputtering, eyes snapping open. The damp stench of mold, sweat, and betrayal filled her nose.

She wasn’t in the forest anymore.

No moonlight.

No family.

Just a cracked concrete floor and rusted pipes.

“Finally awake, your highness?” A voice like poison scraped at her ears. She blinked until the blurred form of her former gamma, Reed, came into focus. His smile was cold. Mocking. "Did you enjoy your nap?"

Her limbs ached. Her wrists were bound with silver-threaded rope—an intentional cruelty. Even though her Wolf was gone, the silver still burned like ice against her skin.

Seraphine lifted her chin, the old Mooncliff pride refusing to die. “You’re a traitor.”

Reed laughed. “I’m a survivor. You should try it sometime. Oh—wait. That’s what got your family killed, isn’t it? That stubborn pride.”

A woman’s voice joined the scene. Lyla, her childhood friend, stepped out from the shadows, her expression far colder than Seraphine remembered. “You should thank us, really. Alaric’s in estrus, and you're just the cure. If you’re lucky, he’ll even keep you.”

Seraphine’s stomach turned. She tried to struggle, but her weakened body barely moved. “You… you sold me?”

“Don’t act surprised,” Lyla said. “After your family fell, you were just a burden. No Wolf. No power. No money. You’re a disgrace to the Mooncliff name.”

Reed kicked her lightly in the ribs, not enough to break anything, but enough to humiliate. “And now? You’re useful again. Imagine that.”

They laughed, their shadows lengthening as they loomed over her. Seraphine tasted blood in her mouth—metallic, bitter. Her body hurt in ways she couldn’t describe, her memories fractured by betrayal and drugs.

Reed crouched beside her, voice a whisper. “Don’t worry. Alaric’s not gentle, but he’s rich. Maybe he’ll even be merciful, if the child looks like him.”

Child?

Seraphine’s eyes widened in horror, and Lyla smiled.

“Oh yes,” she purred. “You’re pregnant.”

No. That couldn't be true. She couldn’t remember—her heat had been forced, suppressed with herbs and spells, controlled and manipulated. There were gaps in her memory she didn’t want to look into. But her body—her body knew.

She was shaking, a mix of fear and rage boiling in her chest.

“You’re monsters,” she whispered.

Reed’s smile dropped. He slapped her, open-palmed, sending her head slamming back into the wall. “We’re realists. Something your family never understood.”

The van door slammed open above them.

Reed stood. “Time to deliver the goods.”

They dragged her out, forcing her into the back of a black vehicle with metal bars welded to the windows. Rain pounded the roof like gunfire as the engine roared to life. Seraphine felt every bump, every jolt in the road. Her wrists were bruised, and her face throbbed. She counted her heartbeats to stay awake.

She needed to survive. For her child. For revenge.

The trees outside blurred into shadows. The road twisted deeper into Bloodshadow territory.

Then the van screeched, fishtailing wildly.

“What the hell?” Reed cursed from the front seat.

Snarls filled the air—feral, wild. Rogues.

The van rocked as something heavy slammed into the side. Another jolt. Then the windshield shattered.

Lyla screamed.

Reed pulled a gun, but it was too late. The door was ripped off its hinges. Clawed hands dragged Reed out, tearing at his flesh.

Seraphine twisted, managing to sit up as the chaos exploded outside. Shadows danced—half-Wolf, half-men. Rogue werewolves, wild-eyed and hungry, surrounded the van.

A wolf lunged at her through the open door.

Then he arrived.

The air split with a roar—low, guttural, so thick with dominance it made Seraphine’s bones shake.

The rogue wolf flew backwards, spine snapping midair.

A figure stepped into the storm, tall and monstrous, glistening with rain and blood. His body was lean and powerful, muscles coiled like a predator on the hunt. Silver claws dripped crimson, and emerald eyes glowed beneath messy blond hair soaked with water.

Alaric Montenegro.

Seraphine's breath caught.

He was half-shifted, mouth still full of fangs, eyes glowing with fury, bare-chested and barefoot, his body covered in fresh wounds that only made him more terrifying. He moved like a ghost, fast and brutal—cutting through the rogues as though they were paper.

One tried to run. Alaric leapt and tore out its throat midair.

Another reached for Lyla. Alaric didn’t even blink. One swipe. The rogue’s head rolled across the mud.

The others fled.

Only silence remained—broken only by Lyla’s sobbing and Reed’s gurgled breaths as he crawled through the bloodied ground.

Alaric turned to the van.

To Seraphine.

She shrank back, trembling. Her pulse roared in her ears as her heart screamed in panic. He was... wrong. Beautiful, dangerous, a monster barely contained. She could feel the raw, unfiltered rage rolling off him.

And yet—

A dull pain bloomed at the back of her neck. Her hand trembled as she touched it.

A scar.

The mark.

No…

Her eyes widened as realization crashed over her like a wave. She had felt it before—during the drugged haze, the moment her body had burned and screamed. The mating mark. He had marked her.

Alaric's eyes narrowed. He sniffed the air, then stepped closer, fangs retracting. His claws dripped rain and blood as he walked toward her.

She saw it then. Behind the madness—recognition. Confusion. Fury.

And something deeper. Instinctual.

“You,” he growled. The word was raw. Disbelieving. “You're her.”

Seraphine wanted to speak, to scream, to tell him she hadn’t known—hadn’t meant—but no sound came.

Her hands trembled in her lap as he towered over her. Every muscle in her body tensed. His gaze dropped to her stomach, lingering.

He knew.

“You’re pregnant,” he said, voice like thunder.

She flinched.

Behind him, Reed whimpered. Lyla scrambled to her knees.

“Alaric!” she cried. “We brought her to you! You needed—”

He didn’t look at her. Just raised one clawed hand.

Lyla’s scream was cut off by the sound of bones crunching.

Seraphine gasped as she saw the red splatter against the van’s side. Reed shrieked and begged.

Alaric turned, slow, deliberate. “You tried to blackmail me,” he said coldly. “You thought you could control me with this?”

He pointed at Seraphine—no, at her belly.

Reed’s screams echoed into the night.

Seraphine watched in numb horror as Alaric stepped back to her and crouched. The rage was still there, but his claws retracted. His hand reached toward her—slowly, like a predator testing a trap.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

He reached behind her, grabbed the ropes, and sliced them effortlessly. The silver coils fell away.

She collapsed into his arms.

His voice brushed against her ear. “Tell me the truth. Did you plan this?”

“No.” Her voice was hoarse. “They drugged me. I didn’t know—didn’t want this. I tried to escape.”

“Convenient,” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “You show up in heat, get marked, and now claim innocence?”

“I have no Wolf,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

Alaric stared at her for a long moment. His fingers brushed her stomach—intentionally or not, she didn’t know.

Then, his expression twisted into something darker.

“If you didn’t want the child,” he said, “we can fix that now.”

Seraphine froze.

“What—?”

His hands suddenly slammed into the van wall on either side of her head, caging her in. “You want to leave?” he asked softly, almost gently. “Too bad.”

She tried to push him, but he didn’t budge.

“I won’t let you take it away,” he said. “Not until I’m sure. Not until I know.”

He lifted her chin, studying her face like he was looking for lies carved into her skin.

“Maybe you’re lying. Maybe you’re not.”

His fingers slid down, slow. Dangerous. They traced the hem of her torn shirt, curling into the fabric.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

The rain had stopped. But inside the van, the tension rose like a tide.

His claws glinted in the dim light.

“I’ll open you up,” he said coldly. “And find out myself.”

Seraphine’s scream caught in her throat.

And then—

A voice broke the silence.

“That’s enough, Alaric.”

It was calm. Female. Elderly.

Refined, but deadly.

Seraphine turned her head.

A silver-haired woman stood at the edge of the forest, flanked by two wolves in black uniforms.

Marian Montenegro.

Alaric’s grandmother.

His body stilled.

She stared at him with cold eyes. “You lay one more claw on her, and I’ll make sure you bleed for it.”