The Wolfless Contract Luna
Bikly
On the night that was meant to celebrate three years of vows, I walked into our chamber and found my husband tangled in the sheets—with his brother’s widow.
Shock scalded my lungs; their laughter scalded worse.
“Wolfless trash,” they sneered, turning my own marriage bed into a courtroom.
Their plan was simple: brand me unfit, lock me away, and divide the Aurorawisp Pack—my birthright—between them.
I ran barefoot through corridors I once called home, heart drumming two words: escape, revenge.
At the edge of the territory, under a moon sharp enough to cut glass, I met the one man no wolf dares challenge—Alpha Ethan, sovereign of the northern wilds, power rolling off him like winter smoke.
“Alpha,” I breathed, cheeks flaming, “will you help me end this marriage?”
A slow, sovereign smile. “I can dissolve bonds, Madam…but I collect a price.”
I lifted my chin, voice trembling. “I won’t pay with my body. I can offer coin—”
“Keep your gold,” he said, gaze pinning me like a specimen of starlight.
“I want one year. You at my side, my name on your lips, my mark on your wrist—contract Luna, nothing more, nothing less.”
The night air crackled.
One signature, and I’d trade a traitor’s ring for a tyrant’s collar.
Yet if power is currency, perhaps the most dangerous ally is exactly the weapon I need.
I extended my hand.
“One year, Alpha. When the contract burns out, I walk free.”
His fingers closed over mine—warm steel.
“One year, Luna. Then we both decide what freedom means.”
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