The Luna He Lost, the Pack He Ruined

“I’ve already prepared the separation decree and my withdrawal seal from the Nightreaver Pack,” I said quietly. “I’m leaving Alpha Haldrick for good.” My closest friend stared at me like she’d just heard blasphemy. “Didn’t the Alpha Nightreaver swear he’d finally announce you as his Luna? After all these years, why walk away now?” I curved my lips into a smile that tasted bitter. Five years. I had endured five full winters as Haldrick Nightreaver’s hidden mate—his Luna in name only, never acknowledged beneath the moon banners. And yet, my feelings for him went back far longer. Fifteen years, ever since we were cubs running through the forest borders together. He was born with frost in his blood—cold, distant, untouchable. I told myself that if I stayed warm enough, patient enough, if I whispered “I love you” again and again, one day even an ice-bound alpha would melt. Everyone believed I would never leave him. But two weeks ago, when my mother lay dying, I begged him to drive me to the healer’s hall beyond the western ridge. The skies split open with rain and the moon was swallowed by storm clouds. Yet Haldrick stopped the car at the edge of the territory and told me to get out. His reason? His first mate had summoned him. By the time I reached the healer’s hall on foot, soaked to the bone and shaking, my mother only had enough strength left to squeeze my hand once before she passed away. Something inside me shattered beyond repair. I had always told myself Haldrick was simply distant by nature—that alphas carried burdens heavier than others. But that day, I learned the truth. Later, in the healer’s corridor, his first love smiled gently at me and said, “Can’t you tell? He’s cold to everyone except me.” Then she showed me a crystal image. In it, the alpha who hated disorder and avoided touch was leaning close, wiping milk from the corner of her lips with careful fingers. His gaze was soft—tender in a way I had never once received. I stopped lying to myself. I was not the one who could warm his frost. She was his fire. So I let go. A week ago, I left the separation decree on his desk beneath the Nightreaver sigil. He didn’t even read it before pressing his seal. Seven days… Seven days and the bond would dissolve. Outside the café carved into the stone of the central territory, Haldrick’s black rune-marked car waited. He had come to collect me, as always—never asking if I wished to ride with him. He glanced over, faintly frowning at my silence. “That document you asked me to approve the other day,” he said, voice cool. “Which trade clan was it with?” I opened my mouth, but… “Never mind,” he added flatly. “It doesn’t matter. I trust your judgment.” That sentence struck harder than claws. For five years, I clung to those words like a blessing. I trust you. I thought it meant reliance. Respect. That I mattered. That he finally would rely on me. Now I finally understood. It wasn’t trust. It was indifference. He didn’t care what I handled, only that I never embarrassed him beneath the moon council’s eyes. I wanted to scream, That wasn’t a trade pact—it was our separation decree! But his communicator lit up. One glance at the name and the ice in his eyes melted. “You’re not feeling well?” His voice softened instantly. “Don’t move. I’ll come now.” My strength drained away. When the car slowed at a random street corner, I opened the door and stepped out without a word. The night wind cut my skin, but it was nothing compared to my heart. We grew up together—if that could be called love. I was always the bright one, chasing after him through forest paths, calling his name like sunlight breaking frost. I believed—foolishly—that warmth could change destiny. Just like the heroine in a fairy tale who finally melted the ice prince. But real life isn’t a moon-blessed legend. I was never the heroine. In the academy of the Silverfang Pack, I watched him lose himself to another girl. She was clumsy, always tripping over her own feet, forever apologizing. A girl who couldn’t even prepare a proper hunter’s meal. Her moon-bentos were half raw, overly salted disasters, yet the future Alpha ate every bite. He would look up at her with soft eyes and say, “It’s good. I like it.” Once, during a gathering under the crescent moon, she spilled hot wolfberry brew onto his custom boots—boots made from shadow-leather, worth a fortune. She panicked, tears trembling in her eyes. He didn’t scold her. He took her trembling hands, dried them carefully, and murmured, “It’s fine. Don’t be afraid.” I watched from afar. I, on the other hand, spent years learning every dish he favored. I memorized his tastes, adjusted spices to his exact liking, timed every meal to his training schedule. Yet all I ever received was a brief nod. Maybe one bite. Never praise. I learned to keep my distance, careful not to trigger his aversion to touch. While that woman never cared. She crossed every boundary with ease. They were bonded for three full moon cycles—three years. In the end, she couldn’t endure his cold nature. She broke the bond and left the continent, disappearing beyond the sea without turning back. Back then, Haldrick wanted to chase her. But the Silverfang bloodline fell into crisis. To secure support from my family’s territory, he accepted a political mating with me. I had loved him for too long. So I agreed. Even when he told me clearly it wasn’t love. Even when he demanded the bond remain hidden from the packs. Even when he said his heart belonged elsewhere. I still said yes. I believed loyalty and time could fill the space she left behind. For five years, I stood at his side as Luna in name only. I managed pack disputes, negotiated with rival territories, silenced rumors, and helped stabilize the Silverfang domain until I became his right hand. I thought he was changing. This year, he even mentioned—more than once—that he was ready to announce our bond to the Alpha Council. I believed him. I thought my devotion had finally moved him. Then she returned. Danella Evergrove—his fragile, soft-voiced first bond. They said she’d been hurt by another Alpha abroad. Whatever the truth, Haldrick rushed to her side before she even severed her new bond. I had been his mate for five years, yet I had never seen him like that. He cooked healing stews for her. Sent guards to escort her at night. Cancelled council meetings the moment she summoned him. And that promise to reveal our bond? Gone. Never mentioned again. Not long ago, because of a single call from her, he abandoned me on a rain-soaked mountain road while I begged him to take me to my dying mother. I never made it in time. When I returned to the territory, I began packing in silence. One by one, I took out the ceremonial dresses meant for Alpha gatherings. Dresses I once imagined him noticing, saying simply, “You look good.” He never did. The shelves were unchanged—rows of strategy tomes I forced myself to study just to keep up with him. I found an old notebook. Inside, written in red ink: Endure. One day, he’ll see you. I stared at the words for a long time, then placed the notebook into a box. When Haldrick returned, he paused at the empty room. “You’re packing?” he asked, confused. “Just clearing old things,” I said evenly. “They’ve been unused for years.” He nodded. “Buy new ones if you want.” That was all. No concern. No glance. That night, he came from the bath, moonwater still clinging to his skin. He sat beside me, arm settling around my waist as if by habit. “My mother asked when we’ll have an heir,” he said quietly. Once, I would’ve laughed. Wrapped myself around him. Said, “Soon.” This time, I gently moved his hand away. “I’m not well,” I said. He frowned. “Your cycle ended.” “I just don’t want to.” He hesitated, then turned and left. I remembered our first mating—how I cried from the pain but smiled through it, believing this was love. Even when it became routine. Even when it felt like duty. I endured. But not anymore. This bond means nothing to me now. Seven days. Just seven more days—and I will be free.