All wolves could smell the filth now embedded in her soul. She was unclean and unworthy.
And from this day forward, she would never belong anywhere again.
Lucas was never the same after that.
He wandered through the days in a fog, drowning himself in liquor or curling up in the dark, staring blankly at his claws.
His once–glorious fur dulled, losing its luster, as if the life had been drained from him.
He thought of me often–the way I used to groom his fur with gentle fingers,
The songs I used to sing to him under the full moon,
and the way I used to nuzzle against his throat after a hunt–an intimate greeting only a true Luna would give her mate.
Thad been his. I had loved him.
And yet, in the end–He let me die for another woman.
One evening, he found an old photo album buried in the depths of our home.
The leather binding was worn, but our scents still lingered there, faint, but unmistakable.
His hands trembled as he flipped through the pages.
And then he saw them. Tiny wolf runes, hand–drawn in the corners of every picture.
The marks of a Luna’s blessing. My blessing.
Even then, I had been praying for his happiness.
“Ava…”
His breath hitched, his throat tightening into a strangled whimper.
“I was wrong. I was so wrong…
His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor.
+15
He clawed at his chest, as if trying to tear out his own heart, his own g
s own pain.
guilt, his
Blood smeared across his skin as he raked his nails down his arms, his chest, punishing himself.
“Please…” his voice cracked, “Come back to me…”
But there was no answer. Only silence and
the cold, indifferent glow of the moon outside.
On a clear, quiet morning, Lucas made his final decision.
He gathered the last remnants of my belongings, arranging them with quiet reverence.
Then, he found out a black–market witch and
obtained a vial of liquid silver laced with moonflower essence from her.
The most excruciating death a werewolf could endure.
Silver would burn through flesh and bone.
And moonflower?
It would keep his soul awake for every agonizing second of it.
He lay in the bathtub, staring at the ceiling as he swallowed the poison.
His body convulsed immediately, muscles seizing, veins blackening as the silver ate away at him. Flesh rotted. Nerves burned. His
vision blurred.
But through it all, He smiled.
“I’m coming, Ava…”
His voice was barely a whisper now, his throat ruined by the poison.
“In the next life… I’ll love you better…”
I floated above him, watching as he gasped, twitched, and finally fell still.
According to werewolf lore, those who took their own lives would wander forever, bound to the place of their death.
But those who were wronged?
They would ascend into the Moon’s Shadow, where the Goddess would take them into her embrace.
I gazed down at him one last time.
And I whispered, softly-
“No, Lucas. Not in this life. Not in any life. Never again,”
