The Moon The King was Missing

Name: The Moon The King was Missing
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Яoma

Werewolf | Ongoing

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Lia, daughter of an alpha and his moon, grew up relegated to the kitchen by the same pack that ordered her parents killed. The night she nearly died, her wolf side awakened: she could distinguish false scents, read the forest, and sense the Stone when someone was lying. Kael, King of the Alphas, rescued her. He smelled her and knew: she was his destined mate. To protect her, Kael invoked the Law of the Stone and faced Argon, the tyrant who had kept her subjugated, in a duel. But a conspiracy was already underway: the mercenaries Black Iron and Mara used silver traps and a scent silencer to plant her trail, break her protection, and return her to being "No One." Lia must choose: hide under the King's wing or fight by his side. She has a gift no one else possesses. She can uncover evidence, force the Stone to speak, and reclaim her name. Kael can win battles. Only Lia can dismantle the conspiracy that haunts her. Will they be able to break the chains of fear and betrayal... or will pack warfare claim them first?

Fantasy Alpha Werewolf

Chapter 12 The Touch of His Fingers

The day before yesterday 18:22

Chapter 1 The Night of the Breaking

The impact sounded like something shattering from within, leaving the world hollow. First came the ringing in my ears, then the wall slammed in sideways, and then the cold of the floor. The smell of bleach and blood. My blood.

"You're not even good for washing dishes," he spat, and the boot landed once more, striking the forearm I'd instinctively raised.

I felt the thud. The pain was indescribable. I didn't scream. I learned long ago that screams only encouraged him. I held my breath. I counted. One, two, three. My heart raced.

My "father."

Ever since the Alpha took over the pack after the death of my true parents-the Alpha and the moon everyone claimed to worship-they decided I was useful as an example. A rag with a pulse. The daughter of the fallen, turned servant, lower than an Omega. They didn't even call me by my name. "Little girl."

I crawled with my good hand to the service door. Outside, there was a new moon. No one was guarding the back of the kitchen; they thought no one in their right mind would run barefoot through the woods with a broken arm. And maybe they were right. But I wasn't in my right mind anymore.

Crossing the threshold, the air smelled of damp pine and iron. Of myself. Of pain.

"Get out," something inside me whispered. It wasn't my wolf yet, just a drowsy murmur, an ember. I'd felt it since I was a child, but fear and humiliation had buried it under ashes.

I lowered my head and ran.

Branches scratched my calves, stones dug into the soles of my feet. The forest bent and straightened with every step, and I prayed to whatever wolf god still watched me. Just a little more, just a little, please. My arm hung limp as if it weren't mine; every trot jolted me, sending sharp pains through it that blurred my vision.

I heard voices in the distance, those of the guards who sometimes patrolled the boundaries. I didn't know if they were ours or if I'd unknowingly crossed the line. It didn't matter. If my men found me, I'd go back to the kitchen. If others found me... I'd die. Or so I thought. I chose to gamble with fate.

The forest changed. The smell of the ground was different, cleaner, as if the earth were better cared for. A breeze lifted the hem of my nightgown and chilled my sweat. I tripped over a root and, this time, yes, I screamed. The world turned upside down. I fell sideways. The pain in my arm made me see sparks.

I crawled another meter. Two. The edge of the stream shimmered. I drank water clumsily, feeling it wet my chin and its taste mingling with the blood on my split lip. The ringing in my ears returned. I curled up, trying to protect my arm, and looked up at the moonless sky.

Then I heard him.

"Enough."

A single word, spoken in a powerful voice.

I opened my eyes abruptly. I didn't see him. First, I smelled him. Musk, wood smoke, and storm. My wolf ignited. A new, deep heartbeat answered him from my chest. It was as if an invisible thread stretched from my sternum to his voice.

"Who are you?" I wanted to say...

The shadow approached silently. A tall man, broad-shouldered, imposing. I noticed the way the trees seemed to part and thought I was delirious.

"No one can treat you like this," he said.

He squatted down beside me. His fingers brushed my cheek with a gentleness that belied the tone of his voice. I felt the warm pad, the calloused skin. A gentle touch; he knew how to gauge his strength.

"You're covered in bruises," he murmured. "And that arm..."

The moment he touched the broken bone, I saw stars. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. He pulled his hand away instantly.

"Who are you, and why are you helping me?" I asked.

"Because you're alive, and because I don't tolerate cowards who mistreat their own."

I swallowed. The scent of his fur surrounded me, intensifying my fear. My wolf pushed from below, as if he wanted to finally break free. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to feel anything but pain, and yet, there I was.

"Which pack are you from?" I asked, forcing myself not to cry.

"The one that won't abandon you," he replied. Then he looked up as if searching for someone else. "Come out."

Three shadows emerged from among the tree trunks, silently. Warriors. I recognized them by the way they planted their feet, by their gaze. They stopped a couple of meters away, heads bowed. At him.

"Sir," said one, blond, with a scar on his eyebrow. "The perimeter is clear. No one is following her."

The "sir" nodded, and in that simple gesture there was obedience. Hierarchy. Power.

"Bandages," he ordered. "Water. And a sweater."

The blond one moved quickly. The youngest set down a canteen and stepped back two paces, his eyes lowered. The third took out a roll of bandages and a splinting board. They were prepared, as if they expected to find wounded in the woods at midnight.

"Don't touch me," I whispered when the oldest one brought the bandages closer. It was a reflex because of how badly I was bruised.

"No one will lay a hand on you without your permission," he said. "Will you let me help you?"

I knew I could say no. Crawl back down and die a little further on. But the pain had drained my strength, and his scent... the part of me that was mine, the part I'd never been allowed to know, was desperate to get closer.

I nodded.

The older man worked efficiently, splinting my forearm and cleaning the blood from my body. Each tug of the bandage brought a cold sweat to my skin. The younger man placed the canteen in my good hand, and I took small sips, careful not to choke. The blond man appeared with a large, dark sweater that smelled of pine and metal. He slipped it over me, without touching my bare shoulders.

"There," the older man said, looking at the leader. "You can move, but carefully."

"Now tell me," he turned back to me. "What's your name?"

I wanted to say that I was the daughter of Luna Helena and Alpha Inigo, the one who ran fearlessly through these woods when they still belonged to us. But my tongue felt heavy.

"Lía," I managed to say.

It was my name, shortened.

"Lía," he repeated, and my wolf pushed harder. His voice spoke my name as if he'd been saving it. "I am Kael."

The name resonated; I didn't need anyone to explain it to me. I had heard stories of the King of the Alphas: the one who united clans to stop wars others started on a whim. The one who had no mate. The one who didn't kneel. The one who didn't forgive.