Bound To The Alpha's Heart: His Silver-Eyed Luna

~Laia~ They say fate comes in different ways. Funny how mine shows up like a slow humiliating lineup. I'm being stacked with eleven others, blank faces, hollow eyes, and of course we're being sent to Redmoon. Twelve were taken, twelve must be redeemed. It's an old rule nobody remembers starting; they just pass it down like fact. Today I'm one of them. Captive. A commodity. A slave, an object to be bought and used. They dress it up with words like "tradition" and "balance," but it's cruelty wrapped in ceremony. Footsteps. It's almost dawn, maybe five in the morning if I had access to a clock. I try to steady myself, to stay goal-focused. Whatever it takes... I'm going. I'll fetch whatever it is Lysandra needs; I don't believe in this Moon Relic excuse, and start our life over. I'll get away. I only hope Lysander holds up her end of the bargain. Footsteps, closer now. Fear crawls up my spine and the vibration in my legs makes them threaten to give. I am so f*cking doomed. My logical brain says run, it's not too late. My legs want to move. My head screams to move. But my chest tightens and something cold and steady in me clicks into place: whatever this is, I'm already in it. And there's no dramatic last-minute escape. No heroic U-turn. Just the awful, strange clarity that I chose this, or that fate shoved me, and now I have to see it through. Slowly I breathe in and out, trying to fill my lungs with as much as air I can get. Shadows. Footsteps. Burly men burst into the shed we're shoved into, shriek after shriek ricochets off the walls. The door swings wide, and cold air from the yard pierces through us. A sharp exhale leaves me when I see their faces. There is no face, just a steel-colored mask so intricate I can see their eyebrows, the curve of the lips... We're dragged outside. The cart is here. The ship is here. Our captors are here. Amusing, isn't it? I stay on my feet, jaw locked. My voice won't break; it refuses to give them the satisfaction. I have nothing to scream about. I have nothing to cry for. They push us toward the cart in a rough, practiced line. Hands clamp at my arms, leather straps bite into skin. Was Liam ok last night? Lysandra just escorted me into the shed calmly explaining that all of us would be picked up at dawn. It was only a few hours away. I asked to go get my clothes, to explain whatever this madness was to Liam. But before the words had even left my mouth, Beta was there, throwing a bag of my own clothes at my feet. I looked at Lysandra, assessing her. Every detail of this night had been planned. She nodded, I picked up the bag without a word, and we walked to the shed stinking of 11 bodies and fear. "I will take care of Liam. Don't worry." Her voice was low, for my ears only. Then the shed door opened, I stepped inside of the suffocating stink, and the door was locked behind me. Click, clack, click. Lysandra's heels clicked as she walked away, leaving the Beta at the door. I stayed unmoving by the wall next to the door, shaking. The noise around me pulls me out of my thoughts. My gaze slides over the masked men, some barking orders, some dragging feet to keep the others from screaming, and then it lands on one who doesn't seem to belong to their cruelty. He stands apart, all black from head to boot, a piece of his inky hair touching the mask on his forehead. His hands are folded across his chest, calm as a statue. The mask.... It's carved into an impossible expression, half-smile, half-sneer. Then my eyes lift and my step stutters. He's staring straight at me. Not like the others who look through me; he looks at me, like he's trying to read something I don't know about. I blink once. Twice. Thrice. That should be a warning, right? Every part of him screams danger. His aura spills into his surroundings, almost suffocating the rest of us... All of him is dangerous. He's tall, imposing, the wide shoulders blocking out the rising sun. We stare at each other for a long beat, like two animals sizing each other up before tearing into each other's throats. And then, just like that, he looks away. His eyes slide past me, cold and deliberate, as if I've already been measured... and found wanting. I scan the shore. Liam is not here. Did he wake up, scared to not have me there? Is he at school? Does Lysandra have him? I don't look for Cael, I don't watch for his blond hair or the ever-present scowl. I don't think about him sleeping wrapped around Lysandra. I don't wonder if he's thinking about his mate being shipped away. Will we ever look into each other's eyes again or this is it? A piercing scream fills the air. My gaze darts to the source, a woman lashing against the guards, her cries desperate, her arms reaching in the direction of a spot on the shore. Two children stand there, haloed by the morning winter sun .. The boy, no more than eight, is clutching his little sister's chubby hand in his, his lower lip trembling but eyes dry staring at his thrashing screaming mother. Cael... He's standing right there staring like he's watching a movie. F*cking do something! A body brushes against my shoulder moving past me urgently, and I see the dark masked stranger walking straight toward Cael, his steps determined and the line of the shoulders strained under the black shirt. His smell lingers just for a heartbeat penetrating my nostrils. Strong and calm like the giant unbreakable trees in our woods, with a sour undertone of... what is it? Pain? From where I stand, I can't hear everything, but the tense low conversation floats just enough. "We agreed on twelve. A dozen," Cael says, his voice low but enough for my straining ears to hear. "These two kids can't be part of them." The masked stranger's response is steady, almost bored, though his eyes never leave the children. "You can't really think to separate the kids from their mother. Don't you have a mating ceremony coming up? It wouldn't be good for the pack morale to have orphans there." I imagine a lifetime of scrambling for leftovers for these two children. The idea makes bile rise in my throat. Cael's face doesn't so much as flicker. His voice is void, final. "Tradition is tradition. A dozen you asked for, a dozen was offered. We've lost twelve pack members already, and you don't mean to add more." The masked wolf's voice drops an octave, his tone a dangerous half-growl, until their conversation is a knot of sound; no matter how I strain my ears, the words blur into white noise. From where I stand, Cael isn't budging an inch. He's a slab of calm cruelty. Hatred floods me hot and fast. F*ck him. He knows exactly what will happen to those kids, and still he stands there, insisting on keeping them as if he'll ever care for them, not seeing they'll end up worse than stray dogs. The second I get back, I'm taking Liam and ripping him out of this cursed pack.