No Longer Your Spare Part: The Luna's Revenge
The drill's whine was the only thing in my world, vibrating through my skull and drowning out my own screams.
I was strapped to a cold metal table, paralyzed by wolfsbane, while surgeons bored into my hip bone to siphon my essence.
"Just a little more," the surgeon muttered. "Isabella needs the boost for the wedding photos."
They weren't saving my sister's life. They were harvesting my marrow just to make her skin glow for a picture.
I looked at the observation window, begging with my eyes.
Dante, the Alpha I had dragged from the jaws of death, stood there. He wasn't looking at me. He was holding Isabella's hand.
He didn't know I was the one who healed him. He believed her lies.
"Take it all if you have to," Dante's voice drifted through our fading mate bond. "Don't let her fade."
The drill punched through. My heart stuttered and stopped.
I died on that table, a hollowed-out husk used to feed my sister's vanity.
"Seraphina! Are you deaf?"
A sharp voice snapped me back into existence.
I gasped, clutching my hip. No blood. No drill. No pain.
I looked at the calendar on my father's desk.
I was alive. And I had exactly one year before the surgery that killed me.
I looked at my trembling hands and felt the ancient anger of my White Wolf stirring.
I wasn't going to be the sacrifice this time.
I was going to be the arsonist.
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Chapter 3
Seraphina POV:
I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and stale blood.
Not a private suite. The supply closet in the Pack Infirmary.
My legs were bandaged, throbbing with the unique, rhythmic ache of silver burns. My healing factor was stalled; the metal residue was still fighting my cells.
The door opened. Dante.
He tossed a styrofoam container onto the bedside table.
"Eat."
I struggled to sit up, wincing. "I'm not hungry."
"Isabella was worried," Dante said flatly. "She couldn't finish her dinner because she was so upset about your... clumsiness. She sent this."
I opened the box. Leftover steak. Covered in a rich, dark sauce.
I sniffed. Beneath the garlic, the sharp, metallic tang of wolfsbane.
Not lethal. Just painful. Enough to cause cramps and vomiting. Isabella's favorite childhood prank.
"I can't eat this," I said. "It has wolfsbane in the sauce."
Dante rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. It's a five-star restaurant. Stop trying to make Isabella look bad."
"Smell it," I challenged.
He didn't. He couldn't be bothered.
"I said, eat," Dante growled.
Alpha Command.
A psychic anvil dropped on my brain. My muscles twitched, betraying me.
"No," I gritted out, sweat breaking on my forehead.
"Eat."
My hand moved like a puppet's. I picked up the fork. Stabbed the meat. Lifted it to my mouth while tears of humiliation streamed down my face.
I swallowed.
Liquid fire. I gagged, clutching my throat.
Dante watched with disgust. "Always the drama queen. You're fine."
He turned and walked out.
An hour later, after retching until I saw bile, I dragged myself to the infirmary garden.
Isabella was sitting by the koi pond.
"Did you enjoy the steak?" she asked, examining her nails.
"You're a monster," I rasped.
"And you are a waste of space," she countered lightly. She stood up. "Do you know why Dante hates you? Because you remind him of weakness. He looks at you and sees a wolfless cripple."
"I saved him," I whispered. "In the cabin."
Isabella's smile vanished. "He doesn't know that. And if you tell him, I'll have Daddy harvest a kidney next time. Without the sedative."
She stepped back towards the edge of the pond.
"You're pathetic, Sarah."
Then, she threw herself backward.
Splash.
"Help! She pushed me! Help!"
The psychic scream hit the Pack Link like a siren.
Dante! Help me! She's trying to kill me!
A wind rushed past.
Dante materialized. Red eyes. Fangs extended.
"I didn't..."
"Silence!"
He pulled a sputtering Isabella out.
"She... she said she wanted me dead," Isabella sobbed. "She said she wanted to be Luna."
Dante turned to me. Pure hatred.
"You tried to kill your future Luna."
"I didn't touch her!"
"I saw you standing over her," Dante snarled. "You are jealous. You are petty. And now, you are a traitor."
He took a step towards me. Death hung in the air.
"I should kill you right now," he whispered.
Part of me wished he would.
"But death is too easy," he decided. "Guards!"
Two warriors appeared.
"Take her to the Cooler. Let her think about her crimes in the dark."
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8.0
When gifted cellist Vivienne Aurel inherits her late father's catastrophic $4.2 million debt, she expects to lose everything. She doesn't expect the debt to be bought by Caspian Vane, the most feared private equity magnate in New York. Caspian doesn't want to ruin her; he wants her to work exclusively for him as the artistic director of his new cultural foundation for eighteen months. Forced into his world under a binding agreement, Vivienne prepares to fight against a cold, transactional cage. But as the intense, quiet proximity between them begins to blur the lines of their contract, she discovers a terrifying truth: the man who now owns her future has been watching her from the shadows long before she ever knew his name.
7.1
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash of my starship crashing. But instead of a rescue crew, I woke up tied to a wooden post, surrounded by hostile beastmen.
My universal translator kicked in just in time to hear their priestess, Chelsea, declare that I was a cursed demon who ruined their hunt. To save the clan from winter starvation, I was to be burned alive.
The flames were already blistering my legs, and jagged stones hurled by the crowd gashed my forehead. I barely negotiated a three-day reprieve to find them food, venturing into the deadly primeval forest.
I found a massive supply of wild potatoes and even gained the protection of Bronson, a terrifyingly powerful saber-toothed tiger beastman.
But Chelsea wouldn't stop.
She labeled my food as poisonous, tried to sentence me to starve in a penitent's cave, and when my agricultural knowledge proved her wrong, she invoked an ancient law. She incited the tribe's savage warriors to fight over me, turning me into breeding property.
I was a scientist offering them endless food, yet their primitive ignorance and one woman's vicious jealousy kept pushing me toward a brutal end. I was terrified, completely powerless against their monstrous physical strength.
As five ruthless challengers drew their bone axes to claim me, I begged Bronson to leave me and run.
Instead, he pulled me against his scarred chest and kissed me fiercely in front of the entire clan.
"She is my mate," he roared, unleashing a soul-crushing aura. "Anyone who wants her, come at me together."
8.8
I spent three years hating Damien Castillo, the ruthless mafia Don who kidnapped me from my engagement party and ruined my reputation.
But in the end, it was my perfect fiancé, Julian, and my sweet half-sister, Sophia, who slipped the deadly poison into my wine.
As the venom burned through my veins in that freezing cellar, I watched Julian smile. He and Sophia had orchestrated my brutal death. She had been sleeping in his bed all along, intentionally miscarrying his bastard child just to frame me as 'impure' and strip me of my family's protection. My own father used me as a political pawn, letting them throw me away like garbage.
And Damien? The monster I had fought and despised for years marched straight into a suicide ambush for me. He was riddled with bullets, turning his body into a human shield just to buy me a few more seconds of life.
"Touch her and you die."
I died in that blood-soaked basement, clutching his lifeless body, suffocating on my own blind trust. Why did I ever believe the golden boy who betrayed me? Why did I fight the only man who truly loved me?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of copper and mold was gone, replaced by the scent of Cuban cigars and black silk.
I was back in 1928, on the exact night Damien stormed my engagement party and locked me in his penthouse.
This time, when the ruthless Don approached me, I didn't scream or run back to my killers. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.
9.3
I lay on the wet asphalt, the cold rain mixing with the metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth. My lungs were heavy, filling with fluid as my life ebbed away. Through swollen eyelids, I saw my lover, Clovis, and my stepsister, Alanna, standing over me with looks of pure triumph.
"Thanks for the trust fund, sister," Alanna whispered, shoving a phone screen in front of my dying eyes. The headline was a jagged blade to my soul: Caesar Williamson, the "tyrant" husband I had fled from, was dead in a multi-car collision. He had died trying to rescue me, thinking I was in danger.
The realization shattered what was left of my heart. The man I had spent years painting as a monster had driven into hell to save me, while the man I thought was my safety was the one who had just crushed my ribs with an iron bar. I had played right into their hands, ruining my reputation and my marriage for a lie. I watched them walk away, leaving me to choke on my own blood in the dark, discarded like a bag of trash.
I wanted to scream, to beg the universe for a rewind button, to tell Caesar I was sorry. The darkness pressed down on me, heavier than the betrayal, as my world finally went black.
Then, I was screaming.
I shot up in bed, gasping for air like a drowning woman breaking the surface. I scrambled at my abdomen—smooth skin, no blood, no tear. I grabbed my phone and saw the date: it was three years ago, the morning of my wedding to the Williamson estate.
I didn't waste a second. I scrubbed the "unstable" makeup from my face, threw on a white silk dress, and blocked the man who would eventually kill me. This time, I wasn't running away from the manor. I was going back to the husband I had once feared, ready to save the only man who had ever truly loved me.
8.3
On the day Brett Graham threw his big victory celebration, he held my hand and told everyone I was his destiny.
Even though we were already divorced.
He declared to the whole room that he didn't regret his life-or-death decision, especially since his wife had been among the captives.
Too bad the truth was, on that battlefield, the person he was trying to save wasn't me. It was his mistress.
Just as Brett thought his bright future was finally within reach, the name on the military commendation medal turned out to be mine.
Looking down at Brett from the stage, I spoke frankly to the cameras.
"I believe if a peacekeeping soldier, during a hostage exchange with the enemy, only cares about the safety of his lover, it's a true disgrace to the profession."
9.4
I was the daughter of a defeated Alpha, kneeling as a broken war spoil before the ruthless Lycan King, Kaelen Varg.
Through a twisted misunderstanding with a spiked drink, the tyrant lost control. But when he attacked me, an impossible spark ignited between us. His inner wolf roared in triumph, recognizing me as his fated Mate, and he claimed me in the heat of the night.
But the next morning, he woke up with another woman's name on his lips. Realizing he had surrendered to a lowly tribute, his eyes filled with absolute, violent loathing. To erase the humiliation of our bond, he shoved me to the floor like garbage.
"Take her to the Barrens. Leave her there. Make sure she never comes back."
His Beta dragged me to a sealed, sun-baked wasteland crawling with mutated beasts. They clamped silver cuffs onto my wrists, searing my flesh and suppressing my wolf, leaving me to die a slow, agonizing death.
I lay in the scorching dirt, the silver burning into my bones. I couldn't understand how a fated Mate could be so merciless. Why was my life worth less than his twisted pride? Why did I have to be fed to monsters just so he could keep his throne spotless?
The cold rage in my core solidified into a diamond-hard resolve. I forced my bleeding body to stand in the desolate wasteland. I will not die here. I will survive, and I will live to see his kingdom burn.