The Luna They Tried To Erase

Hope POV: The freezing wind off Lover's Point whipped through my thin coat, biting into my skin, but I didn't shiver. The night swallowed the horizon, leaving only the blinding, arrogant lights of the Silver Moon plaza far below. For ten years, I had stood at the bottom of that glowing fortress, looking up at my husband's territory with the desperate devotion of a caged animal. Tonight, my heart hammered against my ribs with a violent, erratic rhythm, because for the first time, I was looking down at it. I raised my numb, freezing fingers and rubbed the simple silver band on my left ring finger. The icy metal stung my skin. A bitter smile tugged at my lips as I remembered the day I put it on. My parents had always looked at me like a defective product, a burden to be traded. This ring was supposed to be my salvation, a promise of a home. What a pathetic, laughable vow that turned out to be. I gripped the ring and pulled. It caught on my knuckle, sending a dull throb of pain up my arm. I didn't stop. I yanked it hard, scraping the skin until the metal slid off, leaving an angry, raw red mark around my finger. Let it hurt. The pain was nothing compared to the necessity of peeling off the rotting skin of my past. Without a second thought, I tossed the ring over the edge of the cliff. The silver caught the moonlight for a fraction of a second before the black abyss swallowed it whole. The moment it left my hand, the suffocating, leaden weight in my chest—the lingering oppression of the Wolfsbane—seemed to fracture, letting in a sliver of clean air. I looked down at my phone. The screen glared in the darkness. 8:00 PM on the dot. I tapped the send button on an encrypted text message to Debi. A cold, sharp smirk curled my lips. I opened the live security feed Debi had patched to my tablet. The screen flickered, showing the top-floor VIP room of the Silver Moon building. The crystal chandelier glared with an obnoxious, blinding light. Ivan sat in the center of a black leather sofa. Even through the grainy feed, I could see his jaw clenched. His dark brows were drawn together in a tight, irritated line. He was an apex Alpha, a man used to the absolute submission of his environment, but tonight, a restless, uncontrollable agitation rolled off his broad shoulders. Kiera shimmied closer to him, holding a flute of champagne. She wore a dress that barely covered her thighs, deliberately pressing her soft chest against his arm. She was trying to melt the ice radiating from him, but Ivan’s body betrayed him. His muscles locked up. He went completely rigid, instinctively repelling her touch. Kiera was a rogue wolf, obsessed with using physical contact to validate a status she never truly owned. The Grand Elder approached them, raising his glass with a fawning, exaggerated smile. His lips moved in blatant flattery, but a massive firework detonated outside the window, completely drowning out his pathetic words. It made him look ridiculous, like a silent movie clown. Ivan clinked his glass against the Elder's with lazy disregard. But his dark, stormy eyes kept darting toward the heavy mahogany doors. My chest tightened briefly. His heart was skipping beats. I knew that look. His subconscious was waiting for the obedient, silent wife who always waited up for him. Not tonight, Ivan. Kiera noticed his gaze. Jealousy contorted her beautiful face. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her champagne flute, the thin glass letting out a dangerous, sharp creak. She instantly smoothed her features, pasting on a mask of sickeningly sweet concern, mouthing questions about his well-being. Ivan pulled his arm away from her chest, his face devoid of warmth. He used the excuse of adjusting his expensive silver cufflinks to put a foot of distance between them. That subconscious, physical rejection made Kiera’s eyes darken with toxic malice. I tapped the screen, switching the feed to the first-floor security lobby. A courier wearing a low-pulled baseball cap ducked through the turnstiles. A burly security guard stepped forward, raising a hand to stop him. Suddenly, Debi’s handiwork kicked in. A piercing, high-frequency static blasted through the guards' earpieces. The guard doubled over, clutching his ears in agony. The courier didn't hesitate. He quickened his pace, seamlessly blending into a line of waiters rolling carts of liquor toward the service elevators. In a small picture-in-picture window on my screen, I saw Debi in the underground server room. She was chewing gum, her fingers flying across a mechanical keyboard. A waterfall of green code cascaded down her monitor. In three seconds flat, she looped the live feed from the first floor to the penthouse, replacing it with five minutes of pre-recorded, empty hallways. She was a ghost, a black-market hacker I had pulled from the gutter, and she was fiercely loyal. The courier slipped into the exclusive VIP elevator and slammed the top-floor button. The metal doors began to slide shut. A late-arriving guard lunged forward, trying to jam his hand between the doors, but he grasped nothing but empty air. The camera inside the elevator showed the courier gripping the handrail. The high-speed ascent must have dropped his stomach. He pulled his cap lower, his knuckles bone-white as he reached into his jacket. He pulled out a square box wrapped in black velvet. He was trembling. *Ding.* The elevator doors parted on the top floor. Two massive Alpha Royal Guards snapped their heads toward the sound, their hands instantly dropping to the stun batons at their waists. "Halt!" one guard barked. A crushing wave of Alpha pheromones exploded down the corridor. The courier’s knees buckled. He swayed, nearly collapsing under the sheer physical weight of the dominance, but he wrapped both arms around the velvet box, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline. Inside the VIP room, Ivan’s head snapped up. Even through the heavy doors, his acute senses caught the spike in pheromones. He surged to his feet. His massive, imposing frame instantly sucked all the oxygen out of the room. Every eye turned to him. Kiera jumped, startled by his violent movement. Champagne sloshed over the rim of her glass, staining her designer gown. She let out a high-pitched shriek, trying to draw his eyes back to her, but Ivan didn't even look in her direction. He marched to the entrance and grabbed the brass handles of the heavy mahogany doors, ripping them open. The cold draft from the corridor slammed into the stifling, perfume-heavy air of the VIP room. The guards immediately dropped their chins in submission. They pointed at the trembling courier, explaining they had caught an unauthorized intruder. The courier shook violently under Ivan’s direct, lethal stare. Ivan looked down his nose at the man, his lips parting to order him thrown off the roof. But his peripheral vision locked onto the black velvet box. Stuck to the top of the velvet was a glaring silver label. Written in blood-red ink were the words: *Luna's Expedited Delivery.* The title *Luna* was a forbidden word in his mind, the very anchor of his absolute authority. Ivan’s pupils contracted into tiny pinpricks. His chest stopped moving. It was as if an invisible, icy fist had grabbed his lungs. "Bring it to me," Ivan ordered, his voice a low, dangerous gravel. The guard snatched the box from the courier's arms with brutal force and presented it to Ivan with both hands. Ivan took it. The box was shockingly light, but watching him hold it, I could see his shoulders tense as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Kiera scrambled to the doorway. When her eyes focused on the blood-red letters of the label, the color drained from her face, leaving her a sickly, ashen gray. Panic overrode her acting. She lunged forward, her hand shooting out to snatch the box. Ivan’s eyes turned murderous. He twisted his wrist, effortlessly dodging her desperate grab. He shot her a glare so cold it could freeze boiling water, a silent, lethal warning to back off. Kiera gasped, yanking her hand back to her chest as if she had been burned. The Elders exchanged nervous, wide-eyed glances. The temperature in the room plummeted. Everyone was holding their breath, mentally placing bets on what the stripped, useless Luna had sent. Ivan took a deep, ragged breath. He hooked his thumb under the metal latch of the box. With a sharp click, he slowly lifted the lid.