Scorned Luna's Revenge

His green eyes glinted with a predator’s amusement as he stood tall on the stone platform, watching the crowd below with a look of controlled boredom. The wind swept through his tousled brown hair, brushing the waves off his forehead as the faintest smirk tugged at the edge of his lips.

The heavy doors of the assembly hall creaked open.

Finally.

The rogue had arrived.

Draven straightened, hands clasped behind his back, eyes narrowing as the crowd parted like the sea. The scent of fear was already thick in the air.

He watched silently as his guards began escorting the hooded figure down the narrow aisle—chains clinking with every forced step.

Just as tradition dictated, the rogue’s face was concealed beneath a rough black cloth, only to be revealed at the Alpha’s command. And that command had yet to come.

Beside the dais stood a man who did not kneel, did not flinch, and did not fear—Knox. A broad, battle-scarred advisor with a mess of black hair tied back in a warrior’s braid. He wasn’t a wolf. He didn’t need to be. His mind was his weapon, and his loyalty ran deeper than blood.

“That’s far enough,” Knox said, voice echoing through the hall like iron dragged across stone. The guards halted a few feet before the platform. Knox glanced up at Draven. “Whenever you’re ready, Alpha Draven.”

Draven rolled his eyes. “How many times must I tell you not to call me that, Uncle?” he muttered under his breath.

Knox merely offered a shrug that said, Get used to it.

Before either could say more, one of the guards struck the back of the rogue’s knee. The hooded figure collapsed to the ground with a choked sound.

“You kneel before an Alpha, you worthless mutt!” the man snapped.

Draven exhaled slowly through his nose, unmoved. All eyes turned to him. They always did. It was the price of power—and he wore it like a second skin.

He stepped forward, just enough to cast his shadow over the kneeling rogue. “What’s the charge?” he asked, his tone clipped, bored.

The blond guard to the right spoke, his tone stiff with formality. “Caught hunting within our borders, Alpha. Deep inside the perimeter.”

Of course.

Draven didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “Another starving rogue thinking they can sneak a meal past my patrols.” He looked down at the figure still kneeling, motionless. “Let’s see what we’ve got this time.”

“Unmask the rogue,” he ordered.

The cloth was yanked away.

Gasps filled the hall. Several pack members recoiled. Even Knox tensed.

And Draven… Draven stilled.

Time seemed to bend around him.

A mane of wild, tangled brown hair fell across a dirt-smudged face. Her lips were cracked. Her cheeks sunken. Eyes—impossibly blue—locked onto his with a haunting defiance.

A woman.

And not just any woman. She looked like a storm. Like pain wrapped in silk and bone.

Draven’s breath hitched for half a second before he masked it. Something inside him stirred. Violent. Unwanted.

She was beautiful.

Not in the polished way the pack females were. No. Her beauty was raw—earthy and bruised. Like she had been dragged through fire and survived. Barely.

His eyes swept over her: the baggy shirt stained with dirt, the trousers clearly stolen from someone twice her size. Her wrists bore faint bruises from the chains. Her bare feet were covered in scratches and dried blood.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Just stared at him.

And he stared back.

“She’ll break,” Knox murmured beside him. “They all do.”

Draven didn’t respond.

Knox raised his voice. “You have two choices, rogue. Death… or servitude. Pledge yourself to this pack and live—though you may come to wish otherwise.”

Still, she said nothing. Her eyes had dropped now—cast toward the filthy floor.

The guard beside her grew impatient and slammed a boot into her ribs. She gasped and crumpled sideways with a groan.

“Kneel properly, bitch!” he snarled, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head up.

Draven’s jaw clenched.

Not because he cared.

But because… something about that felt wrong.

Her gaze lifted again—briefly locking onto Draven’s before flickering away.

Fear. But also something else.

A calculation. A spark.

The guard spat near her. “Choose. Now.”

The hall went still. Curious. Hungry for blood.

Draven watched her closely.

Most rogues begged for death. Those who didn’t, rarely lasted long enough to regret it. Kymera wasn’t merciful. Kymera was survival. Through force.

Then, finally, she spoke.

Her voice was raspy, cold. But calm.

“I want time to think.”

A beat of silence—then the hall erupted in laughter.

Roars of disbelief.

Even Knox chuckled, shaking his head as he loosened the grip on his execution blade. “Gods,” he muttered. “She’s bold, I’ll give her that.”

Draven didn’t laugh.

He just kept watching her. Even now, her posture was rigid. Her fists clenched. Her chin tilted like a soldier who’d forgotten she’d lost the war.

“I don’t think you understand,” the guard hissed, tightening his grip on her hair. “You don’t get time.”

Her reply came swift and sharp.

“Then I choose to live.”

Silence.

No one moved.

Draven’s head tilted, just slightly. “Do you know whose pack you’re in?”

“Kymera,” she said, voice firm despite the pain.

“And you still choose to serve?”

Her jaw tightened. “Yes.”

Knox leaned forward now, intrigued. “You understand that you’ll have no freedom. No name. No future. You’ll be nothing more than property.”

“I understand,” she answered. But her voice trembled at the end.

Still, she didn’t take it back.

Draven’s lips twitched into something that was almost a smile.

There was fire in her.

“Put her with the others,” he ordered, his voice low and final.

John nodded, gripping the girl by the arm and hauling her to her feet.

As Draven stepped off the stage and passed her, their shoulders nearly brushed.

She stared at the ground.

He glanced at her.

Just once.

But it was enough.

Because in that second, something shifted inside him—something ancient and instinctive.

Something dangerous.

The crowd parted for him as he walked past, but his mind was still on her.

The girl who chose to live.

He didn’t know her name.

But soon, he would.