The Luna Who Saved Her Alpha

Eileen's POV

I tried to move my arms. Couldn't. They were bound behind me, rope cutting into my wrists so tight I'd lost feeling in my fingers hours ago. Or maybe it was minutes. Time had stopped making sense somewhere between the third broken rib and when they'd started tearing at my clothes.

"Hold up."

The voice cut through the fog in my brain. One of them—the big one with the scar across his knuckles—had stopped mid-motion, his meaty hand frozen on the collar of my dress.

"What?" Another one growled. I couldn't see him clearly through my good eye, but I recognized the voice. He was the one who'd hit me first, back in the parking lot outside the pharmacy.

"Look at this." Scarred Knuckles grabbed my shoulder—roughly, making me gasp—and yanked down the torn fabric of my dress. Cool air hit my bare skin.

"Holy shit." He stumbled backward like I'd burned him. "She's got the fucking Keaton pack mark."

The other one—the hitter—shoved forward to look. I felt his breath on my neck, hot and reeking of cigarettes. Then he went still.

"Boss didn't say nothing about her being Keaton's."

"What do we do?" Scarred Knuckles asked, and I heard the fear in his voice. Everyone feared Silas Keaton. Everyone except me, apparently. I'd been too stupid to be afraid of the right things.

"I don't know, man. If Keaton finds out—"

"He won't."

The new voice sliced through the warehouse like a knife. High heels clicked against concrete, steady and confident. I knew those footsteps. I'd heard them a thousand times, usually accompanied by soft laughter and gentle advice.

Violet.

I forced my head up, blinking through the blood crusting my eyelashes. Violet stood in the doorway, backlit by the streetlight outside. She looked perfect, as always. Hair smooth, makeup flawless, wearing a cream-colored coat that probably cost more than most people's rent.

Behind her, another figure. Taller. Broader. My heart, already broken, shattered into smaller pieces.

Derek.

"Don't stop on my account," Violet said, walking toward me. Her heels echoed in the empty space. "Keaton's going to be dead soon anyway. That crippled Alpha won't last long."

The words hit me harder than any fist had. "What... what did you say?"

My voice came out wrong—hoarse and broken, barely above a whisper. But Violet heard me. She smiled.

"Oh, Eileen." She crouched down in front of me, so close I could smell her perfume. Chanel No. 5. I'd given her that bottle for her birthday last year. "You really are as stupid as I always thought."

Derek moved into my line of sight, pulling out a silver cigarette case. He lit one slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world. Maybe he did. I certainly didn't.

"Tell her," Violet said, still smiling that perfect smile. "She deserves to know, don't you think?"

Derek took a long drag, blew the smoke toward the ceiling. "We're going to kill your mate, Eileen. That wheelchair-bound excuse for an Alpha. Honestly, he's an embarrassment to the whole pack structure."

My chest constricted. Not from the broken ribs, but from something deeper. "Silas..."

"Don't worry," Violet cooed, reaching out to touch my face. I flinched, but couldn't move away. "It'll be quick. Well, quicker than this, anyway." She gestured vaguely at my battered body. "We needed you to get close to him first. To make him trust you. And you did such a good job."

"You really thought Derek loved you?" Violet continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "That he wanted you? God, Eileen, you made it so easy."

Memories crashed over me, each one a fresh wound:

Violet's voice in my ear, soft and concerned: "You must feel so trapped, married to someone like that. A cripple. It's not fair to you."

Her hand on my arm: "Derek really cares about you, you know. He always asks about you."

Her gentle encouragement: "You don't have to stay with Silas just because of some family arrangement. You deserve to be happy."

Every word had been a lie. Every touch, every sisterly confidence, every moment I'd thought we were close—all of it calculated. All of it designed to push me away from Silas, to make me the perfect weapon against him.

And I'd fallen for it. Every. Single. Time.

"Why?" The word scraped out of my throat. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Violet's mask cracked. Her pretty face twisted into something ugly, something real. "Hate you?" She laughed, high and sharp. "I've hated you since we were children, Eileen. Since the first day Mom brought me into that house and everyone looked at you—poor, sweet, motherless Eileen—with so much pity and love."

"That's not—"

"Don't." Her voice cracked like a whip. "Don't you dare say it wasn't true. You got the Keaton marriage. You got the mark. You got everything handed to you on a silver platter, and you were too pathetic to even appreciate it."

Derek flicked ash onto the floor. "The really funny part? Keaton actually fell for you. That powerful, terrifying Alpha—brought low by a little nobody who couldn't even see what she had."

The words pierced through me like ice. Silas... loved me?

No. That couldn't be right. Our marriage was arranged, a political alliance between families. He'd never said... he'd never shown...

But even as I thought it, memories flickered: The way he'd looked at me sometimes, when he thought I wasn't watching. The gentle tone he'd use when speaking to me, so different from how he addressed everyone else. The mark on my shoulder, still trying to protect me even now.

Oh God. Oh God, what had I done?

"Finish it," Violet said coldly, turning away. "We still have plans for that crippled Alpha."

The men moved toward me again. I couldn't fight. Could barely move. My body was already broken, and now my heart was too.

If I could go back... if I could do it all over again...

I'd choose him. I'd choose Silas. I'd tell Violet to go to hell and Derek with her. I'd stay by Silas Keaton and actually try to see him, really see him, instead of believing every poisonous word whispered in my ear.

But I couldn't go back. Nobody got second chances.

The pain came, sharp and final. I felt myself slipping, consciousness fading like water through my fingers.

My last thought wasn't of revenge or justice. It was simpler than that:

I'm sorry, Silas. I'm so sorry.

Then—nothing.

Light exploded across my vision.

I gasped, throwing my hands up instinctively to block it. My hands. I could move my hands.

I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Blue sky. Morning sun. The sharp scent of pine trees and fresh-cut grass.

What...?

I looked down at myself. Clean white dress, no blood, no tears. My arms were unmarked, skin pale and smooth. I touched my face—no swelling, no split lip. Nothing hurt.

Nothing hurt.

"Miss Goode? Are you alright?"

I spun around so fast I nearly fell. A man in a chauffeur's uniform stood beside a sleek black car, looking at me with concern. Behind him, massive iron gates stood open, revealing a long driveway lined with ancient oak trees.

I knew those gates. I knew that driveway.

"Miss Goode?" The driver stepped closer. "You look pale. Are you nervous about the wedding? It's perfectly normal to have cold feet on your wedding day—"

Wedding day.

The words echoed in my skull like a bell.

"What... what day is it?" My voice came out steady, which seemed impossible given that my entire world had just tilted sideways.

The driver's concern deepened. "It's your wedding day, miss. You're marrying Alpha Keaton this morning. Are you feeling ill? Should I call someone?"

Wedding day. My wedding day. The day I'd married Silas Keaton.

The day everything started.

This wasn't possible. I'd died. I'd felt myself die. And now—

Now I was at Keaton Manor. At the gates. On my wedding day.

The driver was still talking, but I couldn't hear him anymore. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking.

Silas. Silas was alive. He was alive and he was here and—

I need to find him.