Chapter 9

As soon as I begin preparing for the Eclipse Celebration, time blurs.

Days bleed into nights, and nights into lists—guests, menus, musicians, centerpieces. I throw myself into it like it’s the only thing tethering me to sanity. Maybe it is.

I don’t notice Rosalina’s creeping influence right away. I’m too focused on choosing whether to go with ivory or cream tablecloths, which string quartet to hire, which floral arrangements say diplomatic strength rather than sappy Luna nostalgia. Dorothee is a godsend—offering her opinions with the perfect balance of taste and sarcasm, flitting between floral palettes and security strategies like it’s all the same puzzle.

We’re both avoiding the truth.

We don’t talk about the fact that neither Lucian nor Damian has spent a single night with me since Rosalina arrived. About how she’s claimed my seat at the dining table like it was always meant for her. About how the pack has started hovering around her—captivated by her tragic story, her haunted eyes, her survivor’s grace.

I don’t listen to their fawning. I don’t look at the seat that used to be mine. I tune it all out, the same way I’ve tuned out Corneille. I haven’t reached for her in days. Weeks. And she hasn’t stirred.

I imagine she’s curled up in some corner of my soul, too wounded to rise. I don’t blame her. I haven’t wanted to feel anything either.

Instead, I strategize.

Late at night, long after the others have gone to bed, I pore through our records—alphas, alliances, territorial disputes, political gossip. Anything that might lead to freedom. Two possibilities surface, slim and difficult, but possibilities nonetheless.

The Silver Moon Clan. My mother’s original pack. They’re powerful, old-blooded, steeped in legacy. We’ve had no contact in years, but maybe... just maybe... they would shelter me out of respect for her memory. Unlikely, but I owe it to her to try.

The second option is more dangerous.

The Scarlet River Clan. Their Alpha is ambitious. Greedy. Possessive. The kind of man who wouldn’t flinch at challenging the Moonlit twins if he thought he could gain from it. His pack isn’t as influential, but he lacks a Luna—and I have the skills, the experience, and the strategic mind to offer him everything he’s missing.

All I’d need to do is make him want me.

It’s risky. But it’s something.

And if both plans fail… there’s always the woods.

Always the wild.

I could let Corneille out, run until my name means nothing, until I forget what it felt like to be touched, kissed, claimed. Until I forget them.

A quiet life. No pack. No love. Just trees and silence and the wind in my fur.

I try not to think about how much peace that idea brings me.

When Dorothee heads out for her afternoon patrol, I wave her off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Once she disappears into the forest, I turn back toward the pack house.

I need to stop by the library before returning to my study. There’s an old collection on ancestral bloodlines and fallen dynasties—pack histories dating back centuries. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll find some forgotten offshoot of a once-great house. A bastard alpha. A broken line just waiting for a Luna strong enough to help them rise again.

Or maybe I’ve just watched one too many dramas.

Either way, it’s a better use of my time than sitting in that empty study, pretending the ache in my chest doesn’t exist.

“Nara!”

I turn toward the shrill voice.

“Rosalina.”

There’s a smile already on my lips. Practiced. Painless.

I haven’t even tried to make her call me Luna. It didn’t work last time—why would it now?

We’re one week away from the Eclipse Celebration, and Rosalina looks well. The wounds that once made her look fragile are now faint scars beneath flawless skin. She runs with the hunters each morning and displays just enough strength to stir admiration.

I’ve stopped wondering why the mate bond still hasn’t been severed. Or why I still haven’t been allowed back in my own room.

Lucian has been surprisingly persistent about making the Celebration our “date.” Damian was hesitant, but Lucian pushed hard enough to make him fold. I keep waiting for Rosalina to find a way to invite herself, but a small part of me—traitorous and aching—has begun to hope.

Rosalina stops a few steps away, eyes lowered, fingers curling nervously through her hair. A few hunters trail behind her, casually watching. An audience.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask, syrupy sweet.

“No, no! Quite the opposite.” She lifts her eyes to mine. “I wanted to ask if there’s anything I could do to help with the preparations.”

My brows lift, genuinely surprised. That’s new.

“It’s just…” she continues, “everyone’s been so busy, and I’ve never been allowed near events like this. I’d love to help. Even just a little.”

The hunters shift behind her, watching me closely. I can already see the narrative writing itself in their minds—will the former Luna treat the broken girl like a servant? They’re itching to defend her.

I won’t give them the chance.

“Oh, Rosalina, you’re a sweetheart.” I take her hand gently. “But you’re a guest here. I couldn’t possibly ask anything of you.”

My smile is warmth incarnate. My voice—kindness itself. And with each word, I remind them that she’s temporary. A passing presence. A fragile thing we’re humoring until she’s well enough to leave.

Even if I know she never will.

“You’ve been so good to me,” she insists. “I just want to give back. I could help the maids decorate the ballroom… or lend a hand in the kitchen. I know they’re overwhelmed.”

I want to shut it down. Firmly. But there’s no gracious way to deny her twice.

So instead, I loop our arms together and begin walking toward the library. We almost look like friends.

“You have a kind heart, dear,” I tell her, guiding her along. “But I’m afraid you’re still too fragile. Damian and Lucian would be devastated if something happened to you while you were lifting centerpieces.” I lean in. “For their peace of mind, focus on healing, alright?”

She’s about to protest again.

So I cut her off with a pretty distraction.

“On the night of the Celebration, we’ll reserve you a seat on the balcony. You can watch the whole thing from above.” I lower my voice conspiratorially. “Though I promise—it’s incredibly dull. Just old wolves flexing over who has the biggest wine cellar.”

I’m about to release her when Damian rounds the corner.

He spots us instantly—arms still laced. I steel myself and smile, letting the mask slip into place again.

“Rosa!” he calls out, beaming. Then, colder: “Nara.”

I don’t flinch, but the difference in tone is knife-sharp. Lucian might still be torn, still trying. But Damian? Damian didn’t resist the mate bond for a second. He dove in headfirst.

It makes me appreciate Lucian all the more.

Rosalina lets go of me and rushes to Damian, clasping his hand with both of hers. “I was just asking Nara if I could help out with the celebration. Everyone’s working so hard, I feel bad doing nothing…”

She casts a mournful look at him, baiting him with perfect vulnerability.

And, of course, he bites.

His eyes snap to mine, demanding answers.

“Rosalina is still weak,” I reply calmly. “I wouldn’t have her lifting anything while she’s our dear guest.”

It’s a lifeline. I expect him to thank me for it.

Instead, he frowns, like I’ve insulted her. Or him.

He opens his mouth, but Rosalina speaks first, her voice trembling just enough to be convincing.

“In my last pack, I was never allowed near celebrations. I know I’m not meant to stay here forever, but I just… I thought maybe…”

She trails off, eyes falling to the floor, lip trembling ever so slightly.

I don’t even feel anger anymore. Just resignation.

Of course.

Damian reacts exactly as expected. “Oh, Rosa! You should’ve told me!” He sweeps her into his arms in a bridal carry, holding her like a treasure. “Come to the Celebration with us! As our mate. We’ll find you a beautiful dress. You’ll meet everyone.”

She giggles, radiant. A rescued princess in the arms of her knight.

Then she turns back to me, remembering her lines.

“I—I mean, only if Nara is okay with it. She’s… also your mate.”

The hesitation. The soft apology. The performative deference. It’s all perfectly executed.

Damian’s jaw tightens at the word also, like even sharing the bond with me is repulsive.

“You should ask Lucian,” I say with a light shrug. “If he agrees, I have no objection.”

I watch her closely. Watch him.

I’m curious. Will this follow the same path as before? Or has Lucian changed just enough to fight back?

I won’t hold my breath.

Damian takes off, undoubtedly to find his brother and seal Rosalina’s place by their side. I turn away before he’s even out of sight and resume my walk toward the library.

There’s still work to do.