Luna's Redemption

My name is Alexia Conner.

Twenty-three years of life, three years as Luna of the Crimson Pack. Not fated mates, Troy and I, but I've served this pack with unwavering dedication. No Luna in the Alpha community has shown more compassion or selflessness than I have.

Which makes this moment all the more surreal.

Blood trickles down my temple as I struggle to comprehend what's happening. This can't be reality. This must be some twisted nightmare my mind has conjured.

"Answer me, traitor!" Derek's voice cuts through the haze of pain as another lash tears across my back. The gamma—my gamma—brings the whip down again, and my knees buckle beneath me. The tattered remains of my silk nightdress cling to my sweat-slicked skin, the fabric splitting further with each strike to expose angry welts crisscrossing my lower back—the same skin Troy had traced worshipful kisses over just last moon cycle, his calloused hands spreading me wide beneath him like I was his personal altar.

"Nova," I whisper internally to my wolf. "Nova, please..."

"I'm trying, Alexia," she whimpers back. "The wolfsbane... it's too strong. I can't heal us fast enough."

I force myself to look up at Derek. We grew up together. He pledged his loyalty to me when I became Luna. Now he stands over me, his face contorted with disgust, wielding a blood-stained whip. The scent of arousal mixes strangely with his rage—a sickening combination that makes my stomach churn, his trousers straining against the obvious bulge as his eyes rake over my exposed curves.

"Derek," I manage through cracked lips. "We've known each other since childhood. Why are you doing this?"

His eyes drop to where my breasts heave against torn fabric, nipples pebbling in the cold dungeon air. "Always playing the innocent, aren't you?" he sneers, flexing the whip. "But we both know what you really are—the Alpha's favorite cunt until something better came along." The lash cracks again, biting into the sensitive curve where neck meets shoulder—the spot Troy used to nip during our most passionate couplings, leaving marks that matched the crescent scar on his own throat.

I collapse onto the cold stone floor of my cell. "I've done nothing," I gasp. "Whatever you think I've done—"

"You killed our future Alpha!" he snarls, raising the whip again. "Laura's baby is dead because of you!"

The words hit harder than any physical blow. Laura's baby? Dead? My mind reels.

"I didn't—" I begin, but another lash silences me.

"Nova," I plead silently. "Help me understand what's happening."

"I don't know," she responds, her voice weak. "But they believe we harmed Laura's unborn pup."

Laura Quinn. The woman who appeared in our territory six months ago. The woman who turned out to be Troy's fated mate. The woman who could give him what I couldn't—a child, an heir. I'd watched from our marital bed as Troy became obsessed with her swollen curves and fertile scent, his hands growing hesitant on my body as her pregnancy advanced, his rough palms abandoning the stretch marks he'd once called "moonlit rivers" to chase her fuller hips.

The cell door crashes open, and a familiar scent floods the room—sandalwood and sex, the lingering traces of our last desperate coupling before Laura's arrival. Ethan Hayes, our beta, stands in the doorway, his expression a mixture of shock and rage. His gaze lingers too long on my exposed thighs before snapping upward, the memory of his fingers accidentally brushing mine during weapons training last summer suddenly thick in the air between us.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ethan's voice thunders through the small space. "By what authority are you punishing the Luna?"

"By Alpha's orders," Derek growls, but there's uncertainty in his tone now.

"The Luna deserves a trial before any punishment," Ethan says, shoving Derek away from me. The heat of Ethan's palm burns against my bare shoulder as he helps me rise—a touch that would've been unthinkable before Troy started sharing Laura's bed, back when my husband still growled at any man who looked at me too long.

Derek hesitates, then backs toward the door. "She's not Luna anymore," he spits before retreating.

Only then do I notice the other figure in the doorway. Troy. My husband. My Alpha. My mate by choice if not by fate. The silver scar I kissed each morning stretches taut across his clenched jaw, his muscular frame blocking the torchlight that once illuminated our tangled bodies during midnight trysts, the shadows now hiding the love bite I'd left just below his belt buckle three nights before Laura's arrival.

"Troy," I whisper, reaching toward him. The movement sends fresh waves of pain through my battered body, the gold mating bracelet he gave me—still locked around my wrist—scraping against stone.

His face remains impassive, cold. No hint of the man who once growled "Mine" against my throat while pushing me into the furs. "What have you done, Alexia?" Ethan asks quietly, kneeling beside me.

"Nothing," I insist, my voice breaking. "I swear on the Moon Goddess, I didn't harm anyone."

"Laura says otherwise," Ethan replies, his voice gentler than his words. "All evidence points to you."

I turn my gaze to Troy, searching for any sign of doubt, any willingness to hear me out. "Troy, please. I would never harm an innocent pup. You know me." My voice drops to a husky whisper only he can understand. "You know what I've endured to keep your bed warm these three years—the moon tea burns, the nights I let you take me raw against the wall when your rut hit."

"Do I?" he responds, his voice like ice. "The woman I thought I knew wouldn't act out of jealousy." His eyes flick to the love bite barely visible above my collar—a mark he'd left days before Laura's arrival. "Then again, you always did fight dirty when threatened."

"Jealousy?" I echo in disbelief. "I accepted Laura into our home. I stepped aside when you told me she was your fated mate. I—"

"Heather was with me," I say suddenly, grasping at hope. "My servant can vouch for my whereabouts. She knows I couldn't have done this. Please, Troy, speak with her."

A soft voice interrupts from the hallway. "That seems reasonable."

Laura steps into view, one hand protectively cradling her flat stomach. Her full lips—still swollen from Troy's kisses, no doubt—curve in false sympathy as she surveys my broken form. The deep V of her mourning gown reveals fresh scratches along her collarbone, the kind made by desperate hands during passionate encounters, her breasts nearly spilling from the black lace that clings to her still-swollen curves.

"I want to understand why," she says softly. "Why would you take my baby from me?"

"I didn't," I insist, tears streaming down my face. "I would never."

Troy wraps a possessive arm around Laura's narrow waist, his fingers digging into the hip he'd once gripped while taking me against the council chamber wall. "You don't have to do this," he tells her. "You should be resting."

"No," she replies, tilting her face up to his. "I need to hear it from her." Her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips. "Bring her servant. Let's hear what she has to say."

Troy hesitates, then nods to Ethan. "Get Heather Dawson."

Minutes later, Heather appears, gasping in horror when she sees me. "Luna!" she cries, rushing forward—the same girl who'd brought me moon tea after Troy's last visit to my chambers, her eyes averted from our disheveled clothing and the damp patch between my thighs.

Troy blocks her path. "Tell me the truth, Heather. Did Alexia poison Laura and cause her to lose our child?"

Heather freezes, her eyes darting between Troy and me. Something in her expression makes my blood run cold.

"I..." she begins, trembling. "I..."

"Speak!" Troy commands, his Alpha voice compelling obedience.

Heather falls to her knees, tears streaming down her face. "She made me do it, Alpha! She used her Luna command. I didn't want to, but I had no choice!" Her gaze flicks to Laura's satisfied smirk. "She said... she said no whore's bastard would take what's hers."

The world seems to tilt beneath me. "That's a lie!" I cry out. "I never commanded you to do anything! Heather, why are you saying this?"

But Heather won't meet my eyes, continuing to sob at Troy's feet.

"Troy," I plead, dragging myself toward him. "You've known me since we were children. I've never used my position to force anyone to do anything. Please believe me!" My fingers brush his boot—the same boot he'd once peeled off with his teeth during that stormy night by the hearth when he'd made me come screaming his name through three separate orgasms.

His face twists with disgust as he steps away from my outstretched hand. "Don't touch me," he growls. "You've betrayed everything we built together."

"I love you," I whisper, desperation clawing at my throat. "I would never—"

But he's already turning away, taking Laura's hand in his. Over his shoulder, he addresses Ethan: "Prepare everything. She'll be executed at dawn."

As they leave, Laura glances back at me. For just a moment, I catch something in her expression—not grief or anger, but something else entirely. Her hand drifts to the crescent-shaped scar on Troy's neck as she mouths two words that freeze my blood:

"My turn."

The cell door slams shut, leaving me alone with my wolf and the terrible realization that I've been set up to die.