His Luna Was Never Me - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading His Luna Was Never Me, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of His Luna Was Never Me.
Ronan's frustration finally erupted, his voice razor-sharp. "Anastasia, why are you being so damn stubborn? Isn't this what you've always wanted?"
His words sliced through me, but I didn't back down. Because he wasn't wrong. I had wanted this—desperately, blindly. For years, my entire world had revolved around becoming his Luna. I loved him so much I let it strip me of my pride, staying by his side without a title, even while carrying his child. I loved him enough to watch him lead the pack that should have been mine. And when the rumors about him and Adeline spread like wildfire, I swallowed my doubts and stayed silent. My love had become a weight, crushing me until there was nothing left but exhaustion.
I couldn't do it anymore.
With a heart splintering in my chest, I turned away—from him, from the pack house that had once been my home.
Ronan stood frozen, his gaze scorching into my back as I walked away, as if he couldn't believe I was really leaving. But this time, I didn't look back.
The villa just beyond the pack's borders—bearing my name, a final gift from my late mother—waited for me like a sanctuary. The moment I stepped inside and unpacked, the memories of Kieran hit me like a tidal wave. His clothes, his toys, the dog-eared books he loved—all of it was there, tucked into my luggage.
I had taken everything from the pack house, every little thing that reminded me of him. His ratty old blanket, the drawings he'd made—crude sketches of the three of us: me, him, and the faceless shadow meant to be his father. They surrounded me now, suffocating me with their presence.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't accept that Kieran was really gone. The pain was a raw, gaping wound, refusing to scab over. I locked myself away, the outside world fading into nothing. Days melted together as I cried until my eyes burned dry.
Time meant nothing. I ate only when the hunger clawed at my stomach, slept only when my body gave out. Most of the time, I felt nothing—no hunger, no exhaustion. Even my wolf, usually my anchor, had retreated deep inside me, her grief as paralyzing as mine. Our bond, once unshakable, now felt fragile, like she had given up too.
Then my body finally betrayed me. The world tilted, darkness swallowing me whole. My last bitter thought? No one's left to care. No one would even notice if I died here. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe then, I'd finally have peace.
But fate had other plans.
When I woke, the sharp sting of antiseptic filled my nose. My vision swam into focus—the Obsidian Howl infirmary. Memories of Kieran, weak and gasping for air, flooded back, choking me.
Ronan was there, silent, watching me with an unreadable expression. The second he saw I was awake, he didn't speak—just called for the healer, his voice low but firm. Soon after, Beta Magnus appeared with a bowl of oatmeal—my comfort food, the same thing I'd craved as a sick child when my mother was still alive.
I glanced at Ronan, the past clawing at me. I remembered begging him for oatmeal when I was little, how he'd grumble but always give in, feeding me with rough hands that somehow still held tenderness. Back then, I'd clung to him, giggling, "You're the best brother!" He'd turn away, ears burning, and I'd let myself dream—stupidly—that maybe he felt the same.
Later, he shattered that illusion. "Your mother made me do it."
Now, sitting beside me, I didn't know why he was here, why he cared. But I wouldn't fall for it again.
When he offered the oatmeal, I turned my head away. The spoon clattered against the bowl as he set it down, his patience snapping. "Anastasia, look at yourself," he growled, concern laced with something darker—frustration, maybe anger.
"All this," he bit out, "for his child... Was it really worth it?"
His words sliced through me, but I didn't back down. Because he wasn't wrong. I had wanted this—desperately, blindly. For years, my entire world had revolved around becoming his Luna. I loved him so much I let it strip me of my pride, staying by his side without a title, even while carrying his child. I loved him enough to watch him lead the pack that should have been mine. And when the rumors about him and Adeline spread like wildfire, I swallowed my doubts and stayed silent. My love had become a weight, crushing me until there was nothing left but exhaustion.
I couldn't do it anymore.
With a heart splintering in my chest, I turned away—from him, from the pack house that had once been my home.
Ronan stood frozen, his gaze scorching into my back as I walked away, as if he couldn't believe I was really leaving. But this time, I didn't look back.
The villa just beyond the pack's borders—bearing my name, a final gift from my late mother—waited for me like a sanctuary. The moment I stepped inside and unpacked, the memories of Kieran hit me like a tidal wave. His clothes, his toys, the dog-eared books he loved—all of it was there, tucked into my luggage.
I had taken everything from the pack house, every little thing that reminded me of him. His ratty old blanket, the drawings he'd made—crude sketches of the three of us: me, him, and the faceless shadow meant to be his father. They surrounded me now, suffocating me with their presence.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't accept that Kieran was really gone. The pain was a raw, gaping wound, refusing to scab over. I locked myself away, the outside world fading into nothing. Days melted together as I cried until my eyes burned dry.
Time meant nothing. I ate only when the hunger clawed at my stomach, slept only when my body gave out. Most of the time, I felt nothing—no hunger, no exhaustion. Even my wolf, usually my anchor, had retreated deep inside me, her grief as paralyzing as mine. Our bond, once unshakable, now felt fragile, like she had given up too.
Then my body finally betrayed me. The world tilted, darkness swallowing me whole. My last bitter thought? No one's left to care. No one would even notice if I died here. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe then, I'd finally have peace.
But fate had other plans.
When I woke, the sharp sting of antiseptic filled my nose. My vision swam into focus—the Obsidian Howl infirmary. Memories of Kieran, weak and gasping for air, flooded back, choking me.
Ronan was there, silent, watching me with an unreadable expression. The second he saw I was awake, he didn't speak—just called for the healer, his voice low but firm. Soon after, Beta Magnus appeared with a bowl of oatmeal—my comfort food, the same thing I'd craved as a sick child when my mother was still alive.
I glanced at Ronan, the past clawing at me. I remembered begging him for oatmeal when I was little, how he'd grumble but always give in, feeding me with rough hands that somehow still held tenderness. Back then, I'd clung to him, giggling, "You're the best brother!" He'd turn away, ears burning, and I'd let myself dream—stupidly—that maybe he felt the same.
Later, he shattered that illusion. "Your mother made me do it."
Now, sitting beside me, I didn't know why he was here, why he cared. But I wouldn't fall for it again.
When he offered the oatmeal, I turned my head away. The spoon clattered against the bowl as he set it down, his patience snapping. "Anastasia, look at yourself," he growled, concern laced with something darker—frustration, maybe anger.
"All this," he bit out, "for his child... Was it really worth it?"
End of His Luna Was Never Me Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to His Luna Was Never Me book page.