The Rejected Luna Returns with Twins

What would you do if the people who were supposed to protect you, the ones who swore loyalty, unity, and strength, looked at you like you were something rotten?

That's what my life has been for the past five years.

They call me a murderer. Not out loud. Not always. But I see it in their eyes, in the way they flinch when I enter a room, in the way their whispers spike when I pass by. Sometimes, they don't bother to hide it. Sometimes I hear the words as clear as day.

  "She's cursed."

  "She brought death to this pack."

  "Stay away from her."

There was a time when their hatred came with bruises. A shove in the hallway. A blow to the ribs during training. My books tossed into the mud. Cold water poured over my head. The kind of cruelty that made you wish you could disappear.

It only stopped when Alpha Gray found out. He made it clear that if anyone laid a hand on me again, they'd deal with him. No one's dared touch me since.

But just because they stopped hitting me doesn't mean the pain ended.

Now, their silence hurts more than the punches ever did. They act like I'm a ghost haunting the packhouse. A reminder of something they all wish they could forget.

I'm seventeen. Turning eighteen in three days.

That age is supposed to mean something. It's when a wolf comes of age. It's when the mate bond can awaken. It's when we're finally supposed to feel whole.

But me?

I feel anything but whole.

I haven't shifted. Not once. Not even a glimpse of my wolf. No fur. No howling instinct. No rage beneath my skin. Just emptiness. I've been waiting for six years. And I'm still waiting. My wolf was supposed to come out when I was twelve, but it didn't.

My mother used to say I was special. "Your wolf will come when she's ready," she told me once, brushing my hair while we sat by the fire. "Wolves like you take time."

I believed her back then.

But she's gone now.

And I'm starting to wonder if she was wrong. Perhaps the moon goddess has forgotten about me.

I live in the farthest room in the east wing of the pack house. It's small, cold, and smells faintly of mold no matter how many times I scrub the corners. The mattress is thin. The sheets are older than me. And the single window barely lets in the moonlight.

Not that I deserve more. I guess I should still be thankful that I have a place that I can call mine.

I'm not stupid. I know what they think. I've heard the stories, how I was the only one who survived the rogue attack that killed my parents. How I didn't have a scratch on me. How the Beta found me hiding in the closet while my parents' blood soaked the floor, but what probably made them turn against me was the death of our Luna. How could I have known? How could they blame a child for something so unfortunate?

They say I led the rogues here. That I'm cursed. That I was born wrong. And that's what they believed ever since.

No one says it outright, not anymore. Not since Alpha Gray made it clear I'm not to be harmed. But the pack never needed words to tear me down.

Even Ryker stopped defending me.

Ryker used to be my best friend.

He used to walk me to class and tell jokes when I was too tired to smile. He used to call me "Little Storm" because of my eyes, just like my mom's. We'd sneak cookies from the kitchens and race each other through the woods until our legs gave out.

I used to think he'd never leave me.

Now? He won't even look at me.

It's like I don't exist.

Sometimes I think that hurts worse than all the whispers and bruises combined.

He's the Alpha's son after all. Strong, tall, golden-eyed, and the future of this pack.

He doesn't belong in my world anymore. He stopped belonging in it the moment the world turned against me.

I lower myself onto the mattress and wince as pain shoots through my side. I shouldn't have gone into the training room alone yesterday. I knew they'd be there.

I knew what would happen. But I needed the space. The silence. A place where I didn't have to pretend I wasn't breaking.

Of course, they found me. Of course, someone shoved me hard enough to send me flying into the wall.

I didn't even scream. I just got up and walked away. I always walk away.

Because if I don't, I'll fight back, and I can't risk what will happen if I do.

I grab the bandages I stole from the supply closet earlier and rewrap my ribs with slow, practiced fingers. I've gotten good at this. No one helps me anymore, so I had to learn. The healer refuses to see me. Said I'm a waste of resources. Said I should be grateful I'm even still breathing.

Maybe they're right.

Maybe I should've died with my parents.

But I didn't. And now I'm here, curled up on this thin excuse for a bed, staring at the crack in the ceiling, waiting for something, anything, to change.

Eighteen. Three days.

The age when mates find each other. When everything's supposed to fall into place.

But how could the Moon Goddess pair someone with me?

How could anyone be destined for someone broken?

I turn toward the window, letting the pale moonlight wash over my face. I want to believe that something good is coming. I want to believe that I won't always feel this empty.

But I've learned that wishes are just lies we tell ourselves to make the darkness feel less endless.

And I've been lying to myself for far too long.

My trance was cut off when I heard loud banging noises on my door. I struggled to get up but quickly got up to my feet knowing what will happen if I don't answer in less than fifteen seconds.