His Father’s Luna : The Betrayed Warrior’s Return

Chapter 1

Lyra’s POV

Three days in the saddle feels like a century when you’re freezing, desperate, and all you want is to see the person who makes the world feel less brutal.

My body screamed with every step—I swear, the ache in my thighs and back had sunk clear through to my bones. My leathers reeked of blood—some mine, most not—and they’d long since stiffened into a second, crusty skin. My hair, usually blazing red and wild, had turned into a rat’s nest tangled by ice and wind.

As for my eyes, they burned—not with rage or fear, but with sheer exhaustion, that gritty, furious sting that’s half fatigue, half stubbornness. Still, none of that mattered. Not as I climbed the wide, torchlit corridors of the keep, every stone echoing beneath my boots, all my thoughts locked on a single name: Anton.

Anton—the Lycan King’s adopted son; my Anton, the one who’d stolen a kiss behind the training yards and made me promise we’d meet again. He’d said, “When the border’s safe, I’ll take you before my father. I’ll tell him you’re my chosen mate.” I’d clung to those words. Survived on them.

I skipped the barracks altogether, didn’t care about the curious glances from the black-clad guards at the royal wing. They saw me, mud-splattered and wild-eyed, and just nodded me through. I’d fought beside them enough times. Bleeding in the snow for the pack earns respect faster than any title.

When I reached Anton’s door, my heart actually hurt. Foolish, right? I didn’t even knock—who knocks on the door of a man who’s just as much a pulse beneath your own skin? No, I wanted to catch him off guard. See that crooked grin break over his face when he realized I was safe.

The latch was colder than ice. I gripped it, pushed, the door swinging open with the groan of old wood. A little moment of anticipation, rising like a spark.

“Anton, I—” The words hung, unfinished. They turned to stone in my mouth.

First, the heat from the fire stung my cheeks. But then, something sharper hit—an overpowering scent, so sweet it made my stomach churn. Not Anton’s familiar, smoky musk, but something cloying, floral, and altogether wrong. Orchids. Vanilla. And beneath all of it, the raw, unmistakable bite of s*x.

My wolf flinched so violently I had to bite down on a whimper. The room spun, but not enough to blur the truth spread across the bed. Fur blankets tangled around bare limbs—Anton’s, of course, his pale skin shining with sweat. And below him, gilded in moonlight, her platinum hair gleaming on the pillows: Selena. Princess Selena. King Fenrir’s daughter. Anton’s adopted sister. The pack’s perfect, untouchable “White Moonlight”—and clearly no more untouchable than the rest of us.

They hadn’t even bothered with the lock.

Anton froze, his back flexing as the chill from the door bit into him. He whirled, eyes wide and terrified in the firelight. For a moment, his mouth worked soundlessly before he stammered, “Lyra—wait, this isn’t—”

A sharper voice cut him off, smooth and cruel. Selena. Of course.

She didn’t flinch. Why would she? She stretched, slowly, grabbing a slip of silk to cover herself—but only lazily, only for the drama of it. Her hair poured down her naked shoulders, flawless as always. Those silver eyes—King Fenrir’s eyes—fixed on me, not with shame, but with victory. She didn’t even bother to hide her disgust, looking me over like something tracked in from the stables.

“You’re dripping snow and mud on the King’s best rugs, Lyra,” she said, deadpan, as if my heartbreak barely deserved her attention. “You reek of wet dog and fresh death. Did it not occur to you to bathe before offending the entire royal wing with your stench?”

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I gripped the door like it could hold me up, my knuckles loud in the hush. Everything about me felt unsteady, like I’d just stepped into a river’s current and was only now realizing how deep it ran.

I found Anton’s name again, croaking, “Tell me this is a nightmare. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

He looked like a cornered animal, or maybe a spoiled boy whose lies had finally caught up to him.

“Lyra, listen. This…this is politics,” he blurted out. “The King made me his ward for a reason. Consolidation’s always been the idea, uniting the bloodlines, you know that—my line, Selena’s line—it’s about preserving Crimson Moon’s power.”

“Uniting the bloodlines?” The words cracked in my throat. A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and humiliating against the freezing windburn on my skin.A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and humiliating. All those nights, those dumb, cherished promises—had he meant any of it? “You said you loved me. You said you’d go to the King tomorrow, ask for his blessing. You swore.”

Selena threw her head back and laughed. It was a sound I’d remember forever—sharp, delighted, absolutely merciless. She leaned across the crumpled sheets to look me in the eye, gleeful in her contempt.

“Oh, you poor stray. Did you actually believe you mattered?” she practically sang. “Did you think Anton would choose a mud-caked mongrel over the White Moonlight?” She flashed her perfect teeth in something that was a little too hungry to be a smile. “You don’t belong in the spotlight, Lyra. You belong in the mud at someone’s heel. Anton was never going to lift you out.”

I looked to Anton, praying for one scrap of decency—one good thing to salvage. Nothing. His performance crumbled, but what he revealed underneath wasn’t hurt, only cold calculation.

He stared at me, colder than ice. “Selena’s right. Stop crying, Lyra. You knew what this was. You think a border rat ends up with a crown? You were a convenience. Someone to take the edge off winter and loneliness.”

His words hit with the force of a hammer. I staggered beneath them, unable to move, not even to breathe. He went on, voice scathing. “I’m the King’s heir. I’m not placing a warrior dog at my side. Selena is meant for this. She matches me. You’re just a distraction and I’m done with it.”

Something inside me snapped—quick, silent, and absolute. My heart didn’t just break; it froze and splintered beneath my ribs.

I saw through everything. This wasn’t just cheating, it was humiliation. A lesson, delivered with precision, for daring to reach above my station. Selena had hated that I could ever stand next to her without flinching, hated my victories and my fire. Anton had simply found it convenient to use me until it was time to put the “real” show on.

So I straightened, eyes dry now, voice as empty as stone. “I see.”

Just like that, the last of my tears vanished. Whatever had been warm and hopeful inside me iced over completely.

I stepped back, catching the heavy door before it swung closed on its own. “Enjoy your kingdom of lies, Anton,” I said. My wolf recognized the look on Selena’s face—satisfaction, for now. “And enjoy my leftovers, Princess.”

I slammed the door so hard the bang echoed down the corridor, rattling windowpanes and skulls alike.

No, I didn’t run. I didn’t cry. The royal wing felt colder as I walked away, my boots leaving muddy prints on imported rugs. I didn’t look back because I already knew what waited for me—cruelty, sure, but worse than that, the game wasn’t finished.

Selena was never satisfied with just triumph; she’d make sure I paid. By dawn, her silver tongue would turn poison into a weapon, and the pack would be out for my blood—chasing me through the snow for a crime I didn’t even know existed. But that was tomorrow.

Tonight, I let the ice harden inside me, every step forging me into something entirely new. Not the girl who’d come home for Anton, but the wolf who’d survive them all.