Their Forgotten Luna

A Sister’s Game

Dane:

She’s gone. That thought hit me harder than any strike, any sparring blow I’ve taken. One moment, her fire was in my sights, burning brighter than the sun, and the next… she disappeared down the path like smoke, leaving nothing but the ache of absence behind.

Dominic was already there, like a shadow molded to her, steady and unyielding. I couldn’t fault him. Not really. But that didn’t make the sting any less sharp. I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms.

And then Alyssa appeared.

Her approach was silent at first, but I felt her before I saw her—the shift of air, the calculated sway in her hips, the sort of smile that never reached her eyes. She stopped a few paces from me, hands folded loosely, posture casual yet deliberate.

“You look… tense,” she said, voice soft, measured, dripping with feigned concern. “Training’s hard, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I watched her, aware of every micro-expression, every subtle tilt of her head. She thrived on attention, but more than that, she thrived on control.

“Cierra’s… different when she leaves the training grounds,” she continued, her tone conspiratorial. “Not broken. Not weak. Just… distracted. Vulnerable. It’s easy to miss if you don’t pay attention.”

My jaw tightened. “And you pay attention, do you?”

Alyssa tilted her head, letting a soft laugh escape her. “Of course. I notice things. Details. Patterns. Secrets.”

She let the word hang between us, dangerous and deliberate. “You care about her. We both know that, Dane. But do you really know everything she carries? The shadows behind her smile? The things she doesn’t tell even Dominic?”

I wanted to snap at her, to remind her that I didn’t need her cryptic warnings, but the words caught in my throat because she had a point. Cierra’s past… the way it lingered in her, in her wolf… There were pieces I hadn’t yet seen. Pieces I didn’t know how to reach.

“She remembers me,” I said finally, low and almost to myself. “She does.”

Alyssa’s eyes flickered, just for a heartbeat, before her perfect composure returned. “Does she? Or is it just a shadow? A memory she can’t fully trust? Be careful, Dane. The closer you get, the more fragile she becomes. And fragile… can be dangerous.”

I swallowed hard, frustration and something darker simmering beneath the surface. “Fragile doesn’t mean weak. And she isn’t yours to protect—or yours to manipulate.”

Her laugh was soft, musical, infuriating. “Oh, Dane. You care so much, it blinds you. That’s exactly what makes you… predictable.”

I felt the wolf stir beneath my skin, restless and hungry, sensing the tension in hers. The fragments of our shared past, the whispers of memory that lingered in her mind, clawed at me, demanding recognition. She’s not just Dominic’s, not just anyone’s. She remembers me, and I’ll remind her in time.

Alyssa tilted her head one last time, studying me as if weighing my reaction, before finally turning on her heel. “Just… pay attention, Dane. Some games aren’t played with strength. Some are won—or lost—with patience.”

And then she was gone, leaving me alone on the training grounds with the ghost of her smile and the echo of her warning.

I exhaled slowly, letting the tension in my shoulders ease just a fraction. Cierra’s absence gnawed at me, but her wolf… that fire still burned somewhere inside her. Somewhere, she was listening, waiting.

And I would find her.

No one—not Alyssa, not the past, not the so-called guardians of her path—would keep me from her.

Not now. Not ever.

Dominic:

The moment the door clicked shut, the tension that had been knotted inside her shoulders for hours seemed to shift just slightly. She leaned against the wall, eyes wide, breath uneven, like she’d been holding herself together by sheer will for too long.

I stayed close, but didn’t crowd her. My hand hovered near hers, not touching yet, giving her space to decide how much she needed me. “You’re safe,” I said softly.

“You don’t have to be perfect right now. You don’t even have to do anything except… breathe.”

She glanced at me, and I saw the storm behind her eyes—the memory of training, the fight, the things she couldn’t quite name. My presence alone wasn’t enough to erase it, but it could be a harbor in the chaos.

I moved slowly toward her, letting my hands rest lightly on her shoulders, thumbs brushing her collarbone in a soothing rhythm. “Everything you’re feeling… It’s allowed,” I murmured. “You don’t have to push it down. Not here. Not with me.”

Her body relaxed fractionally at my words, tension bleeding out of her in small, fragile waves. I stayed present, letting her take the lead, letting her lean into me—or not—until she felt ready.

“I… I don’t know how to stop,” she whispered, voice trembling. “The pack, the politics… the past. It’s all—”

I shook my head gently, cutting her off with care, not force. “It doesn’t have to be all at once,” I said. “We can take it step by step. I’ll be here for every step, every misstep. You won’t have to face it alone.”

Her hands twitched, fingers grazing mine, testing. I took that as permission to close the space, sliding my arm around her waist, letting her rest against me without pressure, without expectation. My chest pressed lightly to hers, and I could feel her heartbeat—rapid at first, then slowly syncing with mine.

“You’ve carried too much for too long,” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s okay to let go of some of it. Right now. You can just be Cierra.”

A small exhale left her lips, and for the first time since the training ground, she allowed herself to sink fully into the moment, into the quiet of being cared for without strings or demands. She leaned her head against my shoulder, closing her eyes, and I could feel her tension unravel in real time.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. My presence, steady heartbeat, and unshakable attention were enough. Her body relaxed against mine, shoulders dropping, the tight line of her jaw softening. I guided her to the couch, letting her sink into the cushions, and stayed at her side. One hand over hers, one lightly brushing her back.

“You’re not alone,” I reminded her quietly, my thumb tracing slow circles over the back of her hand. “Not now, not ever.”

She gave a small, shaky laugh that wasn’t quite relief yet, but moving in that direction. “I think… I can breathe,” she admitted.

“That’s a start,” I said with a soft smile, letting the moment stretch and her own strength reassert itself. I didn’t push further. I let her find calm in the safety of being held without expectation, reassuring her that my love wasn’t a cage—it was an anchor.

For now, that was enough.