Forsaken Luna

Chapter 7 - Ashes to embers.

Nyx

The walls were damp, the stone biting against my bare arms, and the chains at my ankles sang whenever I shifted. They wanted me to remember I wasn’t free. Kaelen wanted me to remember I wasn’t free.

The bars to my cell smelled of iron and rust, thick with the stench of other prisoners who had lived and died in the same suffocating space. My stomach growled, but I ignored it. Hunger was easier to bear than pride swallowed, and I’d sooner starve than take charity from another Alpha.

The footsteps came steady, unhurried, and I knew who they belonged to before he appeared. Kaelen. He moved like someone who had nothing to fear. And why would he? The whole world bent for men like him.

The lock scraped, and the door swung open. He carried a tray balanced in one hand, his other loose at his side. Meat, bread, and water. Simple, but the smell made my stomach clench painfully. He set it down inside without a word.

“You think kindness erases chains?” I glared at the food, then at him. Kaelen’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. It was too faint, too restrained.

“Chains break easier when you’re strong enough to lift them.” His voice was even, calm, as if nothing I said could cut him. I wanted to ask why he always spoke in riddles, but decided against it.

“You lock me away, then preach freedom. That’s rich.” A bitter laugh scraped out of me. He didn’t answer. He didn’t argue or defend himself the way Orion would have, pride flaring hot. Instead, he simply left the tray within reach, turned, and leaned against the bars.

He was watching me with that unreadable patience that infuriated me more than cruelty would have. I had grown to know it in the days that we made our way to his territory.

“Eat or don’t,” he said, shrugging. “It’s your body. But if you’re waiting for someone else to give you strength, you’ll be waiting until you die.” His words hung there, heavier than the chains. I hated him for them, because a part of me recognized the truth when it cut.

I folded my arms and looked away. He didn’t press me. After a long silence, I heard the scrape of the lock again. He stepped out, his boots fading down the hall. Only then, when the echo of him was gone did I drag the tray closer.

The bread was rough, but it filled the hollow ache inside me. As I chewed, I whispered under my breath, “Chains break easier when you’re strong enough to lift them.” Damn him for planting the words in me like seeds.

Kaelen

She hadn’t touched the food when I left her. Pride could starve her quicker than iron ever would, and for a heartbeat, I almost went back, shoved the tray into her hands, made her eat. But that wasn’t what she needed.

Nyx wasn’t a flower to shield from storms. She was wildfire, smothered until only embers remained. If I wanted her to survive … if I wanted her to be more than a pawn traded by old men and power-hungry Alphas … she had to want it too.

I stopped at the corner of the corridor and waited. Memories of what I heard about her flashed through my mind. The guards shifted uneasily, their eyes flicking to the cell and drawing me back into the present. They’d been ordered not to approach her. My orders.

“She won’t last long if she doesn’t eat,” one muttered.

“She’ll eat,” I said, my tone not allowing any argument. Because I’d seen the way her eyes had lingered on the bread, no matter how fiercely she glared at me. Hunger was the one enemy even pride couldn’t kill.

When I left her with the food, I didn’t go far. I’d spent too long learning who Nyx was, too long gathering pieces of her story from scraps of gossip and whispers. To the pack, she was just an orphaned omega. Weak, cursed, unwanted.

But I knew better. I knew how her father had died, cut down in an ambush that left her too young to defend herself. I knew how her grandfather had tossed her aside like garbage, leaving her to be raised in the shadows of the pack she should have stood above.

I’d even heard how, on the night of her fourteenth birthday, she stood trembling under the moonlight while her peers shifted, bones breaking, wolves rising, the pack cheering. And when her turn came, nothing. Just silence.

“She doesn’t have a wolf,” they whispered. The shame of it still clung to her like a second skin. I saw it in the way she squared her shoulders whenever anyone looked too closely, in the way she sharpened her words like weapons. She carried humiliation like armor.

And then came Orion. His rejection had cut deeper than any blade. That night, I’d watched from the edges, watching her fall apart under the pack’s gaze as he declared she wasn’t his mate. He hadn’t even flinched when her world shattered.

Most Alphas would’ve ignored her after that. Broken things weren’t worth saving. But something about her had stayed with me. Because she hadn’t broken completely. My father had sent me to gather information about the pack and I sure got it.

That night, as Orion’s declaration echoed through the crowd, I saw her eyes. Emerald green, blazing through tears. She hadn’t begged. She hadn’t fallen to her knees. She’d stood, trembling and humiliated, but upright.

And I knew then that she wasn’t weak. She was surviving in a world that wanted her crushed. Hours later, when I returned, the tray was empty. I allowed myself the faintest smile before I pushed open the cell again. I wanted to return so many times during the morning, but I forced myself not to.

She was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, arms looped around them like a shield. Her gaze snapped up to mine, defiance simmering there, but I caught the faintest trace of something else. Curiosity. I had to tread carefully. I wasn’t sure how many of the rumours about her were true.

“You ate,” I said simply.

“Congratulations. You’ve proven I’m mortal.” She scowled.

“Good,” I crouched, bringing myself down to her level. “Mortals can be trained. They can fight, bleed, and win. You think I locked you here to rot?” Her lips parted as a retort seemed to stick in her throat and confusion flickered.

“You won’t rot here,” I continued, my voice steady. “You’ll train. Your body and your mind. If you want freedom, you will have to earn it.”

“Earn it?” She hissed. “Do you think I haven’t bled enough already? That if I just work harder, the world will finally see me as more than an omega to be sold?” She laughed, sharp and bitter. I leaned closer, letting her see the steel in my eyes.

“The world doesn’t decide what you are. You do. Train with me, and you’ll stop being the one on the ground.” I shrugged, but my eyes were filled with a fire I hoped would ignite the embers inside her. For a moment, she didn’t breathe. Then she looked away, her jaw tightening.

“I should spit in your face.” Her words were filled with poison.

“Then do it.” My voice was low and challenging. “But when you’re done, ask yourself what’s left for you. Chains, or strength.” She didn’t spit. She didn’t answer. But her silence wasn’t refusal. It was thought. And that was enough for now.

I rose, turning toward the door. As the lock clicked behind me, I heard her shift on the stone floor, restless. I had to leave her again. I didn’t want to, but I had to. Helping her was going to take time and a lot of patience from me.

Nyx

When he left me again, the silence was too heavy. I pressed my forehead against my knees, the words replaying whether I wanted them or not. “Train with me, and you’ll stop being the one on the ground.”

I’d been on the ground my whole life. My grandfather’s punishments. The pack’s scorn. Orion’s rejection. Every time I tried to rise, someone pressed me back down. Could he be different? Could Kaelen mean what he said?

“No,” I whispered to the shadows. “No, Alpha is different.” But my chest ached with something I didn’t want to name. That was when I heard it. Not outside. Not from the corridor. From within. A low, guttural growl rippled through my mind, faint but sharp enough to send my heart hammering.

“Trust no Alpha… except me.” I froze. My wolf. Not a whisper, not a dream. Her voice, raw and real, curling through me like smoke. For the first time, hope felt dangerous. When Kaelen had crouched down earlier, looking me in the eye as if I were more than a prisoner, I wanted to spit at him.

I wanted to hate him. But something in his gaze unsettled me. It wasn’t pity. I knew pity too well. The way people looked at me when I stumbled carrying buckets, when my thin arms shook under the weight of trays. Pity said I wasn’t enough and never would be.

Kaelen’s gaze was different. Like he’d seen the worst of me already and wasn’t afraid of it. That terrified me more than chains ever could.

Kaelen

I lingered around the corner longer than I should have, my back against the wall, arms folded. The guards gave me wary looks, but none dared speak. She’d heard me. I saw it in the flicker of her eyes, the hesitation before her sharp tongue.

She wanted to believe she was only bitter, only broken, but she was more than that. And I was going to prove it to her. Even if she hated me for it. Because some wolves weren’t meant to be caged.