Coming Back as Enemy's Luna

Enemy

= Amara =

The icy bite of the earth beneath my bare feet felt sharper with every desperate step, the chill of the wind slicing through my thin clothes like knives. Exhaustion gripped me, clawing at my chest as I ran, my heart pounding in frantic defiance of the fatigue threatening to pull me under. Shadows stretched and contorted around me, the towering trees of the forest twisting into monstrous silhouettes as I darted between them, their branches reaching like claws poised to snatch me.

Rogues.

Their snarls filled the air, a relentless chorus of menace that echoed in my ears like the toll of a death knell. How long had I been running? Time had lost all meaning. My legs burned as though fire coursed through them, my lungs screamed for relief, but stopping wasn’t an option.

Stopping meant death.

The moment I crossed the invisible boundary out of Gravemire Territory, they had come for me.

I’d been cast out of my pack, branded as an exile. Betrayed, stripped of my title, and left to fend for myself in a world where loyalty and strength meant survival. Without my pack’s protection, I was nothing but prey.

“Why?” My voice cracked as I shouted into the void behind me, desperation bleeding into every syllable. “Why are you doing this?”

No response. Only the unrelenting sound of pursuit—feet pounding against the forest floor, snarls reverberating through the dense, frigid air.

They didn’t care about my questions. My exile, my humiliation, the shreds of a life I’d once known—all of it was meaningless to them. The hunt was all that mattered.

I stumbled. My foot caught on an unseen root, and the world tipped violently. The ground came up to meet me in a cruel embrace, pain exploding in my shoulder as I hit the dirt. For one heart-stopping moment, I lay there, vulnerable and exposed, but instinct screamed louder than agony.

I scrambled to my feet, spinning around with a feral growl ripping from my throat. If I was going to die, I wouldn’t die on my knees.

They emerged from the darkness, ten of them, their predatory eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. A loose circle formed around me, their heavy breaths curling into the cold air like smoke. I crouched low, my claws unsheathing, sharp and deadly, while my chest heaved with ragged breaths.

The odds were laughable—ten against one. But even with despair gnawing at my resolve, I refused to go down quietly.

If they wanted me, they’d have to bleed for it.

“What do you want from me?” I demanded, my voice breaking under the weight of fury and despair.

“I have nothing left! No pack, no home, no wealth. I’m nothing now! Just—just leave me alone!”

But my plea fell on deaf ears. The rogues didn’t speak. They didn’t even flinch. They simply lunged. Again and again.

The fight was vicious, a whirlwind of claws, teeth, and pain. My every move was a desperate attempt to survive, driven by raw instinct. I slashed and bit, refusing to go down without a fight, but there were too many of them. Blood sprayed across the forest floor—some of it theirs, but far too much of it mine. For every rogue I managed to wound, another would appear, taking its place with merciless precision. Their attacks were relentless, and my strength was waning with each passing second.

My vision swam, darkening at the edges as exhaustion began to claim me. My legs felt like lead, every step more of a stumble than the last. My chest ached, the air torn from my lungs with every labored breath.

“Why?” I choked out, my voice barely a whisper now.

My knees buckled, and I crumpled to the ground, my body screaming in agony. My arms trembled as I tried to push myself up, but they gave out beneath me. The damp earth was cold against my skin, but I couldn’t move.

This was it. This was how I would die—alone, beaten, and betrayed by a world that had once been my own.

Then…she appeared.

“Sera,” I gasped, the name escaping my lips like a prayer. My heart surged with hope, a fragile ember in the suffocating darkness.

She stepped out from the shadows, her figure bathed in the pale glow of the moonlight. Her presence was like a lifeline, her familiar face a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos. For a fleeting moment, I believed she had come to save me.

Sera—my confidante, my best friend, my sister in all but blood. She wouldn’t let this happen to me. She couldn’t.

“Sera,” I rasped again, desperation lacing my voice as I tried to lift myself. “Help me.”

But the look in her eyes made my stomach turn.

Her gaze wasn’t the warm, reassuring one I had always known. It was cold—ice cold—devoid of the compassion I had clung to for so long.

“Sera,” I pleaded, my voice cracking.

She laughed, a sharp, hollow sound that cut through me like a knife.

“Help you?” she echoed, her lips curling into a cruel smirk. “Oh, Amara. You still don’t get it, do you?”

My heart shattered at her words, but I refused to accept what I was seeing. I clung to the belief that she had no choice—that she hadn’t helped me when I was accused because she couldn’t. Maybe she was afraid, afraid of being dragged down with me. I told myself that was the reason.

Because Sera and I were different, weren’t we?

If the roles had been reversed, I wouldn’t have hesitated. If she were the one fighting for her life, I would’ve stood by her without a second thought. Even if it meant exile. Even if it meant we both lost everything.

As long as we were together, I would’ve fought for her.

But as her cold laughter echoed in the night, the truth pierced me deeper than any wound. Sera wouldn’t do the same for me. She never had.

And now, she never would.

"What are you talking about?" I had asked her, desperate for clarity, for reason.

She crouched beside me, her dark brown eyes gleaming with disdain as her lips curled into a sneer.

“You’re pathetic, Amara,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “Always so self-righteous, so certain of your place in the world. But look at you now. Exiled. Broken. Nothing.”

Her words struck harder than any blow, cutting straight to the core of me. Tears pricked my eyes, not from the pain in my battered body, but from the betrayal—a searing, unrelenting agony that no wound could rival. My voice cracked when I spoke. “Why? Why would you do this? I trusted you.”

She shrugged, the gesture casual, dismissive, as though my shattered trust was nothing more than a broken trinket. Her smile was as cold as her tone.

“Because you were in my way, Amara. Elias was mine long before you ever came here. Do you think he truly loved you?” Her voice dropped to a cruel whisper, a knife slipping between my ribs. “You were a convenience. A distraction. And now? You’re nothing.”

Her words felt like stones tied to my chest, dragging me into an endless abyss. But Sera wasn’t finished. She stood with a slow, deliberate grace, signaling to the rogues waiting in the shadows. They stepped forward, their claws and teeth glinting under the blood moon’s eerie glow.

Sera didn’t leave the task to them. She delivered the final blow herself, her claws raking across my side with devastating precision.

I woke up with a gasp, air rushing into my lungs as though I’d been drowning.

My chest heaved, my heart pounding against my ribs like a drum. The room around me was dimly lit, the antiseptic scent sharp and unfamiliar. Every muscle in my body ached, but it was the searing pain in my side that rooted me to the bed.

I tried to move, to sit up, but the pain roared through me like fire. A strangled sound escaped my lips as I fell back against the pillows. My head swam, fragments of the nightmare swirling in my mind.

Elias. Seraphine. The rogues. The blood moon. A man’s face. A desperate plea.

Were they hallucinations? Or memories?

The thought sent a chill through me, colder than the sterile air of the room. I turned my head slightly, wincing at the effort, and caught movement in the corner of the room. A shadow shifted, and then a voice broke the silence.

“She’s awake!”

The words were urgent, ringing in my ears as footsteps echoed. Shapes moved toward me, blurred figures in the dim light, but I couldn’t focus. My mind clung to the fragments of that blood-soaked night.

Alive. I was alive.

The thought both relieved and terrified me. If I had survived, what price had been paid for my life? And who had saved me?

My scattered thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a woman’s face came into view. Her expression was neutral, her sharp eyes focused intently on me as if studying every detail. Dressed in a pristine white coat, it didn’t take long for me to realize she was a doctor.

I tried to shift, a simple attempt to assess my surroundings, but pain tore through my side like a scorching blade once again. A low groan escaped my lips before I could stop it.

“Don’t move,” the doctor commanded, her tone firm but not unkind. “Your injuries are still fresh. Let us check your vitals first.”

Reluctantly, I stilled, biting back the pain as she leaned in to examine me. Her hands moved with practiced precision, efficient yet surprisingly gentle. Beside her, a nurse adjusted the IV connected to my arm and carefully inspected the thick bandages encasing my torso. Even though they worked with care, a suffocating wave of unease coiled tightly in my chest, refusing to let go.

“Where am I?” I finally managed to ask, my voice cracking but carrying a note of urgency.

The doctor didn’t respond—whether she hadn’t heard me or simply chose to ignore the question, I couldn’t tell. Frustration bubbled within me, and I was about to ask again when the door creaked open.

Three men entered the room, their presence commanding and instantly filling the space. My attention locked on the one in the center. There was something achingly familiar about him, though I couldn’t immediately place it. His gaze, calm and unyielding, pinned me in place.

“You’re in Veyrath Territory,” he answered my question, his voice a mix of authority and quiet restraint.

But the moment he spoke, something clicked—a spark in my memory, a flash of recognition.

Him.

My eyes widened as the realization slammed into me. He was the man I had begged for help—the one who found me when I was teetering on the edge of death!

But…wait. Did he just say that I’m in Veyrath Territory? The weight of his words sank in, and my heart skipped, then raced.

Veyrath Territory.

The name alone sent a chill racing down my spine. My stomach dropped as fear twisted deep inside me.

Veyrath. The enemy of the Gravemire Pack. My pack.

“No…” I whispered, my disbelief evident as I stared at him. “This can’t be real.”

The man’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile, one that didn’t reach his sharp eyes. He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as if gauging my reaction.

“And who are you?” I asked, though dread churned in my gut, already suspecting the answer.

“Mikael Veyrath,” he said simply, his tone edged with quiet power. “Alpha of the Veyrath Pack.”

His words hit me harder than the pain in my side, and I felt like the air had been stolen from my lungs.

The Alpha…of Veyrath?

Fvck!

Of all the people who could’ve found me, why did it have to be him? Why the Alpha of our greatest enemy?