His Rejected Luna

The Forest of Exile

The night presses against me, thick and suffocating. The further I walk from Shadowmoon's borders, the deeper the darkness seems to stretch, swallowing the last remnants of my old life.

Cold air snakes through the trees, whispering eerie warnings. My breath clouds in front of me, white against the black. The scent of damp earth and pine fills my lungs, grounding me for the briefest of moments.

I don't know where I'm going. I only know I can't stop.

Every step feels like an unraveling. My body still aches from Kieran's rejection—like a blade buried in my chest, twisting with each breath.

My muscles are sore, my legs shaky, but the pain of stopping is worse than the pain of moving.

Because stopping means thinking.

And thinking means remembering.

The way his golden eyes had been void of warmth when he rejected me. The way he had turned his back, as if I were nothing. The weight of his betrayal sits heavy in my chest, pressing against my ribs like iron.

I swallow hard and shake off the thought.

It doesn't matter anymore. Kieran made his choice.

And now, I have to make mine.

I adjust the strap of the small satchel Elijah gave me, forcing my mind to focus on survival. I need shelter. I need a plan. And more than anything, I need to figure out why I can still feel the remnants of the mate bond when it should be gone.

Something is wrong.

And I have a sinking feeling that I'm about to find out exactly what.

------

The Smell of Blood

I'm deep in rogue territory when I hear it.

The snap of a branch.

I freeze.

The hair on the back of my neck rises. Every instinct in me goes still, waiting, listening.

The wind shifts, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of something sharp and metallic.

Blood.

My heart stammers.

I drop into a crouch behind a thick tree trunk, my fingers gripping the bark as I scan the darkness. My wolf stirs inside me, restless. Even though I was rejected, she's still there—weak, but present.

A low growl rumbles in the distance.

Not an animal.

A rogue.

I tighten my grip on the dagger strapped to my thigh. I might not have a pack anymore, but I'm not helpless. Kieran made sure I was trained to fight, and now, for the first time, I realize how valuable that training might be.

Slowly, I move forward, stepping carefully over fallen leaves. The scent of blood grows stronger. There's a clearing just ahead, moonlight breaking through the trees, illuminating the figure lying in the dirt.

My stomach turns.

A young wolf, barely more than a teenager, is sprawled across the ground. His shirt is soaked in blood, a gaping wound slashed across his abdomen. His breathing is shallow, his lips cracked and dry.

A rogue attack.

I hesitate. Helping him could be a mistake. If he's a rogue himself, I could be walking into a trap.

But leaving him here? Letting him die?

I exhale sharply and kneel beside him. "Hey," I whisper, shaking his shoulder lightly. "Can you hear me?"

His eyelids flutter, a faint groan escaping his lips. His eyes open, dark and glazed with pain.

And then, his body jerks.

"RUN," he chokes out.

Before I can react, a deafening snarl erupts behind me.

I barely have time to move before something crashes into me, sending me sprawling into the dirt.

-------

The Rogue's Attack

The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. I roll just in time to avoid a set of razor-sharp claws slashing where my throat had been moments ago.

I scramble to my feet, heart pounding.

The rogue in front of me is monstrous—larger than an average wolf, his fur matted with dirt and blood. His yellow eyes glow with something wild, something feral.

This isn't just any rogue.

This is a wolf who has completely lost himself to the darkness.

He circles me, lips curled into a vicious snarl. Saliva drips from his fangs, his claws digging into the earth as he prepares to lunge again.

I grip my dagger, forcing my hands to stay steady. "I don't want to fight," I say carefully.

"But I will if I have to."

The rogue only growls in response.

Then, he attacks.

He's fast. Too fast.

I barely manage to dodge his first swipe, the wind from his claws rushing past my face. I twist my body, aiming for his exposed side, and drive my dagger forward.

I miss.

The rogue counters, slamming into me with full force. I crash to the ground, pain exploding through my ribs. He's on me in an instant, his claws pressing against my throat, pinning me down.

His breath is hot and rancid against my face.

For a terrifying second, I think this is it.

This is how I die.

But then—

He stops.

His entire body goes rigid, his nostrils flaring. His yellow eyes flicker with confusion.

I don't understand what's happening until I feel it, too.

A presence.

Something dark and powerful.

Something familiar.

The rogue lets out a strangled snarl and abruptly leaps off me, his eyes darting wildly around the forest. A second later, he bolts, disappearing into the trees.

I lay there, gasping for air, my hands trembling.

What just happened?

Why did he stop?

And more importantly…

Why did he look terrified—like something more dangerous than him had just arrived?