His Rejected Luna

The Silence After the Storm

I don't move.

I should. Every instinct screams at me to get up, to run, to make sense of what just happened. But I can't. My chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, my hands trembling as they press against the damp earth beneath me.

The rogue is gone.

But something else is here.

I feel it before I see it—the weight of an unseen presence pressing against my senses, curling around me like an invisible force. The same suffocating energy that had sent the rogue fleeing like a terrified pup.

My pulse stutters.

Slowly, I push myself onto my elbows, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. The clearing is bathed in pale moonlight, the trees casting long, eerie shadows across the forest floor. My eyes dart to the spot where the rogue disappeared, searching for any sign that he might return.

Nothing.

But the feeling lingers.

A shiver crawls down my spine.

Someone is watching me.

I force my legs to move, struggling to my feet. My dagger is still clenched in my hand, the blade slick with dirt and blood. My heartbeat pounds against my ribs as I scan the trees, my senses stretching into the darkness.

And then—

A voice.

Deep. Smooth. Laced with something unreadable.

"You shouldn't be here, little wolf."

My blood runs cold.

I spin, my dagger raised defensively.

A figure emerges from the shadows.

At first, he's nothing more than a silhouette—a tall, commanding presence, his body half-hidden by the towering trees. But as he steps forward, the moonlight catches his features, and my breath hitches.

He's… not what I expected.

Not a rogue. Not a pack warrior.

Something else entirely.

His dark hair is tousled, strands falling across a face carved from sharp angles and quiet arrogance. His eyes—icy silver, piercing and unreadable—lock onto mine with unnerving intensity. There's something unsettling about them, something ancient, like they've seen too much.

He's dressed in black, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame like shadow and smoke.

A long, tattered cloak drapes over his shoulders, giving him the appearance of something otherworldly. Something not entirely human.

And he's watching me.

Not with pity. Not with amusement.

But with recognition.

My grip on the dagger tightens. "Who are you?"

His lips curve into something that isn't quite a smile. More of a knowing smirk. "Someone who just saved your life."

I stiffen. "That rogue ran away on his own."

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Did he?"

I hesitate.

He's right. The rogue had sensed something before fleeing. Something unnatural.

Something powerful.

And now this man is standing in front of me, perfectly calm, as if the forest itself bends to his will.

Coincidence?

Not a damn chance.

My heart slams against my ribs. "What do you want?"

He tilts his head, as if considering the question. "Now that's an interesting question."

I glare. "That wasn't an answer."

He exhales through his nose, almost like he's amused. "No, I suppose it wasn't."

Frustration coils in my chest. I don't have time for this. My body is still reeling from Kieran's rejection, my mind a tangled mess of pain and confusion. I should be running in the opposite direction.

And yet—

Something about this man keeps me rooted in place.

The pull isn't like the mate bond, but it's something else. A whisper in my blood, an unspoken familiarity I don't understand.

His silver eyes flick to the satchel slung over my shoulder. "Planning on surviving out here alone?"

I lift my chin. "I can take care of myself."

The smirk returns. "Clearly."

Heat rises to my face. "I don't need your help."

His gaze darkens slightly, his amusement fading. "Maybe not. But you will need answers."

A chill creeps down my spine. "Answers to what?"

He steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he's testing the air between us. His presence is overwhelming, his energy humming with something old and powerful.

Something forbidden.

"Did you really think a rejection would break the bond?" he murmurs.

My breath catches.

His eyes gleam, as if he already knows the answer.

As if he knows everything.

"The pain you felt, the way you still sense him—it doesn't add up, does it?" His voice is smooth, coaxing, each word laced with undeniable truth.

I hate that he's right.

I hate that he knows.

I say nothing, my pulse thundering in my ears.

His gaze sharpens. "Your mate didn't just reject you, Aria."

My fingers curl into fists. "Then what did he do?"

A slow, predatory smile spreads across his lips.

"He lied."

The truth about Kieran's rejection isn't what it seems. But what exactly did he do?