Your Luna's Dead Tonight

Pup... little pup... my pup. Within Nyma's mind, a presence stirred.

The foreign words hummed inside Nyma's head, soft as a whisper, yet they sent a strange shiver down her spine. She stirred in her sleep, a frown tugging at her brow. That voice—

Lunara.

Her she-wolf.

Nyma's breath hitched as she realized it had been months—long, empty months of silence—since she had last heard her wolf's voice.

After their brutal fight on the last Blood Moon, when they had battled for dominance over each other, Nyma had thought Lunara had abandoned her. That the ancient she-wolf had recoiled into the shadows, refusing to acknowledge her after she had resisted the pull of her instincts to act and be wild like hers—forcing her body into the kind of bloodlust Nyma had never wanted to taste. After that night, her wolf had gone silent. Cold. A ghost lurking in the depths of her mind. 

But now…Now Lunara was back. And she sounded—gods, she sounded soft. Almost loving... 

Nyma whimpered in her sleep, exhaustion weighing heavily on her limbs. She wanted rest, deep and undisturbed, now that the human world outside had finally gone quiet. But Lunara was relentless, nudging her inwardly, a persistent warmth spreading through her chest.

The sensation was foreign—this wasn't the usual bristling dominance or scathing silence from Lunara. This was gentle. Affectionate.

Nyma tensed. Lunara had never been affectionate. She was fire and fury, a giant female beast too wild to be tamed, too ancient to yield. The idea of her gentle, fond—it sent a different kind of unease crawling up Nyma's spine. 

Nyma scowled, shifting restlessly in her sleep as her mind wrestled with Lunara's presence. Why is she making my stomach flutter? Wolves weren't just capable of having emotions separate from their humans—they could project those emotions, making their humans feel exactly what they felt. And sometimes more.

Sometimes, Nyma felt like Lunara had betrayed her the moment she submitted to Prince Adrain's, Lycan, Draven's claim at Nyma birthday.

Before that for two years, Nyma had believed—trusted—that Lunara wouldn't mind taking a wolfless mate. But no.

Lunara wanted—needed—a Lycan. A beastly-mate worthy of her strength, her lineage, her wildness.

It had been the beginning of something she couldn't quite name, something that had only grown more complicated since the day she first felt Lunara stir inside her at sixteen.

The day after Nyma had become whole, yet somehow more divided than ever.

Lunara was a force of nature—a giant she-wolf with silver fur and crimson-moonlit eyes, said to be the wildest of the ancient wolf lores. She was fierce, untamable, and utterly unpredictable. Lunara rarely spoke to Nyma, communicating only through shifting silences and faint emotions that Nyma could barely decipher.

But one thing was clear: Lunara despised almost everyone. She hated humans, distrusted other wolves, and had no patience for anyone she deemed unworthy. She would often leap out without warning, leaving Nyma to deal with the aftermath of her violent outbursts. Even Nyma's parents, Alpha Cedric and Luna Elara, couldn't control her. Bran, Cedric's wolf, and Rhiannon, Elara's she-wolf, were no match for Lunara's ferocity.

For couple of times, it was Lunara who had given Nyma the courage to defy her parents, to stand up for herself in ways she never had before. But Lunara's approval was hard to earn, and her disdain for others was absolute—except when it came to Jaerin.

Nyma had noticed it almost immediately. Lunara, who snarled at the scent of most wolves, would grow eerily calm whenever Jaerin was near. It was as if his presence soothed her, a rare phenomenon that Nyma couldn't explain. Even his scent, which carried the faintest hint of pine and earth, seemed to pacify Lunara's wild nature.

Nyma often wondered why. Jaerin didn't have a wolf, yet his aura was stronger than even most Alpha. He was an anomaly, a boy who defied the natural order of their world. And Lunara, the wildest of wolves, seemed to recognize something in him that no one else could.

But Lunara's twisted liking for Jaerin only added to Nyma's confusion. Because Lunara's loyalty wasn't just to Nyma—it was also to Draven, the Lycan-wolf of Prince Adrian. Draven and Lunara were fated mates, a bond that had been celebrated by the pack and the royal family alike.

Go away, Lunara. I don't want to talk to you after what you did to me that night… Nyma felt Lunara shift, a low rumble of amusement vibrating through her core.

"Nyma… pup, his pup!" Nyma stiffened.

"My pup… our pup is here."

A sharp jolt of energy surged through her, but she fought against it, groaning. "Shut up, you beastly thing! Get lost! I'm never listening to your lies again." Her wolf was one of the reasons Nyma was stuck in this hopeless situation.

Lunara huffed. Stubborn girl.

Nyma tried to drown her out, willing herself deeper into sleep. She needed rest, needed peace. But Lunara had never been the patient sort.

"Wake up."

Nyma ignored her.

Lunara's voice darkened, turning from gentle to something more primal. "Don't make me do this, human," And then it happened. The shift.

Not a physical takeover but emotional—Lunara couldn't force her way to the surface—not without Nyma's permission. But there were other things she could do. Things that didn't require consent.

She could steal Nyma's senses. Or worse—heighten them to an unbearable degree. Both were equally horrifying.

The last time Lunara had taken control, she had ripped Nyma's senses away, plunging her into a void of nothingness so absolute it had nearly broken her. This time, Lunara showed mercy—if one could call it that.

Instead of darkness, Nyma's world flared. Her hearing sharpened first.

Suddenly, she wasn't just lying in a quiet room—she was drowning in sound. The rush of blood through her veins roared like a river. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of countless heartbeats pounded in her ears.

Six. No—seven. Seven wolves shifter surrounded her.

Beyond them, footsteps moved—slow, quick, steady, hovering just out of reach. Whereas a hall full of them, waiting.

Then, her sense of smell exploded.

First, herself—her own scent hit her first, thick and suffocating. Blood and body heat, the raw essence of sandalwood and ash, curling in her lungs like smoke. Then Lunara's—wild, untamed, like winter and wilderness, crisp and ancient.

The sheets beneath her carried the soft traces of pressed lavender, a scent meant to calm. It failed miserably.

And then—him. The strongest of all, lingering musk and forest of Prince Adrain. Too close. Too recent.

It clung to the space around her, a reminder that he had been near, standing beside her, perhaps watching her closely.

Other scents followed, a chaotic onslaught—wolves, humans, sweat, fabric, the metallic bite of weapons, the earthiness of dampened wood. It was too much. Her stomach twisted. Enough.

Nyma clenched her jaw and forced her mind to push back, willing her senses to dull, but Lunara wasn't done with her yet.

Then came touch.

A sudden awareness of every single point of contact against her skin—her body pressing into the soft mattress, the sheets tangled around her legs, the ghost of a touch at her wrist from where someone had held her. A flicker of warmth on her forehead, a kiss—her breath hitched. Did her Mother Elara just kissed her in sleep?

Had someone kissed her while she slept? Her heart pounded. Stop. Stop. STOP. And then—sight.

Even with her eyes shut, the world behind her lids burned too bright. The outlines of everything in the room pulsed in her mind—the shifting shadows, the dim glow of candlelight, the faint silhouette of a figure moving beyond the curtain.

Her breathing turned shallow. This was too much. Too fast.

"ENOUGH!"

With sheer willpower, she shoved Lunara back, wrenching her senses into submission. The flood of information snapped, receding like a tide dragged by the moon.

Silence. Darkness. Blessed numbness.

Nyma gasped, chest heaving as the world returned to normal. Lunara let out a soft, knowing huff.

Nyma's breath came in ragged pulls, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of Lunara's forceful intrusion. But she wasn't a pup to be shoved around. Not anymore.

Lunara's voice curled in her mind, smug and satisfied. You needed to know who's in control here.

Nyma let out a slow, measured exhale, steadying herself. Then, with the calm of a predator poised to strike, she whispered back—

"And you need to remember whose mind you live in."

A pulse of power radiated from her core, raw and unyielding. The kind of power that didn't come from Lunara's wild strength but from her—Nyma's own will, sharpened into something lethal.

She pushed, not with brute force, but with the silent authority. She didn't just made Lunara to submit but succumbed. She reached past her wolf, sinking into the unspoken bond between them, past instincts, past aggression, and into the very thread that tied them together.

She touched the sixth sense—the unexplainable, the part of her that existed beyond touch, sight, or sound. And she pulled.

Lunara resisted. But only for a second. Then—silence. A deep, undisturbed void settled in Nyma's mind.

Her wolf went silent. Not dead. Not sealed. But sent into a slumber so profound that even she wouldn't wake until Nyma allowed it.

"And that's why," she murmured to herself, voice hoarse but victorious, "must always remembered who's a beast and who the master is."

Sleep now—and let me too. Nyma commanded, her voice laced with finality.

Lunara let out a heavy exhale, a wordless surrender, and with that, the presence in her mind began to fade.

The world dimmed, senses dulling back to normal, the overwhelming clarity retreating into the depths where it belonged.

Finally, silence.

Nyma exhaled shakily, her body sinking into the mattress as sleep pulled at her once more.

This time, there was no voice whispering in her mind. No resistance. Just quiet. And for now, that was enough.