The Silver Moon Warrior Luna End the fake Alpha

My fingertips brushed the silver medal hanging at my waist. The chill of it seemed to still carry last night’s riotous cheers from the victory banquet.

This was the “Silver Moon Warrior” badge—the highest honor our pack could bestow. I used to believe it stood for our shared glory and our future. I even used to imagine sharing that blood-bought radiance with him at the investiture ceremony.

Now it was all a bitter joke.

The heavy sandalwood box slipped from my trembling hands. Its sharp edge sliced into my palm, and blood ran along the creases, dripping onto the cold floor.

I’d only come to his study to look for the dagger I’d misplaced—the one he’d given me as a token of our bond. As my fingers drifted along the shelves, I brushed against an unusually heavy tome. It jutted out slightly compared to the others, as if it were deliberately hiding something.

A surge of unease drove me to shove the tome hard. It toppled backward, revealing what lay behind it—an old sandalwood box carved with an ancient wolf-head pattern.

My heartbeat stopped. This wasn’t his style. As an Alpha, he’d always prized frankness and despised secrecy and tricks. This hidden cache reeked of something sickeningly furtive.

I hesitated only for a breath. A near-instinctive warning made me reach out and take the box. There was no latch; the lid lifted easily.

Inside, there was no dagger.

Only two things: a leather notebook with worn edges, and an old braided cord that carried a faint medicinal scent.

Why would he hide these?

A dreadful premonition clenched around my heart. Shaking, I opened the notebook.

The handwriting was familiar—yet every word was a poisoned icicle, spearing straight through what I thought I knew.

“She went to patrol the border again. Always like that—throwing herself into danger. It’s infuriating. Doesn’t she know the truly strong should sit at the rear and command? Only Alyssa knows restraint, knows how to soothe a warrior’s fatigue with gentleness. Last night, in the Moonlit Glade, she only had to wrap my wound, and I felt a peace I’ve never known…”

The Moonlit Glade? The place he claimed he’d gone to handle a pack dispute last month?

My breathing hitched. My fingers flipped pages wildly, out of my control.

“Eve of the promotion ceremony. She prepared a celebratory feast. The expectation in her eyes was suffocating. I made an excuse to ‘inspect’ and slipped out. In the cave at Shadow Gorge—Alyssa was my true celebration…”

“Her eyes when she fights—disgusting. Waiting for the perfect moment? Ha. With a beast like her, all claws and slaughter, there’s no such thing as a perfect moment. All my tenderness belongs to Alyssa.”

“She’s the perfect shield—my promise to Alyssa: a safe barrier. She has to exist, so Alyssa can bask in respect without a burden. Her battle merits will become the stepping-stone for Alyssa to reach the pinnacle of glory.”

A shield. A safe barrier. Disgusting.

It was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, freezing my blood in an instant. I stumbled backward, my spine slamming into the cold stone wall with a dull thud.

Five years. Five whole years. The honors I’d earned in blood, the loyalty and love I’d valued more than my life—were just chips in a filthy bargain he’d been hiding. I was nothing but a tool to protect that woman. A pathetic decoy propped up by lies.

Rage and humiliation erupted in my chest like a volcano. I wanted to scream—to tear everything apart.

My gaze snapped to the cord. Like a last shred of hope—like I could still prove this was a nightmare—I grabbed it.

The rough knot chafed my palm. The scent clinging to it locked my body rigid—herbs that suppress a wolf’s power. And Alyssa’s distinctive smell, that half-blood edge to it.

So that was it. Every time I returned from battle, every time he handed me that cup of “holy healing water,” every time my strength inexplicably ebbed—this was the owner’s carefully planned scheme. My power, my glory, my everything—just feed for that woman in his eyes.

I couldn’t hold it anymore. I lurched to a corner and retched violently, tears streaming down my face. Not grief—revulsion so absolute it was like swallowing rotten prey.

And then, after the wrenching nausea and shaking, a strange, bone-deep calm seized me. The kind that comes when faith is crushed into dust—dead quiet, and nothing left to make a sound.

Slowly, I straightened. I wiped my mouth and my tears hard with my sleeve, calm in a way that was terrifying.

I returned to the desk, set the notebook and cord back into the sandalwood box exactly as they’d been, closed the lid, and slid it behind the heavy tome.

Then I closed my eyes and sent the tendrils of my mind to a place I’d barely touched in five years.

“Elliott.” My voice was flat, like I was reading a eulogy. “Shadow Plan.”

It was our code—my brother’s and mine. If I ever needed to flee, I’d use it.

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then Elliott’s low, taut voice came through. “Priscilla? What happened? That plan is the last resort…”

“Activate it now.” I cut him off. My tone left no room for argument, each word a cold blade. “I’m going to disappear for good. Now.”

That Silver Moon medal I’d traded my life for would never see its investiture ceremony.

And a pack like this no longer deserved to keep me.