FROM A COMMON LUNA TO THE WEREWOLF QUEEN

The moonlight poured through the stained-glass windows of the Moon Goddess Temple, casting a kaleidoscope of soft hues onto the marble floors.

The temple was a masterpiece of serenity, an ethereal sanctuary nestled deep in the heart of the pack’s sacred grounds. The ceiling arched high above, depicting the goddess in her celestial glory, with stars embedded in the stone that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

At the altar, a statue of the Moon Goddess stood tall and commanding, carved from pristine white stone, her gaze both tender and unwavering. She cradled a crescent moon in her hands, symbolizing the cycle of life and protection for her children.

I knelt on the cold, polished floor before the statue, my hands clasped tightly together.

The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the floral undertones of lilies and jasmine that decorated the altar. My heart ached with the fervor of my prayer.

“Moon Goddess,” I whispered, my voice trembling as it echoed softly in the hollow chamber, “grant me the strength to protect the life I so desperately wish to bring into this world. Not for him, but for me. For us. A child to love and nurture, a family of my own."

The silence that followed my plea was heavy yet comforting, as though the goddess herself were listening. I lingered in the stillness, my thoughts swirling.

After a moment, I rose to my feet, my movements reverent and deliberate. My gaze shifted to the long oak table near the eastern window, where the maids had left pen and paper at my request. Writing scriptures had always been a source of solace, a tether to my faith, and a means to quiet my restless mind.

I sat down, dipping the quill into ink and letting the gentle scratches of the pen against the parchment fill the space.

Each stroke seemed to channel a fragment of my unease into the words I copied. The weight on my chest began to lift, replaced by the steady rhythm of my breathing. My fingers paused as I rubbed my stomach absently. The thought of a child—my child—brought a tender smile to my lips.

“Momma loves you,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking directly to the life I yearned to hold.

A sharp grunt broke my reverie. Startled, I glanced at my arm and noticed a faint bruise marring my fair skin. My brows knitted together in confusion.

“Where did this bruise come from?” I muttered under my breath. The memory eluded me, and I quickly dismissed it as a remnant from training. I had been pushing myself harder lately, determined to ensure that both I and my child—whenever they came into my life—would be safe.

The sound of measured footsteps echoed behind me, interrupting my thoughts. I turned to see Thad, my mate’s beta, standing at the entrance. His stance was rigid, hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable but tinged with concern.

“Luna,” he began, his voice low but steady, “I feel that the Rogues are planning something. I haven’t seen any of them while patrolling. What should I do?”

I paused mid-sentence, my quill hovering over the parchment as unease prickled at the edges of my mind.

Rogues had been a persistent thorn in our side, but their recent silence felt ominous rather than reassuring. My thoughts strayed to Alpha Lorian—my mate—and a flicker of annoyance mingled with worry. Where was he?

“I...” I hesitated, then quickly penned a response on another sheet of paper and handed it to Thad. “The possibility of us being watched by a spy is high, so be careful,” I said firmly, my voice carrying the weight of my authority as Luna.

Thad nodded sharply, his dark eyes glinting with determination. “Understood, Luna. I’ll double the patrols and keep you updated.”

As he turned and left, the temple grew quiet once more, the heavy wooden doors closing with a soft thud behind him.

I returned to my scriptures, but the peace I had found earlier was now elusive. The Rogues’ absence felt like the calm before a storm, and my mate’s conspicuous absence gnawed at the edges of my patience.

The bruise on my arm caught my eye again, its dull ache a reminder of my vulnerability. I couldn’t afford to be weak—not now, not ever.

My mind drifted to the long hours I spent training, the grueling exercises to sharpen my reflexes and fortify my body. It was all for the sake of the family I envisioned, the life I longed to nurture.

The temple door creaked open again, drawing my attention. This time, it was one of the elder priestesses, her presence a beacon of wisdom and calm. She carried a small silver chalice, its contents glinting faintly in the moonlight.

“Luna Isolde,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of centuries of knowledge. “Drink this—it is a blessing from the Moon Goddess herself. It will help ease your worries and strengthen your resolve.”

I accepted the chalice with a nod of gratitude and took a small sip. A warmth spread through me, soothing the knots of anxiety that had taken root in my chest. The elder priestess smiled knowingly, as if she could see the burdens I carried.

“You are stronger than you realize,” she said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Trust in the goddess, and trust in yourself.”

Her words lingered in my mind long after she left. I returned to my scriptures, the quill gliding across the parchment with renewed focus. The temple seemed to hum with a quiet energy, the air alive with the whispers of unseen forces.

Outside, the night deepened, and the moon rose higher in the sky, its silver light bathing the temple in an otherworldly glow. As I finished copying the final scripture, I set down the quill and gazed at the Moon Goddess’s statue.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my heart swelling with a fragile but resolute hope.

For now, I had done all I could. The rest was in the hands of the Moon Goddess—and my own.