Reborn Luna: Claimed By The Lycan King

Selene's POV:

A brutal, bone-deep cold unfurled inside me, far harsher than the endless ice fields of the polar lands.

Blood clouded my fading vision as I lay helpless on the birthing bed, every breath growing weaker than the last.

Thick fluid slid over the edge of the mattress in slow, dreadful streams, each wet drip dragging me deeper into hopelessness.

"Alpha... Luna won't survive much longer..." The pack doctor's shaky voice carried a final desperate plea through the glowing Message Stone to Theron Blackwood, Alpha of the Darkclaw Pack.

Using the final scraps of strength left in my broken body, I kept my eyes locked on the stone's dim, flickering glow.

I waited for my mate. For the man who had once sworn he would protect me for the rest of my life. I waited for him to come save me.

Instead, the voice that echoed through the Message Stone carried nothing but icy indifference. "Stop bothering me. That woman and her child mean nothing to me."

Then Sylvia Howe—Theron's lover—let out a sweet, flirtatious laugh, every giggle dripping with smug delight.

"Theron," she purred lazily. "Don't let that dying bitch ruin our night. We just started having fun."

The instant those words hit me, the agony tearing through my chest became far crueler than the pain ripping apart my body.

I was Selene Hart, the sole heir of the Silvermist Pack—the once-unrivaled pack that had stood at the very top.

Years ago, my family had died honorably on the battlefield while defending our territory from a massive rogue assault.

After that battle, the pack had steadily crumbled into ruin, though the immense fortune they left behind remained untouched.

During the darkest, most unbearable years of my life, Theron had stepped into that emptiness and offered me warmth when I needed it most.

Back then, I truly believed he was the mate destiny had chosen for me.

Because of that belief, I never hesitated to spend my wealth. I poured countless resources into strengthening the Darkclaw Pack.

At the ceremony for our mate bond, Theron had held my hands and sworn he would love me for the rest of his life.

Even now, his deep voice and unwavering vow still lingered painfully in my memory.

Yet somewhere along the way, he had changed.

Little by little, his attention drifted toward a Gamma student he had personally sponsored. He claimed Sylvia's lively spirit and carefree smile were everything he had ever wanted in a mate.

As for me? Theron admitted our bond had never been about love at all. From the very beginning, he had only wanted the fortune behind the Silvermist Pack and the endless resources I could provide for the Darkclaw Pack.

Even while I lay in the hospital fighting through a brutal labor, he still refused to come see me one final time.

Pain tore through my body in relentless waves as I gripped the edge of the bedsheet so tightly my knuckles turned white.

A savage fury ripped through me, fierce enough to consume everything else.

More than anything, I wanted another chance. I wanted the Moon Goddess to be real. I wanted her to hear me.

"My dear… if fate allowed you to begin again, what would you choose to do?" Out of nowhere, a strange, otherworldly voice suddenly echoed through my mind.

Was the Moon Goddess truly answering my plea?

Before I could process the thought, a blinding sea of white light crashed over me and swallowed everything whole.

With a violent gasp, I jolted upright in bed, sucking in desperate breaths one after another. Every inhale burned through my lungs, and my heart pounded so hard against my ribs it felt ready to burst from my chest.

Yet there was no metallic scent of blood in the air, no crushing despair from the delivery room closing around me like a coffin.

Instead, the room carried the clean scent of cedarwood and costly cologne, rich and familiar.

Shaking uncontrollably, I lifted my hand and brushed my fingertips against my warm, smooth skin.

My head snapped toward the wall, and the calendar hanging there instantly stole my breath away—Year 402 of the New Moon Era.

That had been the year I turned twenty-two, barely a month after becoming Theron's mate.

Back then, everyone still envied us. In their eyes, we were deep in the sweet haze of a perfect honeymoon phase.

Disbelief crashed through me in waves. The Moon Goddess had actually answered my desperate wish.

I had been sent back five years into the past.

"Luna, you're finally awake?" The bedroom door creaked open, and Lily Fuller, a young Omega servant, stepped inside carrying a simple white gown draped carefully across her arms.

"The Crescent Party's about to start," she informed softly. "You should get dressed now. The Alpha has already been waiting downstairs for you."

My gaze locked onto the white dress in silence.

In an instant, memories from my previous life crashed into me like a violent tide.

This had been the night Theron reluctantly brought me to an auction, doing nothing more than maintaining the illusion of a loving mate bond for the public eye.

Trying to please his so-called refined taste, I had foolishly copied Sylvia's style and worn that plain white gown.

What happened afterward had turned me into a complete laughingstock. Sylvia arrived at the auction wearing the exact same dress, hanging off Theron's arm with a smug little smile while he proudly escorted her through the crowded hall. Meanwhile, I—the heir of the once-glorious Silvermist Pack—ended up looking like some pathetic bitch trying too hard to imitate his lover.

Tilting closer, Lily lowered her voice carefully. "I heard the Alpha really likes this kind of simple, classy look. If you wear it, maybe he'll pay a little more attention to you."

More attention?

A bitter laugh slipped out of me as disgust twisted violently in my stomach, so strong it nearly made me throw up.

"Get rid of it." My voice came out rough and low, but the icy command in it left no room for defiance.

Lily froze in shock, clutching the white gown tighter against her chest. "But... this was specially tailored exactly the way you requested it..."

"Were you deaf? I said get rid of it." Without sparing the dress another glance, I pushed myself to my feet. My bare feet sank into the plush carpet as I crossed the room and stopped in front of the massive wardrobe.

Rows of elegant gowns filled the space, every single one chosen to match Theron's preferences. With a sharp motion, I pulled open the hidden compartment buried deep behind them.

Inside rested a crimson gown so vivid it looked like living flame, its rich color as dark and striking as freshly spilled blood.

This was the ceremonial gown of the Silvermist Pack—the sacred symbol of power, pride, and untouchable authority.

"This is the one I'm wearing," I declared, my voice sharp and unwavering.