When the Luna Vanished Chapter 06

When the Luna Vanished Chapter 06

A loud crash echoed as Issac kicked the wolf healer away.

“It’s impossible! Celeste was strong—how could this… how could this happen!”

And then, a second later, it hit him. Not grief first, but regret. A cold, black tide of it, rising from the pit of his stomach to choke him.

He’d known every agony she’d endured: losing their daughter, burying her in the rain, kneeling bloodied steps to pray.

The next day, forcing herself through the birthday feast, enduring eighty-one nails piercing her flesh, watching their children’s mementos burn.

Today, he’d carved out a bowl of her heart’s blood.

She’d bled nonstop, every drop draining her life—and he’d ignored it, numbing himself to her pain.

Even when she’d warned she’d die, he’d dismissed it, trusting her resilience.

The magnitude of his regret was a physical weight, crushing his lungs. The ache in his chest was no mere metaphor; it was a white-hot brand searing him from the inside out.

Memories flooded him: her innocent, pure smile when she looked at him;

her quiet tears of hurt when he’d favored Layra;

her frantic worry, her sleepless nights when he’d been injured.

That woman—who’d given him every ounce of her affection—would never feel anything for him again.

Issac’s heart sank to the icy depths of a frozen lake.

Not even Layra’s unconscious state had torn him apart like this.

He clasped Celeste’s cold hand tightly.

“Celeste, Celeste… you’re lying, aren’t you? You’re just angry at me for hurting you?”

“Wake up. I’ll apologize—anything you want, just wake up!”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please come back!”

Tears fell onto Celeste’s cooling face.

But no one would wipe them away, no one would comfort him now.

The door groaned on its hinges. Leaning heavily on a maid, Layla Clark made a slow, dramatic entrance. News of Celeste’s death during the “cure” had acted like a tonic; she had regained consciousness with convenient, almost miraculous, timing.

Hiding her triumph behind feigned grief, she coughed harshly, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared at the body.

“Alpha, please accept my condolences,” she whispered. “I know how much you cared for her, but—”

Her performance was cut short as Isaac’s head snapped toward her. His eyes, already red-rimmed, now burned with a feral, crimson light. The question he growled was devoid of any warmth, any relief. “You’re awake. How?”

Layra stepped closer, “I don’t know. Perhaps vomiting up the stagnant blood expelled the curse.”

But Issac showed no joy at her recovery.

He shoved her aside, grabbed the warlock by the throat, his gaze murderous.

“What’s the truth? You said only heart’s blood could break the curse—so why is she awake before drinking it? You lied to me?”

The warlock gagged, his face purpling. His eyes, wide with terror, flew to Layla in a silent, damning plea. “I—it—perhaps the magic, it… it worked differently than the texts said! A-a fluke!”

Before he could finish, Issac drew his dagger and hacked off the warlock’s hand—the one that had held the cursed doll, the one that had wielded the nails.

Blood splattered across Layra’s face.

Shock replaced her hidden resentment as fear coiled in her chest.

The warlock howled, a wordless animal sound of agony, before finding his voice. “Mercy, Alpha Isaac! Mercy! Miss Layla, in the Moon’s name, intercede! You promised—!”

Layra forced calm into her voice.

“Alpha, the warlock may be incompetent, but he acted out of concern for me. Don’t let anger cloud your judgment—it would damage your reputation.”

But Issac’s suspicion only deepened, his gaze pinning her down.

“What are you saying? Your sister was murdered, and you’re defending her killer?”

“Did you conspire with him? Was this all a trap?”

Silence choked the room.

Layra’s eyes reddened, brimming with injustice.

“Alpha, how could you think that of me? When you chose to marry me, you swore you’d never doubt me—no matter what!”

She was gambling everything on the twin pillars of his guilt over their past and his pride in his Alpha’s honor. On the ghost of the childhood sweetheart he remembered. The dice were in the air. And as she watched his face, she saw them fall.

And lose.

Issac’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles whitened.

“Throw the warlock into the pack dungeons. Interrogate him relentlessly. Killing the pack’s Luna is unforgivable!”