Never Getting The Luna Ritual Chapter 01

Never Getting The Luna Ritual Chapter 01

I had just lifted my fork when Alpha announced the Luna Ritual was postponed. A steak I’d cooked fresh sat cooling on the table.

“We can do the ritual next time,” Forrest said, sipping oatmeal as casually as commenting on the weather.

I finished my steak without a change in expression, shrugged my shoulders, and said, “Sure.”

He glanced at me, a brow arched. “You’re not upset?”

I spoke calmly, “No.”

Forrest and I had been dating for five years, living together for six months, yet the Luna Ritual kept getting delayed.

This was the 17th time he’d put it off.

I finished what was on my plate and started to rise, but his hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist.

“Elena, next Monday—I’ll definitely have time next week. Everyone already knows you’re my mate, a few more days won’t matter. Trust me, I won’t stand you up this time.”

I looked down at his hand, then lifted my gaze to meet his. A smile touched my lips.

“Okay.”

In the past six months, he’d said “next week” nine times, “definitely” thirteen times, and “trust me” sixteen times.

Yet he still hadn’t marked me as his Luna.

He’d probably forgotten that before him, I was a Warden of the Woods. Without the Luna’s Mark to tie me to this pack and this place, my old duty called: move on to the next forest, guard the Veil between worlds, and keep the supernatural beings within from human interference.

He’d never get the chance to mark me now.

This time, I’d reject him.

*****

My wolf spoke inside me:

“Elena, if you’re going back to being a warden, you’ll have to leave for another forest.”

“Your deadline is next Monday—the same day he plans to mark you.”

“Are you going to tell Alpha?”

I replied to my wolf, “Want to bet he’ll postpone the Luna Ritual for the 18th time?”

An annoyed snarl reverberated through my mind, and I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips.

Forrest looked at me strangely, tentatively asking, “Aren’t you going to ask why?”

I stopped teasing my wolf and turned to him, “It doesn’t matter.”

After 17 delays, I’d lost all hope for the Luna Ritual.

For the first scheduled ritual, I’d dressed in my finest, adorned the altar in the sacred grove with moon-white lilies. But then Lila, an Omega from the pack, suddenly complained of stomach pain, and Alpha rushed to her side.

I waited by the moonlit altar as the white lilies wilted from full bloom. I stayed all night, finally walking home alone at sunrise.

The second time, I’d invited friends and family to witness the ritual. Lila claimed she couldn’t tell the pack’s herbs apart, fearing she’d ingest wolfsbane. Forrest left me standing in the crowd without a second glance. Our friends sipped mead awkwardly, the sweet scent turning sour.

Every single time after that, the moment a Luna Ritual was set, Lila would materialize with some new crisis, right on schedule.

In six months of living together, this scene had played out 17 times.

Forrest fell silent for a moment, then pulled a stack of photos from his backpack:

“The neighboring pack had their Luna Ritual recently—they threw a rose party, everyone wore clothes with rose accents… it looked fun. Would you like that? I remember you love fresh flowers.”

So he still remembered I loved fresh flowers.

“It does sound nice,” I thought for a moment, deciding to tell him I was leaving, “Do you have time tonight? Let’s grab a…”

Before I could even say “dinner,” his expression shifted, a flicker of anxiety crossing his features.

“Someone’s contacting him through the mind link,” my wolf noticed immediately.

I scoffed, answering mentally, “It’s definitely Lila.”

Yet a pang of something bitter twisted in my chest. The mind-link was for packmates who were close. Just how close did they have to be for him to drop everything for a private mental call instead of a text?

Forrest’s face shifted, looking at me, “Honey, Lila she…”

I cut him off with a soft smile:

“I know. Go on, be careful.”

Forrest froze, surprised by my calm demeanor.

But after a moment, he pulled on his coat and headed out:

“I’ll bring you a gift when I get back.”

The door slammed shut behind him. The scent of roasted meat and his pinewood cologne lingered in the air. This, I’d always thought, was what a happy werewolf’s cottage should smell like. But I was born a Warden. A permanent home was never part of the deal. Once, I’d ached for a scent like this to belong to.

Now I sat alone in the cottage. Just me.

“No, you have a wolf too,” my wolf said.

“Right, I have you,” I said with a faint smile.