The Scorned Luna-Chapter 76: Can’t Be Her

Queen Elena closed the distance between them, her presence filling the tiny, cramped room. She didn’t look like a woman about to scream; she looked like a woman trying to prevent a disaster. Her eyes, so similar to Alaric’s, scanned Sofia’s disheveled appearance—the torn dress, the swollen lips, and the scent of Alaric that clung to her skin like a brand.

​"Did you just fuck my brother?" Elena asked, her voice filled with disbelief and rage.

​Sofia’s heart stopped. She instinctively pulled her dress higher over her heavy breasts, her face burning with a mix of shame and fear. "No... I..."

​"Don’t lie to me," Elena snapped, though her tone wasn’t cruel—it was weary. "I was watching from the balcony. I saw you getting out of his car. I’ve lived with Alaric long enough to know that look on a woman’s face. And I know the scent of his satisfaction."

​Sofia looked at the floor, her thick thighs shaking. She felt trapped. "He saved me, Luna. My mother... she was going to kill me."

​Elena sighed, a long, heavy sound. She walked over to the small window, looking out at the pack lands. "So, Alaric saves you, and Damien protects you. Are you trying to fuck both the nephew and the uncle, Sofia? Do you have any idea the war you are about to cause?"

​"I never wanted this," Sofia whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

​"It doesn’t matter what you wanted," Elena turned back, her expression softening just a little. "If Damien finds out you’ve been with Alaric, he will challenge him. My son is possessive, and my brother is a King who doesn’t know how to lose. They will tear this pack apart over you. Blood will run through these halls, and for what? A girl who hasn’t even found her wolf yet?"

​Sofia winced. The weight of the situation finally hit her. She wasn’t just a slave anymore; she was a spark in a room full of gunpowder.

​"This should never have happened," Elena said, stepping toward the door. She paused, her hand on the handle. "I am going to act like I never saw you get out of that car. I am going to act like I don’t smell my brother all over you. But you listen to me, Sofia—this must end."

​Elena looked at her one last time, her gaze lingering on Sofia’s curvy frame. "Wash yourself. Scrub his scent off before Damien comes looking for you."

​With that, the queen slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

​Sofia collapsed onto her bed, her breath coming in jagged gasps. She looked at her trembling hands. In less than an hour, it would be her twentieth birthday. The moon was high, and for the first time, she felt a strange, internal heat beginning to pulse in her veins.

​Meanwhile, in Damien’s room, he was restless. He couldn’t sleep. He turned from one side of the bed to the other, then onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as if answers were written there. His eyes kept drifting to the wall clock. The ticking sound felt louder than usual, like it was mocking him. In less than an hour, it would be Sofia’s birthday. Her twentieth birthday.

​He clenched his jaw.

​No matter how hard he tried to erase her from his heart, he still remembered everything. The small things. The stupid things. The things a man only remembers when he once loved a woman deeply.

​He knew her favorite color was red—not the dull kind, but the bright, bold red that made her eyes shine. He knew she liked to braid her hair loosely when she was nervous. He knew she hated thunderstorms but pretended she didn’t because she didn’t want to look weak.

​He even remembered her favorite movie—an old, overly romantic film she used to watch every year on her birthday. She would cry at the same scene every time, and he would tease her for being too soft. Then he would pull her into his arms and kiss the top of her head while she sniffed and told him to shut up.

​A tight ache formed in his chest.

​He remembered the way she used to laugh when she was truly happy. Not the fake smile she wore now. But the real one—the one that made her eyes crinkle and her nose wrinkle slightly.

​And her scent.

​God.

​When Sofia was happy, she smelled like sunshine and wild honey—warm and sweet, like summer fields. That scent used to wrap around him and calm the restless beast inside him. But that scent had disappeared two years ago. Now she only smelled like fear... and sadness.

​He dragged a hand down his face.

​"Why do I still remember?" he muttered into the empty room. "Why can’t I just let you go?" he rasped, his voice cracking in the empty room.

​He closed his eyes, but all he saw was Sofia.

​Damien reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, velvet box. Inside was a necklace—a delicate silver chain with a violet amethyst. He had bought it for her two years ago, intending to gift it to her on her eighteenth birthday, but he never did.

​Sighing heavily, he dropped back onto the bed. His mind was spinning. He thought of what Sofia had said. Was she really telling the truth when she claimed she didn’t push Lola? Was it just an accident? Was the CCTV recording edited?

​Damien knew the Sofia he grew up with was the nicest girl with a pure heart, and this girl could never do such a thing—but he didn’t know what to believe anymore. This same innocent girl betrayed him two years ago. If she could do that, then she could kill her sister.

​Damien threw himself back onto the mattress, staring up at the dark canopy of his bed. His heart felt uneasy. Tomorrow wasn’t just Sofia’s twentieth birthday—it was also the one-month anniversary of Lola’s death.

​Their mother had insisted on it. She had lobbied the pack council to hold Lola’s memorial on the same day as Sofia’s transition, a cruel move designed to ensure Sofia could never celebrate her life without being shrouded in the shadow of her "crime." Damien knew their mother had always favored Lola over Sofia. It was no secret she had treated Sofia like an outsider even before the tragedy.

​He closed his eyes, trying to force the thought of Sofia away. He thought of the CCTV footage—grainy, flickering, showing Sofia pushing Lola from behind. But then he thought of the way she had looked at him tonight with genuine pain.

​The conflict was tearing him apart. He felt exhausted, drained by the constant thoughts in his head. He forced his breathing to slow, commanding his mind to shut down. He needed to be alert for the memorial tomorrow. He needed to be an Alpha.

​Slowly, exhaustion began to pull at him.

​But just as he drifted into a shallow unconsciousness, a violent jolt shot through his entire being. It wasn’t a dream. It was a physical eruption of power that originated from his very soul.

​"MATE!"

​His wolf let out a deafening, primal scream within his mind. It was a roar of recognition so loud it felt like his skull might split open.

​Damien bolted upright in bed, his chest heaving, his sweat-slicked skin prickling with sudden, intense heat.

​"Mate!" His wolf howled loudly, pushing him toward the door.

​"Mate!"

​The word echoed inside his head. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. His wolf was shouting it.

​Heat rushed through his body. His skin felt hot. His hearing became sharp. He could hear footsteps far away. He could smell every scent in the packhouse.

​"Mate," his wolf growled again.

​"No," Damien whispered, shaking his head. "That’s not possible."

​A mate?

​He had stopped believing in that. After everything that happened, after Lola died, after Sofia... he buried that part of himself. He told himself he didn’t need a mate. He told himself he didn’t care.

​But this feeling was real.

​It wasn’t a dream. It was real.

​Another strong wave of power hit him, almost knocking him off his feet. It pulled him toward the door like an invisible rope.

​"She’s here," his wolf said. "She’s close."

​Close?

​Damien’s mind raced. A she-wolf in the packhouse. Under this roof.

​He thought of the maids. The guests. The warriors’ daughters. None of them felt right. None of them matched this powerful pull.

​Then his breathing stopped.

​There was only one woman in this house whose scent he could recognize anywhere. Only one woman whose birthday was tonight. Only one woman who had lived in his thoughts for two long, painful years.

​His eyes widened.

​"No..." he whispered.

​"Sofia."

​His wolf answered at once. Mine.

​Damien felt fear twist inside him. It couldn’t be her. She was accused of killing Lola. She was the reason his life fell apart. She was the girl he punished. The girl he hurt.

​Mine, his wolf growled again, louder this time.

​Another burst of power shot through him. This time he felt something else. A spark. A new energy.

​Not from him.

​From her.

​Somewhere in the packhouse, a wolf was waking up for the first time. And it was calling to him.

​Damien walked toward the door slowly, his hand shaking as he grabbed the handle.

​"This has to be wrong," he said under his breath.

​If Sofia was his mate...

​If the Moon Goddess had chosen her for him...

​Then everything he had done to her was a mistake.

​He opened the door and stepped into the hallway, his golden eyes glowing. The invisible bond between them pulled tighter.

​"No," he whispered again. "It can’t be her."