The Unbroken Luna

1

Emily's pov

I was in the pack house’s kitchen, slowly munching on a chicken, tomatoes, and avocado tortilla I'd just made.

“Good evening, Luna,” Kimberly, one of my pack mates, smiled, waving at me. I smiled back and watched her as she joined her friends in the living room, wishing I could do the same ... wishing I had someone there to call friends and chat with. 

You may think that, since I was the Luna, I was the happiest person in the pack, being married to the Alpha, holding all that power in my hands, but the truth is ... I wasn’t.

I’d met my mate four years ago; I’d just turned eighteen, and since he was a powerful Alpha, my parents and the Alpha had invited him to my birthday party. I knew he was my mate, my One, from the very first moment I’d lay my eyes on him; with his fair skin, ice-blue eyes, and pale blond hair, Alpha Clayton looked like he'd just walked out of a dream. If I closed my eyes, I could still see him walking through the crowd, pull me into a strong, tight hug, and whisper in my ears words I’d never forget.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my sweet mate”.

I’d felt so happy, then; so ecstatic that the Moon goddess had chosen me, the Beta’s daughter, to be the mate and the Luna of such a strong and powerful Alpha. It totally felt like living a dream.

The news had thrilled everyone in my birth pack, the Crescent Moon, even the Alpha. For him, my newly discovered mating bond with Clayton was the perfect chance to build a powerful alliance between our two packs. I'd been incredibly proud, back then; proud that I, among everyone else, was the one who had the merit of making that alliance not only possible, but real. 

The packs’ lawyers had wasted no time in writing a contract, and Clayton and Mitchell, my former Alpha, had signed it right away; after that, Clay and I danced through the night. He behaved like the perfect Prince Charming, always complimenting my midnight-blue dress, my hair, my beauty, and telling me how much he loved me already, how lucky he felt for having me as a mate and Luna. I was on cloud nine, so happy and so in love that I gave him my virginity that same night. And my, how amazing it was. He’d been sweet, gentle, and understanding. I’d always been a very shy girl, but he made me forget all the shame of being completely naked in front of him and made me feel like the most beautiful woman that ever walked on Earth.

I woke up the following morning captured in his hug, with breakfast already waiting for me. I said my goodbyes to my parents, my relatives, and my friends, and left with him towards his pack.

He had made me his Luna and wife that same night. I remembered every detail of the ceremony, from the long, white dress I’d worn, the bouquet of white and red roses in my hands, the ooohs of his – now ours – pack mates as soon as they saw me walking down the “aisle” in the forest behind the pack house. I remembered the oaths I’d taken, the oaths that tied me to Clayton and to the Red Blood back, oaths that I’d never broken. To cherish, to be faithful, to protect.

We had a long, rich, and luxurious reception, with lots of important guests who gave us incredibly expensive gifts, otherworldly food, and, of course, a lot of music and fun.

However, as soon as Clayton and I entered our bedroom, everything changed.

The sweet prince charming I’d met the night before vanished, like a busted bubble; his face became stone cold, and he told me to move and go take a shower. When I playfully asked him if it was just a non-offensive way to tell me I smelt bad, he had slapped me in the face, hard. I'd suddenly found myself on the floor, my cheek on fire, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, shocked.

It was at that moment that I understood that the gentle, caring man I’d married had never existed; it was just a lie, a mask that covered a monster.

He raped me that same night. 

I wish I could say that it was the first and the last time; I wish.

It had been four years since the day of our wedding, and in four years, the only s****l intercourse I have had with my husband was just plain assault. He enjoyed hurting me, seeing the red blood staining my white skin and the blankets of our bed. Blood excited him, made him thirsty for more pain and violence. His treatment worsened whenever the frequent pregnancy tests he forced me to take were negative; I always thanked the Moon Goddess for not letting me get pregnant, for not letting him father a child, even though it always came back to hurt me.

No one suspected anything; he made more than clear that if anyone found out, or even vaguely understood what was going on behind our bedroom’s door, he would have killed me. Slowly, painfully, just the way he liked it. He was smart: he only beat me and clearly hurt me only where it wouldn’t show, because, in those areas, my skin was constantly covered. Sometimes, though, I had to put on a full coverage makeup to conceal the bruises. And, even though I hadn’t spoken to a living soul about my struggles, sometimes I saw people, most likely women, look at me with a hint of pity in their eyes; they probably, unconsciously knew why I was wearing so much makeup, but said nothing. How could they? Clayton was their Alpha.

On the outside, we were the perfect couple; he was loving and caring and made every girl and woman in the pack swoon over him and his perfect manners. On the outside, I was the luckiest woman around.

They have no idea they’re the lucky ones, I thought, glancing at a small group of girls that passed in front of the kitchen door, giggling and chatting about the super charming Alpha.

Speaking about the devil …

Clayton entered the kitchen; his strong frame occupied all the door space, and he greeted me with a chilling smile.

“It’s beautiful to see you, sweetheart,” he said, taking a seat next to me. “You know, it’s just so hard to stay away from you to attend all those meetings”.

I quickly hid my right hand, which had started to shake in fear, under the table, and I mustered every single ounce of strength and acting skills I had to draw a genuine smile on my face. “I missed you too, honey,” I replied.

His smile might have looked charming, but to me, it was scary and terrifying. It was a promise of pain, torture, and suffering. His pale eyes looked like those of a corpse.

Clayton tipped his chin towards my tortilla. “Care to share a piece, baby girl?”

It looked and sounded like a request, but it was a command. A direct order from the Alpha.

“Sure,” I murmured, then I cut my tortilla in half and gave the biggest piece to him.

His smile didn’t have a single hint of gratefulness.

We ate our dinner in complete silence; I couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong all of that was. It was usually the male wolf who shared his hunt with his mate, not the other way around. Still, Clayton never offered a single bit of his meals to me. Instead, he always wanted me to give him some of my food.

When he was done eating my tortilla, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and chugged it all. He knew I hated beer; Clayton, therefore, loved drinking a can or two – or three – right before guiding me into our bedroom, so that I would be forced to taste it in his mouth, and smell it all over him and myself.

By now, I had learned to associate beer with what happened in our private room. My guts clenched in fear, and I felt bile gathering up in my stomach.

I wanted to puke. I wanted to run away from him. I even tried, sometimes; he’d always found me and punished me for my misbehavior. Once I’d even managed to hide for three days; even though I’d lived every single second of them in fear, I’d also never felt that good since I’d married him. I’d truly believed I’d made it, for a while; then, he’d found me.

My sudden disappearance had confused the pack; however, Clayton had told them that a rival pack had kidnapped me. Then, he’d led all of his warriors and killed every single wolf in that pack, including women and children. Later, he’d spent months talking me into believing that his slaughter had been my fault, for running away from him and forcing him to make up an excuse. I'd tried my best to remind myself that his c*****e wasn’t my fault; I’d only just tried to run away from a living hell. He was the one who murdered them all in cold blood, not me. Still, every time I thought about that pack, the Sapphire Moon pack, I felt my heart clenching in guilt and self-hatred.

“Come on, sweetie,” he said, holding out a hand for me to grab it. “It’s late. We should head upstairs and get some rest”.

In the privacy of my mind, I let out a hollow laugh; what rest? I was going to get tortured and raped again. There would be no rest for me; at least not until I was alive. Still, knowing better than defying him, I nodded and took his hand, letting him lead me through yet another night of pain and horrors.