The Alpha's Contract Luna

Chapter 2: Savior

Chapter 2: Savior

(Elara's POV)

I didn’t belong here. That much became painfully clear with every passing second of the mating ritual. The gazes, the judgment, the whispers—they weren’t subtle. And when Rhysand's piercing blue eyes met mine during the ceremonial exchange, there had been no warmth. Only cold disdain.

The air claws at my lungs as I step out of the suffocating atmosphere, heading towards the outskirts of the Midnight Sun Pack's woods. Darkness engulfs the towering trees like an inviting cloak. Here, under the moonlight, with only the sound of the breeze brushing the leaves, I can breathe.

I press my back against the bark of a tree, its rough surface anchoring me as I take a shaky breath.

“Ten million,” I mutter under my breath. The number rolls bitterly off my tongue. That money would change everything. Ethan’s leg would be healed, and I’d finally repay the guilt that weighed on me every time I saw him struggle.

I close my eyes, leaning my head against the tree. The pack’s politics, Rhysand’s accusations, the ceremony—it was too much. Too fast. Yet, as much as I want to hate this arrangement, I can’t. Not entirely. Because the Alpha King’s offer is my only lifeline.

Just as that thought crosses my mind, a sound pierces my peaceful oasis. Gunfire.

I jolt, ears straining. My grip instinctively tightens on the small hunting knife strapped to my thigh.

A howl follows, split in pain, echoing through the forest. My eyes snap open, and I’m running before I can stop myself.

The woods blur as I track the noise, my feet silent despite my hurried pace. It’s coming closer now—shouts, the unmistakable clash of metal, and snarls of wolves in agony. My heart pounds as I slow, sneaking through the undergrowth.

The scene that unfolds before me is chaos.

A group of men clad in dark cloaks are moving, their weapons gleaming under the sparse moonlight. Smog, thick and unnatural, clouds the air. In the midst of it all is a figure—a wolf—or is it a man?

He stumbles, blood gushing from a deep wound on his thigh. His movements are desperate, but the smoke swirls around him like a venomous grip, leaving him swaying and disoriented.

The attackers’ movements are calculated, cruel. They corner him until there’s nowhere left for him to go—nowhere but death.

I stay hidden, my heart racing. My instincts scream at me to leave. To return to the path I came from, to pretend I saw nothing. These men mean business. I’ve never seen such malice in my life.

But something about the injured man changes my mind. His struggling form…his desperation…it calls to me.

My fingers tighten around my bow as I nock an arrow in place.

Cowardice or bravery be damned—I can’t let them kill him.

I take aim from the shadows, focusing entirely on the nearest attacker. I release the arrow.

It hits.

He stumbles back with a gurgled cry, falling away as my arrow buries itself deep in his chest. The others spin around, shouting, searching for the source. Another arrow is quick to leave my bow, catching the next man in his shoulder before he even raises his weapon.

This isn’t as easy as I’m making it look. My breathing is heavy, my heart hammering wildly in my chest, but I grit my teeth and keep moving. I reposition with every shot, dodging from tree to tree, keeping my presence obscured.

The injured man tries to take advantage of the chaos I’m causing. He lashes out in his disoriented state, his strength dwindling as he claws at the nearest attacker. My focus remains on the others, my arrows piercing through the thick clouds of smoke.

One by one, they drop.

The last one flees, cursing under his breath. He vanishes into the night as the strange smog slowly dissipates.

The battlefield falls silent except for the injured man’s labored breathing.

I drop my bow and rush to his side.

His blood paints the forest floor in deep streaks of crimson. His breathing is rough, his chest heaving as he collapses to the ground.

“K-keep still,” I stammer, my voice shaking. My hands hover over his wound. My medical training kicks in. I can’t falter now.

Up close, the man is unfamiliar. His features are obscured by the blood streaking his face and the gentle glow of the moonlight. His smell—there is none. That accursed smoke still lingers faintly in the air, masking him completely.

I rip fabric from my sleeve, pressing it against the thigh wound. His blood seeps through immediately.

“Stay with me,” I urge through gritted teeth. “I’m going to heal this, but you have to hold on.”

The moment my hands touch his wound, a faint green light surrounds my palms. I focus all my energy on his injuries. The warmth of the healing energy spreads through my hands, sewing torn muscle and tissue.

He groans in pain but doesn’t move.

The wound on his thigh is deep—one of the worst injuries I’ve seen. I pour every ounce of my ability into it. The bleeding slows. His breathing evens out just slightly. Yet even after stopping the bleeding, even after giving my all, the wound refuses to fully close.

A scar is left, jagged and deep, almost pulsating with a strange energy.

"Damn it," I grumbled, desperation shading my tone.

I focused harder, practically grinding my teeth. My power surged through my palms, the faint silvery light of it casting a glow between my hands and his body. The bleeding slowed, though it wasn’t perfect.

Finally, I sighed, leaning back slightly as my strength ebbed.

"That should hold until..." I began but trailed off when his hand shot out and unexpectedly caught my wrist.

His grip surprised me. For someone who'd looked moments from death, he had strength remaining. Before I could react, he pulled me closer, and in a blur of motion, his lips crashed against mine.

For a heartbeat, I froze. My mind went blank, my focus disarmed completely. The sheer audacity of what he'd just done stunned me more than anything else that had happened tonight.

"Are you kidding me?!" I snarled, shoving against his chest with all my might.

The impact knocked him back onto the dirt, unconscious instantly from the force.

I glared down at him, seething while my heart sprinted inside my chest. "This is what I get for helping strangers?!"

My eyes linger on him one last time before I turn on my heel and leave. My steps are heavy, my head pounding with regret and anger.

Behind me, the forest is quiet again.

(Seraphina's POV)

I step out from my hiding spot, my lips curling into a cold smile as Elara’s figure disappears into the trees.

She always had a knack for meddling where she doesn’t belong.

we’d grown up together

The smog has now dissipated completely, leaving only faint traces of its acrid stench.

My eyes land on the unconscious man.

The faint glow of the moonlight reflects on his features, the sharp lines of his jaw, the undeniable aura of power even as he lies broken and bloodied before me.

My breath hitches.

I once saw him at a parade.

Alpha King.

Of course.

Elara’s dumb luck disgusts me. Anyone she saves just happens to be the most powerful wolf in existence.

Even though we grew up together in an orphanage, she always managed to win everyone's favor effortlessly.

Not like me, the dutiful shadow who smiled, nodded, and quietly played the role of “best friend.”

But her luck ends here.

“It’s my turn now,” I whisper under my breath, stepping closer.

Bending down, I allow my fingertips to graze his cooler-than-expected skin. His pulse beats faintly under my touch.

And just like that, an idea sparks within me.

“You’ll never even remember her, Alpha King,” I hiss softly. “Not when I claim to have saved your life instead.”

A vile grin spreads across my lips.

Elara thinks she’s always one step ahead, always the capable savior.

But this time, she won’t even see the knife coming.