The Revenge Of The Dead Luna

The thudding bass of a pop song vibrated through the floorboards, shaking the very foundation of the pack house. My nineteen-year-old birthday party, orchestrated by my ever-outgoing sister Vela, was in full, obnoxious swing. The air hung thick with the cloying scents of cheap alcohol and teenage hormones, a combination that promised a migraine. I, Aegis, the birthday girl, stood amidst the chaos in a borrowed pink dress, clutching a cup of cold chocolate, a tense smile plastered on my face.

Across the room, my mother’s gaze, heavy with its familiar disappointment, snagged on me. A lecture was brewing, I could feel it. Spotting Vela and her shrieking friends heading my way, I made a swift escape, darting for the hallway, eager for the quiet solitude of my room. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

I rounded the corner, crashing headfirst into a wall of hard muscle. My face stung, but a jolt, an electrifying thrum, resonated deep within me. My wolf, usually quiet, stirred with a slow, delighted purr. I looked up, locking eyes with the person I’d collided with, and then I heard it – the one word I had lost all hope of ever hearing.

“Mate.”