The Wolf God's Unwanted Luna

Vivian’s POV

I paused my clicking and let The Vampire Diaries play on. The second Damon appeared on screen, something in me stiffened. Not the usual breathlessness women tended to have around him. This was different. My thoughts went completely blank. My fingers hovered over the remote, unmoving. I blinked once, twice, and wrinkled my nose. A strange tug scratched at the back of my mind.

Black and blue.

The colors danced in my memory like they’d been stitched into something I couldn’t quite see clearly.

Déjà vu hit hard.

I squinted, trying to shake the feeling, and resumed flicking through channels.

"Somebody saaave meee—"

Click.

"I got in one lil fight, and my mom got scared—"

Click.

"Next up, Hannah Mon—"

"I’m not your dad—"

Click.

"...tana."

Wait.

I paused.

My brows drew together. That name.

"Hannah," I whispered. Then again. "Hannah. Hannah?"

Why did that name feel like a trigger? It spilled out of my mouth without thought. Familiar. Weighted.

Too strange.

I shook my head. "I’m too old for this show anyway," I muttered to myself.

Suddenly: slap.

"Whore!"

"Okay, nope." My hand darted to the remote. "Let’s not." Click.

The next commercial started. "What are you wearing, Jake from State Farm?"

I tilted my head.

"Uhh, khakis."

"She sounds hideous."

The corners of my mouth twitched, but my heart didn’t laugh with me. I turned the TV off completely.

Why did I have the strangest feeling I’d made that exact comparison before? My head felt like it was swimming in fog.

Ever since waking up last Tuesday, things had been off. Not terrifying, just strange. Déjà vu came in waves. And not just feelings. Emotions that weren’t mine would pulse through me out of nowhere, like they were being picked up from the air, or from someone else.

Other wolves? Could that even happen?

Maybe I was going crazy. Or psychic.

I snorted.

"Nope," I whispered, looking down at myself. "Don’t own any crystals. And definitely not the right personality for that job."

My mom’s voice drifted from the kitchen. "Sweetie, heading to work. If you need anything, ask your father. He’s not leaving till later. Bye!"

I nodded as she kissed my cheek and headed out, keys jingling behind her.

Silence filled the house.

Great. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go.

My dad’s familiar heavy footsteps preceded him by a few seconds before he flopped onto the couch next to me. He dragged a hand down his face like the full weight of adulting had just caught up with him.

I turned slightly. "So," I drawled, eyebrows lifting.

He gave me a side-eye. "I know, I know," he mumbled, like he already regretted sitting down.

"Where are you taking Mom tonight?" I pressed, crossing my arms.

If he didn’t plan something soon, she’d be grumbling about the last date for the next two weeks. And even if she stayed quiet, her face would do all the work. One look and you’d know exactly what she was thinking.

He exhaled dramatically, then grinned like he’d cracked the code. "Forget restaurants. I’m cooking, we’re going on a picnic. Just us. No one around."

His chest puffed like he’d solved something significant.

I nodded slowly. "Solid plan. Unless she catches you staring at a duck again. She might bring it home as competition."

He laughed, a full-bellied laugh that shook the couch. "True." He smirked, then tilted his head. "So what about you? Planning to rot on the couch all week, or you got something going on that I don’t know about?"

I opened my mouth, but the words stalled.

It wasn’t offense that made me quiet. It was that deeper ache. The feeling of being genuinely lost.

What was I supposed to do?

Here. That word echoed strangely. Why did here feel so off? So unfamiliar?

A cold shiver slid down my spine.

"Nah, I’ll head to the park or something. Maybe swing by a couple friends’ places," I said, saying it aloud as the idea started to sound more appealing the more I turned it over. Just getting out felt necessary. Dad gave an approving nod.

"If you go, let me know. I’ll give you a lift if you want," he offered as he stood.

I stood with him, stretching. "Okay."

I headed upstairs two steps at a time, grabbed an outfit from my closet, changed quickly, and made a beeline for the bathroom. The moment I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I froze.

My hair had grown. A lot. It was longer than I remembered, brushing the middle of my back now. When had that happened? I narrowed my eyes and ran a brush through the thick waves slowly. Where had my head been that I hadn’t even noticed my own reflection changing?

After tying it into a high ponytail, I checked my outfit, black jeans and a soft, oversized jumper. Casual. Comfortable. Not like I was planning on bumping into anyone important.

I snorted quietly at myself.

But I still didn’t move. The brush sat untouched on the counter. My gaze stayed on the mirror, not out of vanity but something else. Something pulled at me. Something felt off in a way I couldn’t name.

My reflection stared back. Wide brown eyes, familiar but somehow unsure. I looked pale. Not sick, just washed out. Maybe the lighting.

I tilted my head slightly. She tilted hers. But it still didn’t feel right.

There was a pull in my chest, a quiet, persistent voice whispering that I was missing something, that there was something behind the glass I couldn’t quite see unless I looked harder. The sensation stayed at the edge of my awareness, not going anywhere.

I leaned closer and studied my eyes. Just brown. Nothing unusual. And yet I felt unsettled in a way that had nothing to do with what I could actually see.

Then I felt it. Not saw it, felt it. A stir somewhere deep in my head, not quite a sound, not quite a thought, just a faint movement like something shifting in sleep. My breath caught. I jerked back instinctively, heart thudding, and stood there for a moment with my hand pressed to my sternum.

Nothing moved in the mirror. Everything looked exactly as it had.

Slowly, carefully, I leaned in again, holding my breath.

There. Just for a second, just long enough to be certain it wasn’t my imagination.

It wasn’t my wolf. She was quiet, tucked somewhere distant and still. This was something else. Something that felt older, like it had been there for a very long time and was only now starting to stir. The sensation was gone before I could get a grip on it.

I blinked hard.

No. That was impossible.

I shook my head, gave myself one last look, and left the bathroom, grabbing my phone and keys from the nightstand. Maybe I really was going stir-crazy. Some fresh air would sort me out.

Or at least give me something to do with the feeling that wouldn’t leave.

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