The Wolf God's Unwanted Luna

Vivian’s POV

You’d think turning eighteen would give a werewolf a little breathing room from their parents. Not even close.

The second I got back home, I started planning. Step by step, I laid it out in my head, determined not to leave any loose ends. I considered telling my parents everything... but in the end, I decided to leave them out of it. At least for now. Who knows—maybe I’d track Zaliver down, punch him right in his lying face, and be home before dinner. It worked wonders last time, right?

Lunch came and went without me touching a single bite. Just thinking about that manipulative, smug, blue-eyed jerk made my stomach churn. Pushing the plate away, I headed straight to my room and fed my frustration by packing a small duffel bag. Just the basics: clothes, toiletries, and enough stubbornness to carry me through whatever came next. I didn’t even know how long I could stand to look at him, let alone talk to him.

A knock sounded at my door. Courtney. Her face was pale, but her tone was dead serious. "A plane will be ready whenever you decide to leave."

I measured the worry in her eyes before giving a sharp nod. "Tomorrow." I needed the night to clear my head and tighten my strategy.

When my parents came home, I tried to break the news gently. That didn’t go as planned. I told them I was going on a trip and didn’t know when I’d be back—which sounded a bit more ominous than I intended. Naturally, they freaked out, demanding to know where I was going and who I was going with.

I shut it down fast with the classic "I’m eighteen and not just your average supernatural being anymore" argument.

They hated it. But I reminded them that I was at least giving them the courtesy of a heads-up—unlike a certain someone. Cough. Zaliver. That little jab hit home, judging by the sudden tension in the room. Seeing the absolute determination in my eyes, they finally backed off.

Sleep? Not a chance. I paced my room like a caged animal. A paranoid voice in my head warned that if I closed my eyes, Zaliver might mess with my mind again—sneak into my dreams and twist my memories. I wasn’t giving him the opening.

When I checked the clock and saw it was 2 a.m., I muttered, "So technically, it’s today."

And today, I was going to dress like the storm brewing in my veins.

Black it is.

I walked into my closet and pulled out my armor: tight black jeans, a long-sleeved gray shirt, and a flowing black lace vest that fluttered like shadows behind me. It felt like the perfect balance of war and warning.

Then my eyes landed on them. My combat boots.

A sharp grin tugged at my lips. If Zaliver wanted a show, he was getting one—stomping boots, fire in my eyes, and all.

In the bathroom, I grabbed my black eyeliner. I didn’t wear it often, but today wasn’t about playing it safe. Today was about sharp edges and bold lines. I wanted him to see, loud and clear, that I wasn’t a girl he could manipulate or control.

Back in my room, I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against my thigh as my mind raced through every scenario.

What the hell was going through his head?

Why claim me—stake that possessive, irreversible mark on me—only to send me home like I meant nothing? How could he flip the script so fast? One minute I was his, the next I was dismissed like trash.

Bipolar bastard.

I kept pacing, bare feet silent on the cool floor, while the questions circled like hungry wolves. I shoved them down. I didn’t have the luxury to dwell; I needed a plan. A solid plan, a backup plan, and a contingency for when the first two blew up in my face. If I was walking back into the lion’s den, I wasn’t going in blind.

Physically, Zaliver had the upper hand—he could overpower me without breaking a sweat. But he’d slipped up. He’d given me pieces of his heart, no matter how small. If any of it meant anything to him, I could use it. And I would.

A slow, wicked grin spread across my face as I began crafting my revenge, piece by piece. Call it petty. Call it unhealthy. I didn’t care. He played me, and he was going to pay. No way in hell was he walking away clean.

The night dragged, every second ticking by with agonizing slowness. By the time the first weak hints of dawn crawled into the sky, I was packed, dressed, and prepared to raise absolute hell.

My parents hovered with concerned eyes at the crack of dawn, pressing kisses to my cheeks and offering a dozen versions of "Are you sure?" I reassured them as best as I could, though my expression gave me away. After promising to call—vague as the promise was—I threw my bag over my shoulder and headed for the park.

I’d chosen a neutral, quiet spot on purpose so my parents wouldn’t have a chance to corner anyone for details.

The early morning air was cold and crisp. I felt the presence shadowing me before I even reached the clearing, and sure enough, Mila stepped out from between the trees. She looked cautious, uncertain which version of me she was dealing with.

"Should I tell the others to come, Luna?" she asked carefully.

I gave a single nod. I didn’t want to talk to her. Not until I got answers from the only person who mattered.

Turning away, I leaned against a tree and crossed my arms, staring into the woods. My pulse was steady, but a smoldering fury wrapped in ice burned in my chest.

Twenty minutes later, the others arrived—no bags, no gear, no fuss. They were already prepped. Figures.

I straightened as they came into view and walked toward them without hesitation. "Is the plane ready?" I asked Luke, my tone clipped.

He nodded once, avoiding my eyes. "Yes."

"Then let’s go."

Without another word, he led the way. The rest fell into formation around me. I noticed Mila and Courtney flanked my sides while the males lingered behind. It didn’t feel like protection. It felt like containment.

I almost laughed. If they thought they were guarding me, they were dead wrong. If anyone needed protection right now, it was Zaliver.

And even that might not save him.

I dipped my head slightly, dark hair falling forward to hide the dark grin spreading across my face. A low, bitter chuckle escaped my throat. I could feel the tension in the air—the way they treaded lightly around me like I was a bomb waiting to detonate.

Good. Let them be nervous.

I wasn’t going back just to talk. I was going back to take control. One way or another.

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