The Nameless Luna – Book One: The Girl With Violet Eyes
The Nameless Luna – Book One: Chapter 7

Just as she said she would, Lucy returns later that day, a dark-skinned man with rosy cheeks and kind eyes trailing behind her. The healer takes a few minutes to examine my swollen ankle before applying a strange sort of gel that feels freezing to the touch, and it continues to tingle after he wraps it with a bandage.
He offers to perform a complete examination on me, but I shake my head abruptly, pulling away before he can even finish formulating the question. The last thing I need is someone reporting to Tristan just how… broken… his new mate is. The healer arches a brow, surveying me for a moment. Then he just nods with a sad sort of smile, like my frightened reply revealed something he understood— a sickness he could recognize, but neither treat nor cure.
Once he’s finished, he packs up his supplies into a black suitcase with a silver moon embedded in the leather. It clicks shut, and I can’t help but sag a bit in relief.
The healer notices this too, but says nothing. Instead, he informs Lucy that my injury is a minor strain and I’ll be back on my feet in no time. He then turns to me with that same sad sort of crinkles around his eyes and tells me that his practice is located right downtown and I’m welcome to visit him there if I ever feel unwell. I smile at him tentatively, more grateful for that respectful patience of his than for the actual treatment of my sprained ankle.
He excuses himself without another word, and Lucy informs me that she’ll be back to get me when it’s time for dinner.
I sit on the edge of the bed, thinking to myself that the mattress is easily three times the size of the cot I used to sleep on in Viktor’s cellar. Alone with my thoughts in my massive room, I take some time to shower, cleaning away the traces of my journey across the mountains on Tristan’s back. But it’s more than that. A part of me can’t help but feel like I’m washing away the stain of the Bane pack. My clothes aren’t much, but it occurs to me that they’re the only thing I have left from my old life.
Well, those along with the scars and bruises that I hid from the healer.
Lucy’s clothes are too big for me; she’s taller and has a plump figure compared to my scrawny build. The flowing black pants I replace in the closet are too long on me, and the white silk down blouse is too loose as well, far too elegant and supple for my petite, hunger-panged frame. Even the golden buttons feel ridiculously luxurious against my pale skin.
Nevertheless, it takes me a moment to recognize myself in the mirror when I examine my reflection. I brush out my ashy blonde hair, pinning it into a half-up-do. I still look small and starved, my cheekbones far too sharp, my neck and shoulders far too angular. But there’s a golden hue to my hair and a silkiness to my skin that I’ve never seen in myself before. Standing there in Lucy’s clothes, I look… pretty.
I shake the thought away, moving away from the mirror to sit on the terrace. I can see the lake off to the side, just as Lucy said, and on the left, I catch a glimpse of a garden that makes my heartbeat quicken.
In the Bane pack, any excuse to be out of that dark little cellar was a gift, but the highlight of my existence was working in the garden outside the pack house. I’d tended to it with all my heart, going above and beyond what Viktor and his housekeepers requested of me. I’ve always felt at ease with things that grow and blossom— perhaps I’ve envied their freedom, the way they thrive under the sun and the open sky while I was always locked away.
I spend the rest of the day pondering my new home, basking in the crisp daylight and fresh air. Somehow, I will have to replace my place here. I will have to become useful and replace ways to please this pack and their Alpha unless I want to face the consequences of being dumped back into my uncle’s wicked hands. Lucy mentioned that Tristan is the quiet type, so I resolve to keep my lips shut to avoid angering him.
Eventually, evening comes, and Lucy knocks on the door of my room once again. My room. That still doesn’t seem real.
The black-haired girl surveys me, noting the way her pants drag at my feet. “We’ll get you some new clothes tomorrow. Something that fits,” she remarks. I nod gratefully, falling into step behind her as she bids me to follow her downstairs for dinner.
A small part of me expected some grand dining room with a grand table large enough to fit dozens of people. Instead, she leads me to an adjoining hall next to the living room, with a medium table and a burning fireplace.
It’s a round table, and we are not the first to arrive. Lucy motions for me to take the empty seat beside Tristan, and I feel my blood chill and boil at the same time in his presence. In the next seat over, Mark, the pack Beta, sits beside his Alpha. Beside him is a woman I do not recognize. She smiles at Lucy and nods politely toward me in greeting. She has rich, dark skin; almond-shaped, hazel eyes; thick brows; and sleek brown hair so dark it almost appears black, which she wears in a neat braid down her back.
When Lucy and I take a seat, the woman places a hand on top of Mark’s, and I cannot tell if the gesture is meant to be protective or intended to restrain him. He barely seems to register it, instead glaring at his Alpha as if my presence at the table were some sort of insult.
“Well, look at all of us sitting here. Isn’t this nice? One big happy family,” he says, each word dripping with sarcasm.
The brown-eyed woman squeezes Mark’s hand in warning; Tristan doesn’t so much as glance at his Beta.
“Behave, brother,” Lucy snaps at him with a groan.
“No. Are we really supposed to act like this is normal? Like nothing happened?” Mark retorts, his gaze burning into Tristan. “You went into enemy territory. You provoked the Alpha of the Bane pack, as if they needed any more reason to despise us. They already think of us mangy mongrels, but they don’t bother us as long as we don’t bother them. And you bothered them.”
Tristan leans back in his seat. Then he rests his hands on the table, interlacing his fingers as he finally looks at his Beta.
“Due to unique circumstances, I deemed it a necessary risk to engage with the Bane pack. Alpha Viktor will not retaliate for my intrusion into his territory. There’s nothing more to discuss,” he says plainly, his voice deep and commanding.
“Like hell, there’s nothing to discuss. You should have told me. You could have told me, or Lucy, or Amara, or Nico. Any of us would have gone with you. Or better yet, any of us could have told you that going was a stupid idea.”
Viktor would never let anyone in his pack talk to him like this. Not even his Beta.
“It’s done, Mark,” Tristan says coldly. “I did what I believed was best. If I annoyed Viktor by interrupting his son’s mating ceremony, then so be it. They’ll get over it, and that rabid pup of his can handle a blow or two to his ego.”
Oscar. My fingernails dig into my palms at the mention of him. Does Mark know that Tristan crossed my cousin to defend me?
“I don’t like Viktor and his pack any more than the rest of us, but that doesn’t mean I’d charge into his territory to pick a fight with him, and I certainly wouldn’t do it alone.” Mark curses under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you had your reasons, but forget the tension between packs, forget the politics; you could have been killed!”
I hadn’t even thought of that. Tristan had arrived at my cousin’s mating ceremony alone and unprotected. My uncle could have challenged him for trespassing into his lands.
He endangered himself and the future of his pack… just for me?
The exiled Alpha must be extremely confident in his skills as a warrior, extremely cocky in terms of what he believes is rightfully his, or simply brave to the point of recklessness.
Tristan doesn’t look in my direction, but Mark seems to sense my thoughts as I shift anxiously in my seat, and he nods toward me. ‘If you wanted to—”
“Enough.” The command is more of a growl than an intelligible word, low and quiet. It rumbles across the dining room like an echo, and Mark falls silent at the sheer force of it.
The arguing, the implications of what the two males are saying, the aggression behind their tone— it’s all too much.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ward off their rage, but my reaction is instinctive. Fear and shame are a part of me. This panic and guilt that course through me are more of a reflex than a conscious choice, and they urge me to get out of that dining room as fast as I can.
“Excuse me,” I whisper, though it’s so quiet I’m not sure if any of them actually hear me before I slide back in my chair and make a break for it.