Chapter 331
Chapter 332
3rd Person’s POV
Her fingers hovered in the air, trembling, suspended between longing and disbelief.
Finished
After what felt like an eternity, she had finally seen them-those eyes. The very eyes that had once undone her, that had bound her to him across lifetimes. And now they were closed.
Slowly, she sank beside Ezra, her movements careful, reverent. Her fingertip traced the hard line of his jaw, lingering over the faint scar beneath his brow-a mark she knew far too well.
“Ezrael…” she whispered, his name slipping from her lips like a forgotten vow.
Her gaze drifted to his mouth, drawn by memory, when suddenly,
“Ezra!” The door slammed open.
She stiffened.
In an instant, she lowered her head, pulling her mask back into place just as Zyrelle rushed in, panic radiating off her in sharp, frantic waves.
Zyrelle fell to his side, her voice breaking as she shouted, “Who injected him? Call someone-anyone! Is this normal? Is it dangerous? I’ve never seen Ezra faint like this!” Fear thickened the air, sharp as blood on the wind.
And in that chaos, she slipped away.
Once more, she escaped.
She didn’t stop until she reached a quiet corner of the treatment center, far from the scent of antiseptic and fear. Only then did she pull off her mask.
The face beneath it was not the same-
Yet hauntingly familiar.
The same height. The same delicate build. A mirror from another life. A shadow of the current Luna of the Moonclaw Pack.
Of Lylah.
“Almost,” she scoffed softly, though the word trembled with something far more volatile. Her eyes shimmered. “After all this time… I finally stood before my Ezrael again p>
Her lips curled, bitterness threading through the fragile victory.
“And yet his stupid cousin ruined it.” Her gaze flicked to her reflection, studying it like a weapon she had yet to perfect. “But I’ll have another chance. I’m here now, working among his people. So close to him.” A slow breath. “We will meet again. Again and again, until fate remembers what it once promised p>
Her voice dropped into something possessive.
1/3
“Ezrael was mine.” A flicker of fury crossed her expression. “Not Lysara’s p>
But the illusion of triumph shattered as quickly as it formed. The bitterness rose, thick and suffocating, and she bit down hard on her tongue-welcoming the sting, grounding herself in it.
Because even now,
She had almost lost.
Luén’s POV
I returned to my quarters in silence, swallowing down the sharp, choking ache of failure.
I was so close to Ezrael.
But I couldn’t stay.
Not when their instincts prowled so close to the surface. Not when a single wrong move would have every wolf in this cursed place tearing me apart for daring to approach their Alpha.
All of them are fools.
They act as though he belongs to her alone.
As though that fragile, soft thing has more claim to him than I do.
A bitter laugh curled in my throat.
He is mine just as much as he is hers.
More, even.
I am stronger. Sharper. I would never have been so easily broken by Carmen and her dogs, so easily overlooked.
The thought burned.
Sometimes I feel it-like a fracture beneath my skin. Disappointment coils in my chest, sharp as fangs, sinking deeper with every breath.
Did Ezrael never question it?
Why was it that when the Moon Goddess Selene granted us a second life… Lysara returned empty? Where had her memories gone?
They were never vanished. They lived on-buried deep within me. I remember everything.
Every whisper. Every betrayal. Every promise that turned to ash.
Because I am Luén.
2/3
We used to wonder again and again, through countless quiet nights while Lunareth Kingdom lay slumbering, how much easier it might have been if Selene had simply split us apart. Born as twin princesses. With two bodies. Two fates.
Would he have chosen me then?
Would Ezrael have looked at me the way he looks at her with that quiet, consuming devotion? Or was I always destined to stand in the shadow of something softer, something easier to love?
My jaw tightened.
No.
It was never about worth.
The world simply chose the version of us it could control.
The memories came like claws dragging through old wounds. Silver bit into our small wrists-chains designed to suppress, to weaken, to remind us what we were.
A monster to be managed.
Even as a little pup.
They called us Luén then. It was our childhood name that our mother gave us.
The name they spat like a curse.
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The Betrayed Princess Rising
George Orwell