No Longer Your Spare Part: The Luna's Revenge

The drill's whine was the only thing in my world, vibrating through my skull and drowning out my own screams.

I was strapped to a cold metal table, paralyzed by wolfsbane, while surgeons bored into my hip bone to siphon my essence.

"Just a little more," the surgeon muttered. "Isabella needs the boost for the wedding photos."

They weren't saving my sister's life. They were harvesting my marrow just to make her skin glow for a picture.

I looked at the observation window, begging with my eyes.

Dante, the Alpha I had dragged from the jaws of death, stood there. He wasn't looking at me. He was holding Isabella's hand.

He didn't know I was the one who healed him. He believed her lies.

"Take it all if you have to," Dante's voice drifted through our fading mate bond. "Don't let her fade."

The drill punched through. My heart stuttered and stopped.

I died on that table, a hollowed-out husk used to feed my sister's vanity.

"Seraphina! Are you deaf?"

A sharp voice snapped me back into existence.

I gasped, clutching my hip. No blood. No drill. No pain.

I looked at the calendar on my father's desk.

I was alive. And I had exactly one year before the surgery that killed me.

I looked at my trembling hands and felt the ancient anger of my White Wolf stirring.

I wasn't going to be the sacrifice this time.

I was going to be the arsonist.

Chapter 1

Seraphina POV:

The drill's whine was the only thing in the world.

It wasn't just noise; it was a physical intrusion, vibrating through my skull and drowning out the wet, ragged sound of my own screams. I was strapped to a cold metal table, limbs heavy with wolfsbane anesthesia-enough to paralyze my muscles, but designed to keep my nerves screamingly awake.

"Just a little more marrow, Seraphina," the surgeon muttered, his mask splattered with my blood. "Isabella's levels are dropping. She needs the boost for the wedding photos."

Not to save her life. To make her glow.

I wanted to beg. I wanted to scream that I was empty. My liver was a map of scar tissue from previous resections. My blood count was so low I was constantly dizzy. And now, they were boring into my hip bone to siphon the essence of my wolf to feed my sister's vanity.

I looked at the observation window. My father, Alpha Giovanni, stood there, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the monitor displaying Isabella's vitals.

Beside him stood Dante.

My mate. The Alpha of the Moretti Pack. The man I had dragged out of the jaws of death.

He wasn't looking at me. He was holding Isabella's hand as she lay on the adjacent bed, looking pale and tragically beautiful.

"Take it all if you have to," Dante said. His voice was muffled by the glass, but I heard it through our fading mate bond. "Don't let her fade."

Take it all.

The drill punched through the bone.

White-hot agony shattered my vision. My heart stuttered. My inner wolf, a White Wolf I'd been forced to drug into a coma to hide her from my father's greed, stirred in the dark. She didn't howl; she whimpered.

Darkness swallowed me.

"Seraphina! Are you deaf?"

The sharp voice snapped me back into existence.

I gasped, hands flying to my hip. Phantom pain flared, then vanished. No blood. No drill.

I was standing in my father's study. Sunlight streamed through heavy velvet curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The room smelled of old paper and expensive cigars.

I looked down at my hands. Trembling, but whole.

"I asked you a question, girl," Alpha Giovanni growled.

I looked up. My father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, hair darker, face less lined.

I was alive.

I checked the calendar on his desk. One year. I had exactly one year before the surgery that killed me.

"I... I'm sorry, Alpha," I stammered, voice raspy. "I drifted off."

Giovanni narrowed his eyes. To him, I was the disappointment. The Wolfless daughter. The spare parts inventory. He didn't know about the White Wolf. If he did, I wouldn't be a donor; I'd be a broodmare.

"I said," Giovanni repeated, tapping a folder, "you are going to London tomorrow. The flight is booked."

London.

The lie. In my past life, I had begged to stay, desperate to be near Dante, hoping he'd realize I was the one who healed him in the safe house.

But London wasn't a school. It was a holding facility. A private clinic where they could harvest my blood remotely, shipping coolers back to the pack while Isabella played house with Dante.

"Why?" I asked, voice steady.

Giovanni looked surprised by my lack of tears. "Isabella and Dante are to be mated soon. Your presence here... disturbs her. She is sensitive. Your jealousy affects her wolf's stability."

Jealousy.

They thought I was jealous of a parasite.

Six months ago, Dante had been poisoned by a rogue's silver-laced blade. Blinded, feral, a mindless killing machine.

I was the one who broke quarantine. I sat in the dark with him for three weeks. I let him bite me to drain the fever. I mixed poultices of vanilla and moonflower. I hummed the old lullabies to anchor his sanity.

When his sight began to return, I fled, terrified my father would punish me.

Isabella found him moments later. She doused herself in synthetic vanilla perfume and claimed the credit.

Dante believed her.

"I understand," I said quietly.

Giovanni blinked. "You do?"

"Yes. I will go to London."

I wouldn't go to London. I'd go to hell before I let them hook me up to another machine.

"Good," Giovanni grunted, dismissing me. "Go pack. And don't make a scene at dinner. Dante is coming over."

The name sent a phantom ache through my chest.

I turned and walked out. I didn't run to my room to cry. I walked to the hallway mirror.

Pale skin, dark circles, messy hair. I looked like a victim.

But deep inside, in the hollow of my ribs, I felt a stirring. A low, vibrating hum of ancient anger.

My wolf.

She wasn't dead.

"No more," I whispered to the glass. "No more blood. No more marrow. No more love."

I wasn't going to be the sacrifice this time. I was going to be the arsonist.

Seraphina POV:

Seraphina. Foyer. Now.

The voice exploded in my head. Dante. Even without the completed mating mark, his Alpha frequency was so strong it bypassed my mental shields.

My stomach twisted. Used to be butterflies. Now it was just bile.

I walked down the grand staircase.

Dante Moretti stood in the center of the foyer. He was a weapon in a bespoke Italian suit. Six foot four, lethal grace, eyes the color of a brewing storm.

Clinging to his arm was Isabella. She wore white, of course. The color of innocence she didn't possess.

"You summoned me, Alpha Moretti?" I asked, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. I didn't bow.

Dante's eyes narrowed. He sensed the shift in the air-the lack of fear.

He took a step forward. Sandalwood, rain, raw tobacco. The scent hit me like a physical blow. My biological imperative screamed at me to bare my neck.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.

"We are going to The Onyx," Dante said, voice cold. "Your sister wants to celebrate the engagement. You are coming."

"I have to pack for London."

"It wasn't a request," Dante snapped. The air shimmered with Alpha pressure. "Isabella wants her family there. You will not ruin her night with your sullen attitude."

Isabella smiled, a shark baring teeth. "Please, Sarah. It won't be the same without you."

She needed a prop. Someone to look small so she could look big.

"Fine," I said.

The Onyx was carved out of volcanic rock, thumping bass vibrating in my teeth.

We sat in VIP. Dante ordered champagne. I sat on the edge of the plush leather sofa, making myself invisible.

"To us," Dante said, raising his glass to Isabella. "To the future."

"To the future," Isabella cooed.

I watched the bubbles rise, counting the seconds until I could leave.

Then, the groan of stressed metal.

Wolves hear everything. The massive chandelier above us-twisted steel and silver plating-was giving way.

"Dante!" Isabella shrieked.

Gravity took over.

The chain snapped.

Dante moved. Alpha speed.

He lunged.

Not for me.

He threw his body over Isabella, rolling them both off the sofa and onto the floor, clear of the impact zone.

I didn't move. I just watched him choose.

The chandelier crashed down.

The world exploded in crystal and steel. The edge of the heavy silver frame clipped my shoulder and smashed into my legs.

"Ahhh!"

The scream tore from my throat. Silver.

For wolves, it's acid. The plating seared through my jeans, hissing as it touched skin. The smell of burning meat filled the booth.

The music cut. Silence.

"Isabella? Are you hurt?" Dante's frantic voice. He was scrambling up, checking her over.

"I... I'm scared, Dante," Isabella whimpered, burying her face in his chest. Not a scratch on her.

I lay trapped under the twisted metal, gasping, black spots dancing in my vision. "Help," I croaked. "Please."

Dante looked over. His eyes were cold. Inconvenienced.

"Stay here," he told Isabella softly.

He walked over. He didn't lift the metal immediately. He looked down at me with disdain.

"You're making a scene," he hissed.

That was the moment.

The golden thread tying our souls together didn't just fray. It snapped.

I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me.

Seraphina POV:

I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and stale blood.

Not a private suite. The supply closet in the Pack Infirmary.

My legs were bandaged, throbbing with the unique, rhythmic ache of silver burns. My healing factor was stalled; the metal residue was still fighting my cells.

The door opened. Dante.

He tossed a styrofoam container onto the bedside table.

"Eat."

I struggled to sit up, wincing. "I'm not hungry."

"Isabella was worried," Dante said flatly. "She couldn't finish her dinner because she was so upset about your... clumsiness. She sent this."

I opened the box. Leftover steak. Covered in a rich, dark sauce.

I sniffed. Beneath the garlic, the sharp, metallic tang of wolfsbane.

Not lethal. Just painful. Enough to cause cramps and vomiting. Isabella's favorite childhood prank.

"I can't eat this," I said. "It has wolfsbane in the sauce."

Dante rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. It's a five-star restaurant. Stop trying to make Isabella look bad."

"Smell it," I challenged.

He didn't. He couldn't be bothered.

"I said, eat," Dante growled.

Alpha Command.

A psychic anvil dropped on my brain. My muscles twitched, betraying me.

"No," I gritted out, sweat breaking on my forehead.

"Eat."

My hand moved like a puppet's. I picked up the fork. Stabbed the meat. Lifted it to my mouth while tears of humiliation streamed down my face.

I swallowed.

Liquid fire. I gagged, clutching my throat.

Dante watched with disgust. "Always the drama queen. You're fine."

He turned and walked out.

An hour later, after retching until I saw bile, I dragged myself to the infirmary garden.

Isabella was sitting by the koi pond.

"Did you enjoy the steak?" she asked, examining her nails.

"You're a monster," I rasped.

"And you are a waste of space," she countered lightly. She stood up. "Do you know why Dante hates you? Because you remind him of weakness. He looks at you and sees a wolfless cripple."

"I saved him," I whispered. "In the cabin."

Isabella's smile vanished. "He doesn't know that. And if you tell him, I'll have Daddy harvest a kidney next time. Without the sedative."

She stepped back towards the edge of the pond.

"You're pathetic, Sarah."

Then, she threw herself backward.

Splash.

"Help! She pushed me! Help!"

The psychic scream hit the Pack Link like a siren.

Dante! Help me! She's trying to kill me!

A wind rushed past.

Dante materialized. Red eyes. Fangs extended.

"I didn't..."

"Silence!"

He pulled a sputtering Isabella out.

"She... she said she wanted me dead," Isabella sobbed. "She said she wanted to be Luna."

Dante turned to me. Pure hatred.

"You tried to kill your future Luna."

"I didn't touch her!"

"I saw you standing over her," Dante snarled. "You are jealous. You are petty. And now, you are a traitor."

He took a step towards me. Death hung in the air.

"I should kill you right now," he whispered.

Part of me wished he would.

"But death is too easy," he decided. "Guards!"

Two warriors appeared.

"Take her to the Cooler. Let her think about her crimes in the dark."