The Crowned Alpha's Supreme Luna

Chapter 1

Luna Trial

Alexa

Though I’ve only been in the packhouse for a couple of days, I already feel exhausted, much more than working as a servant at the Southern Star Club. Every corner of the house is occupied by one or more people trying to engage me in conversation.

They ask about my experiences outside the pack. They pry into my romantic relationship with Gabriel. I’m forced to answer and listen to their complaints. If I don’t, Lorraine cuts in as if she’s already the future Luna. Yeah, she trails me around all day, for Goddess’ sake.

I was trained to be a Luna since I was thirteen like many other Alpha heiresses in the pack. Back then, I was excited about practicing the role. Now, my energy drains every time I speak with people.

Because in every conversation, I have to lie.

I have to hide the truth that I was once a waitress in a nightclub.

That I was trained by an underground fight club owner instead of a professional combat trainer.

That I have more than one potential mate, and that my marriage to Gabriel is nothing more than a transaction.

After struggling to shake Lorraine off my trail, I find the only quiet place, the mansion’s garage backyard.

A row of luxurious Rolls Royce Riders owned by Gabriel fill the garage, and I step inside to take shelter from the summer rain.

The sound of footsteps reaches my ears, accompanied by a familiar scent.

“What are you doing out here?” Harlow asks as he appears from behind the storage door in the corner.

“Harlow?” I draw in a breath, letting his mint and pine scent settle in my chest.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His eyes narrow as he steps closer. My feet move toward him just the same.

“You’re safe,” I murmur, studying every contour of his face, now free of wounds.

“Yeah. Thanks to you,” he says, his tone edged with mockery.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? You’re the one who told me to accept him.” I clench my jaw, forcing down the anger rising inside me.

His expression tightens as I reach out, tracing the broad, solid plane of his chest. A surge of longing spills over after I’ve restrained it for so long. At least he’s safe. He’s healthy and Gabriel can’t hurt him.

“I did,” he admits under his breath, though I hear the heart-wrenching howl of his wolf.

I keep hearing it even when we’re apart. Our mind link is too strong. Mythril no longer suppresses the emotions that have been haunting me these past couple of days. Loneliness. Longing. Restlessness. They torment me without mercy.

He stands right in front of me. His gray T-shirt is stained with oil, his hands marked with dark smudges mixed with sweat. Does it bother me? Does it disgust me?

No. Instead, I close the distance between us. I rise onto my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. Our lips meet, releasing the longing we keep bottled up.

Our lips remain locked together beneath the pouring rain. The cold air seeps into our exposed skin, and I tighten my embrace around his neck. Desperate, our mouths search for each other again and again.

Harlow’s hands slide around my waist. Passion surges low in my body, my breath turning ragged and uneven. I can’t resist what he feels either. His hard bulge pressing against my lower abs.

“This ain’t right,” he mutters between heavy breaths, his mouth brushing mine as our foreheads rest together.

“But I love you,” I whisper through our mingled breaths.

“There’s a whole house full of guests in there,” he warns.

“But I miss you,” I murmur, tightening my arms around him.

As our breathing slows, he eases away from me. “If Gabriel catches your scent like this, we’re dead,” he says, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“Yeah… maybe you’re right.” I murmur as my heart thrums. “I made a blood pact,” I say, forcing myself upright.

I tell him about the pact I made to protect everyone. Harlow listens while we sit side by side next to a car. Sweat glistens on my skin, but night has already fallen, hiding the faint shine along my temples.

“You should leave now,” he says, shaking his head before turning away and leaving me alone.

His back disappears quickly, as though he’s fleeing from a plague carrying a deadly disease. I bite my lower lip, holding back the tears threatening to spill from the corners of my eyes, which burn hotter with every passing second.

Doesn’t he intend to fight for this relationship at all? Am I the only one still this deeply in love?

Swallowing my disappointment, I make my way back toward the packhouse.

I let the rain pour harder over my dress without bothering to shield myself from it.

Maybe my makeup is running, and maybe my hair is soaked by now, but at least the rain can hide every tear that’s making it harder and harder to breathe.

I open my bedroom door and head toward the bathroom. Before I can reach for a towel, Gabriel steps out from the adjoining room. His eyes blaze as they lock onto me, nostrils flaring.

“Where have you been?” he demands.

“Just taking a walk,” I answer evenly.

My heart pounds again, but I don’t look away from his burning stare. Does he know? Would he truly kill me and Harlow?

“Liar,” he hisses, stepping closer. He inhales sharply in front of my face. “I can smell a different scent on you.”

His claws rise, and I recognize the movement. He intends to choke me again. Before his hand can close around my throat, I seize his wrist. In one swift motion, I pivot behind him and twist his arm. He gasps as pain shoots through him.

“Alexa?” His eyes widen in disbelief.

“What? Surprised I can defend myself now? Did you think I was still that weak girl from six years ago?” I was going to let his insult slide, but my frustration is already stretched too thin, and I lash out at him.

“But,” he strains, trying to wrench free. The more he struggles, the more I twist his arm until his joints crack audibly. I press him lower, bending him forward with controlled force.

“Listen, Alpha. Our agreement stands. I will marry you regardless of where my feelings lie. And you are doing the same, aren’t you? Marrying me for status while keeping Lorraine as your mistress.”

“You’re a Luna! A Luna can’t take a lover. You’ll disgrace my reputation,” he protests.

I twist harder, drawing a pained groan from him. “I don’t give a damn about your reputation. You promised to stay away from the people I care about,” I hiss close to his ear.

“Fine. Fine. Let me go,” he snarls as his shoulder strains.

I release him. He steps back, rage flickering in his eyes. “I won’t forget this. And if you truly possess such strength, you’ll prove it to the elders tomorrow,” he declares, jaw tight.

“What are you planning?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“A showcase,” he replies coldly, his stare fixed on me.

* * *

I stand on the training field. It has been a long time since I last set foot on this stretch of grass. The last time I trained here, I ended up battered and bruised, desperately trying to summon my magic just to defend myself against Lorraine’s cruelty.

For six years, I trained in the battle ring at Southern Star Club. I grew used to the weight of countless eyes watching the matches between me and my opponents, studying every strike, every fall, every drop of blood.

Today feels no different.

The pack elders sit along the sidelines, observing in silence. Among them, Gabriel stands at the center of the row, arms crossed over his chest. His sharp gaze remains fixed on me. Despite his threats, I allow myself one brief glance toward the far end of the field, where Harlow stands.

“You really gonna show them what you’ve got?” Harlow asks through our mind link.

“Yeah. It’s time,” I answer.

I walk toward the center of the field, following Beta Drake’s lead. He serves as the referee for this match. As I step into position, faint mocking giggles drift through the air. Some of the elders, including Mrs. Gertrude, shake their heads with expressions of pity.

My opponent this time just so happens to be Lorraine. Originally, the elders summoned a Gamma to face me, but Lorraine insisted on volunteering herself. She wants to prove to everyone that she is superior, stronger, more deserving of standing beside Gabriel.

Whatever illusion she clings to, I no longer hesitate. I raise my hands before my chest and settle into a solid stance, the same stance I practiced hundreds of times at Southern Star. Lorraine mirrors me, her eyes gleaming with hostility.

The moment Beta Drake lifts his hand to signal the start, Lorraine lunges forward. Just like always, she favors a merciless, furious opening attack.

I anticipate her movement. I duck low, letting her strike slice through empty air, then pivot and drive my heel into her waist. The impact sends her rolling across the grass. Gasps erupt from the spectators.

Lorraine grimaces, pushing herself up with visible effort before charging at me again. I evade her punches with swift, controlled steps. Left. Right. Back. When I see the opening, I seize it. My leg swings up and connects sharply with the side of her face. She crashes to the ground.

“Oh my goodness. Lorraine!” Mrs. Gertrude cries out, horror widening her eyes.

The field falls into stunned silence. The laughter vanishes. Faces pale. The elders exchange uneasy glances, unable to deny what they just witnessed. I fight back. I strike decisively.

“So you really learned how to fight,” Lorraine says, spitting blood onto the grass. A crooked smirk pulls at her lips.

“Yeah. Guess I did,” I reply, breathing hard. “You once told me that if it were a real fight, I’d be dead. So I made sure that never happens. I trained for years so I can survive battles like this.”

My voice remains steady, even as my chest rises and falls with controlled, measured breaths.

* * *

Six years ago

“You suck!”

Lorraine, my stepsister, kicks me hard in the stomach. A broken groan tears from my throat as I curl inward, arms wrapping around my middle in a useless attempt to shield myself. I collapse onto the grass, my body already painted in bruises that bloom purple and blue beneath my skin.

Tears mix with blood at the corner of my lips. Sweat runs down my temples and into my eyes. I roll onto my side and try to crawl away, dragging myself forward with my elbows, inch by desperate inch, while Lorraine looms above me like a storm that refuses to pass.

“If this were a real fight, you’d be dead already,” she hisses.

Through ragged breaths, I clutch a fistful of green grass before her next kick can land. For those who grow, there will be wilt. I repeat the words silently inside my head.

I focus on the grass in my hand. On my energy moving, slipping through every cell in my body and sinking into the fragile roots beneath the soil.

The grass answers me. The roots stretch and thicken, pushing through the dirt as if guided by my will. They twist together like living ropes and coil tightly around Lorraine’s legs.

Her eyes widen. For a moment, I think she might retreat. Instead, her face flushes deeper with fury.

“You just used your magic on me?” she shrieks, stomping and tearing at the roots until they snap apart. “Oh, you did not just try that pathetic trick on me, you miserable little weed.” She lifts her foot, ready to crush me into the ground.

“That’s enough.”

Gabriel’s voice cuts through the air as he strides toward us. He catches Lorraine by the shoulder before her foot can fall.

“But Alpha, she used magic on me,” she protests.

“Training’s over,” he says, his voice low and edged with warning.

She clenches her jaw, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. She looks from me to him, frustration burning in her eyes, then lets out an angry growl and storms off. The other warriors disperse as Beta Drake orders the field cleared.

The threat fades. My grip loosens. That makes the grass wither instantly, crumbling into lifeless strands that scatter across the soil.

“You alright?” Gabriel asks, offering his hand.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I take it, managing a small smile as he pulls me to my feet.

“You’re covered in cuts and bruises. Go see Mrs. Geeny and get healed. It won’t look good for the ritual tonight,” he says, frowning.

He brushes strands of hair away from my face and tucks them behind my ear, plucking stray blades of grass from my head with careful fingers.

That simple gesture sends a quiet warmth through my chest. If my cheeks were not already swollen and sore, they might betray me with a blush.

“It’s fine. I can heal myself,” I say, shaking my head.

“Don’t be stubborn. You need your strength for the awakening tonight,” he replies.

“You sound nervous,” I say, lifting a brow.

“How could I not?” His voice tightens despite his attempt at composure.

“Why?” I study him, confusion knitting my brows together. His hazel eyes flicker as they meet mine.

“It’s nothing.” He turns away and starts walking. “Come on. Let’s get you to the clinic.”

He changes the subject, leaving my question unanswered. A small thread of disappointment tightens inside me, but I swallow it down and follow after him.