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

Looking at him is like watching the sun rise.
He is tall and brawny, his skin a warm, golden tan, with a bulky build that still manages to seem graceful somehow. His broad shoulders are offset by elegant features—feline amber eyes and a clean-shaven, angular jaw. His sleek, chestnut brown hair is longer than most guys’, effortlessly styled in a flowing mane. He looks about four or five years older than me, but he is so different. Everything about him is wild and dignified, seeming more like a lion than a mere man.
Me? Beneath my long, plain beige dress, I’m all pale skin and brittle bones, small and lean from hunger and hard work. I’m a little thing made of old paper and dried petals, easily torn and crumpled. I am frail, thin, and dusty, but this man—this wolf—is made of sunlight.
I’m a little moth or a mouse, caught in the claws of a golden beast. He looks like he could snap me like a twig without so much as breaking a sweat, although, at this precise moment, he seems more preoccupied with the idea of breaking my cousin. As arrogant and angry as Oscar may be, he is not stupid enough to think he stands a chance against the stranger.
The man says nothing. He does not waste his breath with threats or warnings, merely glares at Oscar until my cousin’s hand goes limp in the other man’s grip. Then, behind them, I catch a glimpse of my uncle, and my blood runs cold. Viktor’s tousled grey hair falls around his face, framing the unadulterated rage in his eyes as he stares at the scene before him.
The scene I’m right in the middle of.
“I would advise you to unhand my son,” Viktor says coldly.
The other Alpha, Tristan, glances back at my uncle with his own fair share of contempt. “And I would advise you to teach your son some common decency.”
While the rival Alpha is distracted, Oscar takes his chance and slips out of the man’s grasp. He comes at me, and before I know what is happening, he grabs me by the neck of my shirt and shoves me to the ground. My knees scream as they collide with the floor, and I’m thrown at the rogue Alpha’s feet. “Take your bitch and go,” my cousin growls, and I try to scramble away, but I twisted my ankle in the fall and can only wince from the pain when I move it.
Behind Oscar, my uncle smiles in approval at the brute’s show of strength and says, “I would listen to him if I were you. You’ve come into my territory, interrupted my son’s mating ceremony, and demanded a member of my pack. I have indulged your insolence out of respect for a fellow Alpha, but I’ll remind you that you are an exile, and neither you nor your pack of vagabonds and riff-raff are welcome in these lands.”
Lies. Disgusting lies. My uncle never considered me a member of the Bane pack, let alone a member of his family. At best, I’m an indentured servant. Not to mention that it is not respect for a fellow Alpha that quells my uncle’s temper, but rather the knowledge that crossing Tristan will lead to war. Besides, Tristan’s insolent demand is one that Viktor is all too happy to grant. Handing over a mutt to mate with an outcasted Alpha is probably poetic irony in his eyes, a fitting match between freaks.
Tristan does not even glance at my uncle. Instead, he turns his attention away from Oscar and crouches in front of me so he is at my eye level. My knowledge of the mating bond is limited at best, and I’ve always assumed that since I do not have a wolf of my own, I would never experience it for myself.
But as I look at him from where I’ve been tossed on the ground, I can feel it. I stare into his amber eyes, mesmerized by the golden flecks that seem to be scattered around his pupil, and I feel the pull, like a physical anchor between his soul and mine. It draws me into him, warming me from the inside out and making the world seem blurry and distant.
And it terrifies me.
“You are my destiny,” he says to me softly, his voice like a caress that echoes in the back of my mind. “But I will not take you from your home by force. Life with me will not be easy. My pack has many enemies, and if you become my mate, you might never see your family or your old pack ever again. So, listen carefully; I will only make this offer once.”
I’ve never had someone look at me and truly see me. You have to understand that I’ve lived as little more than a shadow for eighteen years, cold and hollow. Every single day up to this moment has been all about surviving.
Hope, though, cares little for practicality or even self-preservation. It burns beautifully and consumes everything that you know, replacing it with sweet ashes and a delirious sort of faith. That’s what I found when I met Tristan Lyall, King of the Outcasts.
It is not love at first sight and certainly not trust, but when he looks at me and offers me his hand, it gives me hope.
“Reject me now, or come away with me. The choice is yours.”
I tear my eyes away from him to take in my surroundings: the Bane pack house with its vast courtyard; the dark little cellar that is my room and my prison; the uncle and Alpha who thinks of me as nothing more than a shameful burden; the cousin who delights in my suffering; and the pack that would neither mourn nor miss me. This is not my home—it never has been, and these people, my so-called family… frankly, it would be a relief if I never see any of them ever again.
Besides, even if I refuse Tristan, how can I trust that he will be true to his word? He has my uncle’s blessing to do with me as he pleases, and Viktor will never forgive me if I embarrass him now by disobeying him after he gave me to the rogue Alpha. Will either of them spare me if I reject Tristan as my mate?
I’ll be doomed either way.
They say it is better to stay with the devil you know than to go with the devil you don’t, but no one has ever given me the choice before. At least this will be a downfall of my own making—my decision, my life. The devil I chose.
Tristan is kneeling before me, his hand patiently outstretched as he waits for me to determine my fate.
After a long moment, I take it.