Chapter 118

Amelia

The shortages were becoming impossible to ignore. Families in the outer bunkers grew restless as food lines stretched longer each day, and medicines ran out before the lists of names did. The elders argued in circles, blaming rogues, blaming one another, blaming Richard’s withdrawal from the Pack House. But none of them offered solutions. So I stepped in.

By dawn, I was in the supply hall, sleeves rolled up, hands covered in dust as I helped soldiers sort crates of dried grain and boxes of herbs. When the guards hesitated to follow my instructions, I picked up a ledger and began dividing rations myself, my voice firm and clear. “Two per family for now. Rotate the medicine. Prioritize the children and wounded first. No exceptions.”

A few soldiers exchanged doubtful looks but obeyed. By midday, the dock workers who had whispered about me days earlier were following my lead without complaint.

I caught fragments of their murmurs, “the people’s Luna,” “she actually works,” “not afraid to get her hands dirty.” Each word should have filled me with pride, but instead it made my chest ache. Rumors were dangerous, especially when they painted me as something I wasn’t sure I could be.

That night, Richard found me bent over the records. He lingered in the doorway, silent until I looked up. His eyes swept over me, and then he smirked. “Nice ass,” he said under his breath.

I laughed, flustered. “Shut up.”

He chuckled, crossing the room, but when he spoke again his voice was softer. “You’re winning them. The people. Even the soldiers who doubted you.”

“It isn’t about winning,” I said. “It’s about keeping them alive.”

His gaze lingered, troubled. “Amelia, do you know what they’re calling you? The true Luna. The Luna of the people.”

I froze. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s flattering,” he admitted. “But it’s dangerous too. You need to be careful. The kingdom doesn’t forgive easily when power shifts. And this…” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “This puts a target on your back.”

I wanted to argue, but before I could, a name on the records caught my eye. A fallen Alpha listed among packs destroyed in the vampire wars. His surname matched the elder who had once treated me kindly at the orphanage, the only one who had ever smiled when the others turned away. My chest tightened as though the ink itself reached for me. Another unanswered question, another fragment that didn’t fit.

Later, Richard sat in council with his generals, his voice steady but his eyes shadowed. He listened to reports, issued orders, but part of him was elsewhere. With me. I knew it, because I felt his stare linger whenever our paths crossed. He was torn, I could see it, the Alpha King strategizing, but the man inside unraveling as he watched my influence grow beyond his control.

That evening, after the meetings ended, he caught me in a quiet hall. His hand slipped into mine, strong and trembling all at once. He held on as though he might fall if he let go.

His lips parted, as though he would finally speak the words, finally give me the promise I ached for. The way he was looking at me, intent and longing, made my heart leap. I built it up in my head before I could stop myself, imagining him dropping to one knee right there in the corridor, the whole world shifting around us. And then his hand stilled. He pulled back, the hesitation slicing sharper than a blade. I felt stupid for expecting it, because of course he wasn’t going to propose in a musty underground hallway. Of course that didn’t happen. Still, the ache of it cut deep.

The Haven’s walls pressed in on me that night. The air was too heavy, the corridors too narrow. I slipped away, past the guards, into the woods beyond the gates. The air was cold but clean, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back to breathe.

“Running away again?” Richard’s voice cut through the dark.

I spun, startled. He stepped out of the shadows, his expression torn between anger and relief. “Do you know what it does to me when I wake and you’re gone?”

“I just needed air,” I whispered. “To think.”

He came closer, his hand seizing my wrist, pulling me against him. “I don’t want you to think. Not about her, not about them, not about any of it.” His mouth crashed against mine.

I melted into him, fingers clawing at his shirt. He pressed me back against a tree, his body hot and unyielding. His hands slid under my clothes, rough with urgency. He pulled back just enough to growl, “You’re mine.”

“Then prove it,” I panted, rolling my hips against his.

His mouth captured mine again, slower this time, his tongue stroking against mine as his hand teased lower. He palmed my breast through the fabric, his thumb circling my nipple until I moaned against him. His other hand slipped beneath my skirt, caressing the inside of my thigh until I was trembling.

“Already shaking,” he murmured. “Such a good girl for me.”

My cheeks burned hot, and he noticed immediately. His smirk deepened. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? You want to be my good girl.” My blush only spread, embarrassment tangling with the rush of heat between my legs, and I nodded, unable to deny it.

He dragged his fingers over my folds, slick with need. “So wet for me already. You’ve been waiting for this.” He slipped two fingers inside me, curling them until I gasped, then slowed, tormenting me with long, deliberate strokes. “Say it. Say you’re my good girl.”

“I’m your good girl,” I whispered.

“Louder.” His thumb pressed against my clit, sending shocks through me. “Let the woods hear you.”

“I’m your good girl,” I moaned, my voice breaking. “Please, Richard. I need you.”

He smirked, withdrawing his fingers to stroke himself. He pressed his head against my entrance, teasing, rubbing along my swollen folds until I whimpered. “Beg for it. Tell me what you want.”

“Please,” I gasped, desperate now. “Please put it in me. Please, Richard.”

With one hard stroke, he thrust into me, stretching me open, filling me completely. I cried out, clinging to him as pleasure ripped through me. He set a brutal pace, fucking me against the tree, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. Each thrust slammed me higher, deeper, until I could only gasp his name.

“Good girl,” he rasped, kissing me hard. “My perfect good girl.”

At first I tried to hold on, to keep some measure of control, but his rhythm broke me down. Every thrust pushed words out of me, little pleas, half-sobs of yes and more. My nails raked down his back, but even that felt weak, desperate. The more he pressed me, the more my voice gave in. “So good, feels so good,” I babbled against his mouth. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He growled, his forehead pressing to mine. “You don’t want me to stop, do you? You just want to be used, filled until you can’t think.”

“Yes,” I whimpered, the word slipping out before I could hold it back. My body shook with every thrust, my thoughts unraveling into nonsense. “Please, more, I’m your good girl, please Richard, please keep going.”

Then he lifted me suddenly, carrying me deeper into the woods, laying me down on the grass. He pushed my legs wide and entered me again, slower this time, grinding deep, making me feel every inch.

“You’re perfect,” he groaned. “Made for me.” He kissed my throat, my breasts, worshipping me as his hips moved in slow, rolling thrusts. The change in pace only made my voice fall apart further, my head thrashing side to side. “So full, so deep, can’t think,” I whimpered, tears pricking my eyes. “Please, Richard, don’t ever stop.”

“Harder?” he asked, his smirk dark. “Or do you just want me to use you until there’s nothing left but my cock inside you?”

“Please,” I moaned, my voice breaking. “Please, Richard, please harder. I’m your good girl.”

He flipped me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up. He slammed back into me, deeper, rougher, my cries echoing through the trees. His hand collided with my ass, firm and stinging. “So good for me,” he growled. “Taking me so well.”

By now I wasn’t even forming words, just broken sounds, babbling pleas that made him groan. His hand slid into my hair, pulling gently as he thrust harder. “Say it again. Who do you belong to?”

“You,” I sobbed, my body shaking. “I’m yours, yours, only yours.”

The pace built, faster, harder, until stars burst behind my eyes. My orgasm ripped through me, my body clenching tight around him, milking him. He groaned my name, thrusting deep as his release followed, hot and overwhelming. We collapsed together, tangled, gasping.

When the world stilled, he held me close, his lips brushing my temple. “You’re mine,” he whispered hoarsely. “My perfect good girl.”

And I realized, I had never belonged so completely to anyone in my life.