Six months after the wedding that never was, Luna stood in the pack's medical facility at five in the morning, her hands steady as she sutured a nasty gash on a young warrior's shoulder. The scent of antiseptic and healing herbs had become more familiar to her than her own perfume, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
"Hold still, Jake," she murmured to the nineteen-year-old who had been foolish enough to challenge a senior warrior to a midnight sparring match. "You're lucky this didn't hit an artery."
"Sorry, Doc," Jake winced as the needle pierced his skin again. "Tommy said I couldn't take him in a fair fight, and I had to prove him wrong."
"And did you?" Luna asked, tying off the final suture with practiced efficiency.
Jake's sheepish grin was answer enough. "He's in bed two over there with a dislocated shoulder."
Luna shook her head but couldn't suppress a small smile. The pack's young warriors reminded her daily that testosterone and common sense rarely occupied the same space. "Next time you want to prove your strength, try doing it during daylight hours with proper supervision. And maybe stretch first."
"Yes, ma'am."
As Luna cleaned up her supplies and made notes in Jake's chart, she caught her reflection in the metal surface of a medical cabinet. The woman staring back at her bore little resemblance to the broken bride from six months ago. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a practical bun, her green eyes clear and focused, her hands steady from months of constant work. She had lost weight in the weeks following the rejection, but the constant physical demands of her new career had replaced softness with lean muscle and quick reflexes.
More importantly, the hollow look of devastation had been replaced by something harder and more valuable: purpose.
"Luna?" Dr. Moonwhisper's voice called from the main examination room. "Could you assist me with Mrs. Chen? Her blood pressure is spiking again."
"On my way," Luna called back, washing her hands quickly before hurrying to help her mentor.
Mrs. Chen was a sixty-year-old omega who had been struggling with pregnancy complications—a miracle pregnancy at her age, but one that was taxing her body beyond its limits. Luna had been monitoring her closely for the past month, adjusting medications and providing round-the-clock care when necessary.
"How are we feeling today, Mrs. Chen?" Luna asked gently, taking the woman's hand while Dr. Moonwhisper checked her vital signs.
"Like I'm too old to be doing this," Mrs. Chen replied with a weak smile. "But this little one seems determined to make his entrance into the world, regardless of his mother's advanced age."
"Your body is stronger than you think," Luna assured her, placing her hands on the woman's swollen belly. As her palms made contact, she felt the familiar warm tingle that had been growing stronger with each passing month. It was as if her healing abilities were evolving, becoming more intuitive and powerful.
Under her touch, Mrs. Chen's blood pressure began to stabilize, and the baby's frantic kicking calmed to gentle movements. Luna frowned slightly—this was happening more frequently, this unexplained enhancement of her natural healing gifts. Dr. Moonwhisper had noticed it too, though neither of them spoke about it openly.
"Much better," Dr. Moonwhisper observed, checking the monitors. "Whatever you're doing, Luna, it's working beautifully."
After ensuring Mrs. Chen was comfortable and stable, Luna retreated to the small office she shared with Dr. Moonwhisper to update patient files. The sun was beginning to rise, painting the medical facility in warm golden tones that reminded her why she had always been an early riser.
"You've been here for twelve hours straight," Dr. Moonwhisper observed, settling into her chair with a cup of steaming tea. "Again."
"I don't mind," Luna replied, not looking up from her charts. "It's better than being at home with nothing but my thoughts for company."
"Luna." The gentle reproach in her mentor's voice made her look up. "It's been six months. You can't work yourself to death just to avoid dealing with what happened."
"I'm not avoiding anything," Luna protested. "I'm building a career. I'm contributing to the pack. I'm—"
"You're hiding," Dr. Moonwhisper said kindly but firmly. "And while I admire your dedication and you're one of the most gifted healers I've ever trained, you're still a young woman who deserves a life outside these walls."
Luna set down her pen and leaned back in her chair. Through the window, she could see pack members beginning their daily routines—children walking to school, adults heading to work, couples strolling hand in hand. Once upon a time, she had imagined herself as part of that domestic tableau, Marcus by her side, perhaps their own children to shepherd to school.
Now the sight of happy couples still sent a small pang through her chest, though it was more like the ache of an old wound than the sharp agony of fresh heartbreak.
"I went to the market yesterday," she said quietly. "First time in weeks. I ran into Vivian Goldcrest—I mean, Vivian Stoneheart now."
Dr. Moonwhisper's expression grew carefully neutral. Marcus's political marriage had taken place exactly one month after their scheduled wedding date, a lavish affair that had been the talk of the pack for weeks.
"How did that go?"
Luna laughed, but there was no humor in it. "She thanked me. Can you believe that? She actually thanked me for 'stepping aside gracefully' so she could marry Marcus. As if I had a choice in the matter."
"What did you say?"
"I told her she was welcome to him, and I meant it." Luna picked up her pen again, twirling it between her fingers. "The strange thing is, I realized I really did mean it. Looking at them together, seeing how he parades her around like a trophy... I don't think I ever really knew Marcus at all. I fell in love with the idea of him, not the reality."
"That's a very mature perspective."
"Maturity born of necessity," Luna replied dryly. "You know what the strangest part is? I don't miss him anymore. I haven't for months. I miss the future I thought we were building, but not him specifically. Does that make me shallow?"
"It makes you human," Dr. Moonwhisper said gently. "And it means you're healing, which is more than can be said for certain other parties involved."
Luna looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
Dr. Moonwhisper hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "Marcus has been asking about you. Frequently. He comes by here at least once a week, always with some excuse—checking on pack medical policies, inquiring about supply budgets, that sort of thing. But he always finds a way to ask how you're doing."
"He made his choice," Luna said firmly. "His regrets are his own problem to deal with."
"Indeed they are. But Luna, you should know that his marriage isn't... well, it's not what he expected."
Despite herself, Luna felt a flicker of curiosity. "What do you mean?"
"Vivian is everything he thought he wanted—beautiful, connected, wealthy. But she's also demanding, high-maintenance, and has very specific ideas about what being an Alpha's Luna means. She doesn't work, doesn't contribute to pack life beyond social functions, and has made it clear that she considers herself above the day-to-day concerns of ordinary pack members."
Luna absorbed this information with mixed feelings. Part of her—a small, petty part—felt a flash of vindication. But mostly, she just felt sad for everyone involved.
"That doesn't change anything," she said finally. "He made his choice based on politics and strategy. Now he has to live with the consequences, just like I've had to live with mine."
"And what consequences are those?" Dr. Moonwhisper asked gently.
Luna looked around the medical facility—at the charts documenting lives she had helped save, at the awards and certifications that marked her rapid advancement in the healing arts, at the respect she had earned through hard work and dedication.
"I discovered I don't need anyone else to complete me," she said quietly. "I can build a life worth living all on my own."
The phone rang, interrupting their conversation. Dr. Moonwhisper answered it, her expression growing serious as she listened.
"Emergency at the northern border," she said, hanging up. "Patrol accident—three injured, one critical. They're bringing them in by helicopter."
Luna was already moving, muscle memory taking over as she prepared the trauma bay. This was what she lived for now—the adrenaline rush of saving lives, the satisfaction of using her gifts to make a real difference. In moments like these, she felt more alive and purposeful than she ever had as Marcus's intended Luna.
As the sound of helicopter rotors filled the air outside, Luna felt the familiar tingle of her enhanced abilities warming her hands. Whatever was happening to her powers, whatever was making her healing gift stronger each day, she was grateful for it. If she couldn't have love, at least she could have purpose.
The doors burst open as the medical team rushed in with their patients, and Luna Celeste Nightwood—no longer defined by any man's rejection—dove into the work that had become her salvation.
Outside, unnoticed by anyone in the medical facility, Marcus Stoneheart sat in his car, watching the woman he had discarded work tirelessly to save lives. His own wife was at home, complaining about the quality of the imported silk for her new curtains, while Luna was here at dawn, her hands literally glowing with healing power as she fought death itself.
For the first time since his wedding day, Marcus wondered if he had made the biggest mistake of his life.
But Luna was no longer paying attention to his regrets. She had work to do, lives to save, and a future to build—one that belonged entirely to her.