Swapped Luna part 13

PREVIOUSLY...

Then, hours later, teeth-clattering news are whispered throughout the hospital. I’m locked away in a room and hear the nurses whisper outside in panic.

Beta Lorcan is dead. Alpha Thorne has taken his life.

PRESENTLY...

THORNE

My vision is hazy as I hunt down Lorcan.

His scent is easily identifiable. I grew up with him. We were brothers. Our bloodlines governed this land together for centuries.

And he fucked my Luna? Tried to make a fool out of me?

His head will roll and serve me as a doorstop. I will slaughter him.

I don't fucking care about the political consequences or the upset of the pack. This is my fucking land, and I will not be dragged through the mud. Not through my own fucking mud.

I follow this scent.

"Lorcan!" I roar his name as I storm into my house, running into a servant transporting a cart of silverware and dishes and toppling it all over. I don't lose balance, and my steps don't falter. Coming hard and fast, punching the hardwood floor–the floor my forefathers walked on–until it cracks.

I think of his family and his mate. I think of what this loss will mean for them, and I realize that I don't give a fuck. It's the same feeling from when Maeve fell off the balcony. My loyalty has been tested one too many times, and if I won't be given respect, then I'll fucking carve it. I'll rip Lorcan's guts out and sort through them until I find fear and utter submission in his eyes.

I find him in the gallery, standing by the window with his head hung. Portraits of my forefathers line the wall. All looking at me. Rolling in their graves as I plan the unheard of: murdering my Beta.

"She told you, huh?" he asks, turning to face me. Licking his lips and fisting his hands. "I'm sorry, Thorne. She seduced me. You don't know Maeve like I do."

"Why is that? Because you know what she looks like when she's flat on her back?"

He shakes his head. "It was just once. I swear it! I was…envious of you. I was at my weakest, and she took advantage of me! You know how manipulative she is. She almost trapped you this time around!"

I draw closer. "I thought you drifted away from me because you had a family. Because you had more important things to focus on than our friendship. I hope you fucking enjoyed fucking her, Lorcan!" I roar at him.

Footsteps approach, and a couple of servants enter the gallery behind me. I don't care to look at them. Don't care to hide what I'm about to do. Let them see. Let my forefathers look on as I splatter the walls and their portraits in blood.

"When you meet the moon goddess, tell her that she's got a fucked sense of humor, but that's just fine because I'll always have the last fucking laugh!"

I lunge at him, not bothering to shift. He shifts because he knows he'll need every advantage he can get. The little man. The lesser man.

His giant wolf form charges at me. Strong, but not agile. Lorcan was never swift. No amount of training helped him with this skill. I guess it's biological. I guess that's why I'm the Alpha.

I swerve to the left. As he tries to correct course, my foot catches his tail and interrupts his move. He yelps, and I land my other leg beside his forelegs to widen my stance. I bow my back and reach my hands for his snout. I glance at my servants who watch in horror as I secure my hands around his jaw and pull in opposite directions. Breaking his jaw. Cutting him in two and killing him in the most humiliating way known to werewolves.

Getting the last laugh.

It took me three seconds to execute my best friend. Three seconds to traumatize my servants with the sight of their Alpha cracking their Beta's skull in half.

I look at my hands. Bloody from where Lorcan's teeth pierced my flesh. I flick my wrists, blood splattering all over the gallery. Tainting the nearest portraits.

"Go on," I tell the onlookers. "Go to your families."

They keep their gazes averted as if afraid they will be next on my roster. They take steps backward as they retreat, not giving me their backs. The most respectful and traditional way to exit the presence of a powerful male.

And then they're gone. Now, it's just Lorcan and me.

I stare at his corpse, feeling numb. I step over him and walk out of the gallery, my hands dripping a trail of blood as I make my way to Maeve's bedroom.

I look at her bedroom's balcony first. The one she fell from. And I wonder what happened that day. The sky was clear, and the sun was shining brightly. Every blade of glass seemed to have an ethereal glow.

And then Maeve fell, and a storm unleashed that hasn't stopped thundering yet.

I look through her room. Her closet is lined with fine dresses. Her vanity is covered with creams and makeup. A notebook rests at the edge of her dresser.

And the closer I stare, the more off things seem. Dresses are not color-coordinated, as Maeve used to hang them. The creams and makeup are shoved aside haphazardly to the side, and I know she hasn't used them in a long time. Strange, because before the accident, she used them religiously.

I flip open the notebook. It's brand new, and only the first two pages are marked.

Dear friend,

Much has happened since I last spoke with you. I…

The letter is unfinished. I flip to the second page and find it covered in signatures. Her signature. Maeve. Written over and over again like she had been practicing. And that's when I notice her handwriting. It's wrong. The Is aren't dotted with a heart–a ridiculous thing she always used to do. This is not her handwriting.

I don't know how hard she hit her head, but I don't suppose she damaged it enough to forget how she fucking writes.

I growl as I sit at the edge of her bed. Noting another infuriatingly odd thing. There's only one pillow left on her bed. She used to lay multiple for decoration.

Why has she changed so much? She couldn't possibly be so dedicated to her tricks that she altered every little thing about her. It would be asinine.

She must be mentally unwell. She has to be. There's no other explanation.

Reincarnation? A human dead from cancer?

And what was all that nonsense she said about the missing Luna Millie? If her mate, Alpha Leander can't find her, then no one will. The man is scouring the Earth for her. Besides, there are no werewolves in Europe. We don't belong there.

But why did she sound so confident about knowing Millie? Was it all coined by her madness?

"Fuck!" I dig my bloody hands through my hair. 

Her explanation sounded like it came right out of a legend. My mother used to read a lot to me when I was young. Tales of lycans, miracles and curses. But I don't remember any of that, and I have no time to read tall tales as an Alpha.

The Moon is powerful and capable of pulling tides and souls as she wishes, but reincarnation? It can't be possible.

Hearing incoming footsteps, I rise from the bed.

"Alpha Thorne…"

A couple of my men stand at the door. High-ranking men. A healer, a priest, and a patrol officer. All highly respectable. Leaders in the community. And I know exactly why they're here.

"We…we heard about Beta Lorcan, sir. We'll have to look up the policy on this, but…"

"Contact the council. Go ahead, I don't give a fuck. But for now, you all have jobs to do."

"Sir?"

"Go to the library and sort through the old legends and tales. I want you to report everything you find on reincarnation. Oh, and bury Lorcan, will you?"

I head for the door, and they throw themselves at the wall as if trying to avoid breathing the same air as me.

"Sir, you're bleeding," my healer says, swallowing. "Perhaps I can have someone look at you."

"What, are you too disgusted to do it yourself?" I shrug. "I'm fine. Do what you have to do. Tell the council I'm quite busy this week, but I can fit them in at the end of the month."

"Alpha, you…you killed our Beta. They will want to see you immediately."

"Be thankful I didn't kill your Luna, too," I reply. Chuckling softly.

They flinch away from me as if I'm the one that's insane.

As I walk away, I hear someone ask, "Where can we find you later if we need you?"

"I'm going to see your Luna. She's got quite the story to tell."

A/N: rip Lorcan

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