His Unwanted Exile Becomes The True Luna

ra

ed through the wide gaps of the wooden exile wago

e frozen earth, tossing our starved bodies against the iron-reinforced bars. The air inside was thick w

ago, inheriting the memories of Elara Vance-the youngest, and the only *wolfless* member of the disgraced Vance family. Without

starved and stripped of his dignity, his broad *Warrior* frame instin

hoarse, trembling

he scent of her distress-like crushed, rotting lavender-filled my nose. Seeing the empty, glazed look in my eyes, a

folds of her filthy, torn robes. She pulled out a tiny, jagged piece of har

ed from the corner, his eyes wide with wor

he frozen crumb between my blue lips. "Suck on it, Elara," she pleaded, her v

throat like shards of glass, tearing at my dry flesh. The physical pain was sharp

. In my past life, I had never known such raw, unconditional love. This heavy, des

ter paste and turne

orner of the wagon was A

focating-ash, decay, and the crushing weight of a broken wolf. He was the reason our family had been ex

y voice barely a whisper

eper into his knees, shrinking away from me. He couldn't bear to look at his *wolfless* daughter. My very existenc

physical blow. I could feel the ago

nding a new, frantic rhythm against my ribs

. Arthur was waiting for the end. They were treating me li

n't have claws, and I didn't have fangs. But I had a min

rward with a sickening crunch

owling wind. The iron bolts of the wagon door began to rattle a

ws, ignoring the agonizing pain in my fro