The Alpha's Stolen Luna
Chapter 20: Memories

Chapter 20: Memories

Kaya

How many times has it already been? I am being chased, stalked by my nightmares, over and over again. I have no rest. No matter what I do––my past is now a part of my very being.

The clang of metal trays from the upper kitchen echoes faintly down the narrow stone stairwell, but it’s the sudden burst of laughter that makes my hands tremble. I freeze mid-motion, one foot already on the third step. They’re still upstairs. I shouldn’t be here right now.

I swallow hard and crouch lower into the shadowed arch of the wine cellar, hugging the stack of folded towels tighter to my chest. My shift had ended hours ago, but as always, someone had to clean up after the beta twins’ private dinner with Rosalie. And that someone, of course, was me.

I told myself I would be quick. Quiet. Invisible. But I should have known better. I always tell myself these things, and it’s always a lie.

The cellar door swings open with a heavy creak behind me, and I jump as a cool draft of air rushes in.

"Well, look at this," a saccharine voice coos above me. "Little Kaya’s still lurking where she doesn’t belong."

My blood turns cold. I don’t need to look up to know who it is. Marina.

Her heels click slowly down the steps, each one a countdown. I keep my head down, tucking my chin into the towels. If I don’t meet her gaze, maybe—just maybe—she’ll leave.

"Are those Rosalie’s linens?" she continues, her voice dripping with venom. "Didn’t we tell you not to touch her things without permission?"

I open my mouth, but the words vanish. I only nod, dropping my gaze back to the floor.

Behind Marina, I hear another pair of footsteps. Calista.

Of course.

"I asked you a question, rat," Marina snaps, the sharp tip of her heel stabbing into my foot. I gasp and nearly drop the towels. Goddess, why do they always have to wear such sharp heels?

"Yes," I finally breathe out, biting down hard on my tongue. "Yes, I’m sorry."

Calista hums thoughtfully. "Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore, Kaya. You keep forgetting your place. And that is starting to get pretty fucking annoying."

Before I can brace myself, a splash of cold wine hits my back. The towels absorb some of it, but I feel the rest soak through my shirt, covering my skin with thin, sticky rivulets. I wince, swallowing down the scream rising in my throat.

"I think you need a reminder," Marina says smoothly, but each word penetrates my skin like needles.

She grabs a handful of my hair and yanks me up, forcing me to my feet. The towels fall from my arms, fluttering to the floor like defeated birds. My scalp burns––her sharp claws are digging painfully into my skin––but I don’t resist. I have learned not to. Resistance only makes it worse.

Calista steps behind me and clamps her fingers around my wrists, pinning them behind my back. She is stronger than she looks—stronger than me. I squirm, but it’s useless.

"You know," Marina muses, reaching for a metal bottle opener from the nearby counter, "Rosalie said you had a pretty voice once. Before you stopped using it. What a shame."

She taps the opener against her thigh, then tilts her head as if assessing me.

"Let’s see if we can coax a little melody out of you. Just for fun."

"No—please," I manage to whisper, but the sound is too weak. Too pathetic. Just like me.

Marina lets out a dry scoff and then, her hand slaps me, landing flat across my cheek. It’s not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to shock me into silence again. She leans in close, her breath warm against my cheek.

"You don’t speak unless spoken to."

With that, she drags the blunt edge of the bottle opener down my neck. Not enough to cut, but enough to make my skin crawl with dread. I flinch, my eyes clamped shut again as I silently plead for this to be over.

Suddenly, footsteps echo at the top of the cellar stairs.

"Marina?"

Rosalie’s voice. I’ve never thought she could ever turn into my savior.

The world stops spinning at once, but I still hold my breath to make sure I do not attract her attention, too.

"I thought I told you to bring the dessert tray, not disappear," she calls, tapping her foot impatiently against the floor.

Marina drops the opener, letting it clang on the stone. Calista releases me, shoving me loose, and I stumble back against the wine rack, breathless.

"Coming!" Marina chirps, all sunshine again. "We were just disciplining the help. You know how they can be."

"Don’t take too long," Rosalie warns, and the footsteps fade.

The moment they’re gone, Marina turns back to me. Her expression has shifted once more—cool, detached, clinical.

"Pick up the towels. Clean the wine. And don’t make me see your face for the rest of the night."

She doesn’t wait for a reply. Neither does Calista. They slip back upstairs as if none of it happened.

Silence falls once again.

I slide down to the cold floor, pulling my knees to my chest as my damp shirt clings to my skin. My hands shake as I gather the towels one by one, wincing with every movement.

I want to cry. Goddess, I want to cry. But I don’t.

Tears are wasted here. Pain is recycled.

This could have been worse, I remind myself, pressing the towel to the side of my stinging face. It’s always worse.

I twist and turn, feeling something cold soak me whole, enveloping me like a disgustingly wet robe. I hate this dream. I hate those dreams. But they seem to like me a lot, seeing how they keep torturing me in my sleep. Over. And over. Again.

My previous life. My very first pack... Goddess, how I’d hate to repeat it again.