The Alpha's Stolen Luna
Chapter 34: A Children’s Tale

Chapter 34: A Children’s Tale

Kaya

"You know, we have a cute little pet name for you here," the beta sneered, twirling the knife in front of my face, its sharp edge glinting under the morning light. With a smirk, he mimicked a slicing motion, the blade passing just inches from my eyes.

I squeezed them shut, my heartbeat hammering in my ears. I didn’t need to hear what he had to say—I already knew. I had heard it before.

A silver whore. A moon whore. Whatever whore.

"I still can’t believe the carpet actually matches the drapes," the omega between my legs scoffed, reaching out as if to touch me. I jerked violently, my body twisting away from his grasp. It stopped him—for now—but my eyes burned with unshed tears.

Why couldn’t they just leave me alone? What had I done to deserve this? What crime had I committed except existing?

"You idiot," the beta snapped, rolling the knife over his palm in a lazy, practiced motion. "But now I’m wondering... is it really some kind of magical shit? Was she cursed or something?"

"You know," the second omega tightened his grip on my wrists, forcing my arms behind my back. He leaned in close, his breath hot and foul against my cheek. "There’s this old children’s tale about a siren who stole the Moon Goddess’s tears because she craved her power."

The beta scoffed. "Are you seriously telling us a bedtime story right now?"

"Just shut up and listen," the omega hissed impatiently. "In the story, she bathed in the Goddess’s tears until her hair and skin turned silver. But then, the villagers caught her, cut off her hair, and sold it to pay off their debts."

"Ah," the beta murmured, leaning in so close that I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin. A wicked glint flashed in his eyes, sending an icy tremor down my spine. "Are you a siren, little whore? I wonder... can we trade your hair for silver coin?"

The three of them erupted into laughter, their cruel amusement echoing through the trees. My body trembled as hot tears spilled down my cheeks, the weight of my helplessness sinking deep into my bones.

The sickening realization of what they intended made my knees buckle. My muffled cries scraped against the omega’s filthy palm as he pressed his hand harder over my lips, silencing me with ease.

"I don’t know about the coin," the omega between my legs mused, standing up and licking his lips as his gaze roved over my naked body. "But it’d be fun to see her with a shaved head."

My breath hitched. My eyes widened in sheer horror, and I jerked so violently that, for a fleeting second, breaking my own bones in the struggle didn’t seem impossible.

A sharp, brutal kick to my shins sent me crashing to my knees. Pain exploded through my legs, but I barely registered it over the sheer panic clawing at my throat. My body convulsed in desperation as I thrashed against the boy pinning my arms, his grip tightening like a vice.

"She’s fucking strong for a wolfless omega!" he spat, twisting my arms so mercilessly that a sharp cry tore from my throat, momentarily drowning out the horror of what was about to come.

"Hold her," the beta ordered, stepping forward and yanking my head back by the hair. I gasped as the dull side of his blade pressed against my cheek, the metal ice-cold against my flushed skin. I flinched at the touch, but when the tip of the knife crept closer to my eye, I went completely still. Frozen.

Trapped.

"Stay still, you stupid bitch, or I’ll take your eye out," the beta snarled, his voice a low, menacing growl. The predatory gleam in his eyes made my blood run ice-cold. He meant it. He could kill me right here, and no one would care. No one would stop him.

So I did as he commanded—I stayed still. Motionless. Subdued. It wasn’t the first time, anyway.

"See? You can behave," he sneered, dragging the blade slowly across my cheek as if this were some twisted game. "Now, let’s see if you really are that siren from the old children’s tale."

With that, he grabbed a fistful of my silver hair and began hacking at it. Each sawing motion of the blade sent sharp, stinging jolts through my scalp.

He kept cutting—tugging and yanking, snapping strands mercilessly as if my hair were nothing more than wool to be sheared. He laughed like a goddamn lunatic, his glee sharp and unhinged, while I could do nothing but sob. Silent, suffocating sobs. I wanted to scream, but the omega behind me smothered every sound before it could escape, his palm pressed tightly over my mouth.

And then, finally, it was over. The last strand fell to the dirt, silver locks scattered at their feet like discarded silk. The beta stepped back, admiring his handiwork, while the boy restraining me shoved me forward with a hard push.

I collapsed with a quiet thud. My body was so drained, so utterly lifeless, it was a wonder it made any sound at all. I lay there, barely breathing, my mind blank with exhaustion. I didn’t even have the strength to beg the Moon Goddess for mercy. To let me die.

"I must admit," the other omega mused, a wide grin splitting his face as he stared down at me. "Even with her head shaved, she still looks pretty."

"All whores usually do," the beta sneered, grinding his heel into the silver strands scattered on the ground, mixing them with dirt and mud. "Shame, though. You’d have to be a real sick fuck to want someone with a head like that."

Their laughter erupted again—sharp, cruel, and filled with amusement at my suffering. But I couldn’t even bring myself to feel humiliated anymore. I was too empty. Too numb.

"Well, see you around," one of the omegas jeered, crouching to snatch up my belongings. He lifted my canvas bag with a smirk, shaking it as if weighing his prize. "Oh, and we’re taking this with us. Souvenirs!"

More laughter. More mockery. And then—just like that—they were gone, their voices fading into the distance.

***

I jolt upright, gasping for air, my chest heaving as the remnants of the nightmare cling to me like a suffocating shroud. My hands fly to my hair, trembling as my fingers weave through the familiar length. A shaky breath escapes me—relief flooding in like a wave, weak but steady. It was just a dream. Just a memory.

Still, the panic lingers, coiled tightly around my ribs. I stumble to my feet and rush to the bathroom, twisting the faucet open with unsteady hands. Cold water splashes against my burning face, sending a sharp jolt through my system. My breaths slow, but the anxiety refuses to fully release its grip.

I need air. I need movement. I need to do something—anything—to shake off the ghostly weight pressing down on me.

Without hesitation, I tie my hair into a loose bun, rip off the damp, sweat-soaked t-shirt clinging to my skin, and pull on a fresh one. Then, without a second thought, I push open the door and stride out, my steps fueled by restless urgency as I head straight for the exit.