The Alpha's Stolen Luna

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.