She suspected they were the ones who had robbed and murdered her family, who had burned her home to the ground. She would rather die than live among their kind.Her fingers curled into the dirt, nails scraping against the earth as she forced herself back to her feet. She trudged forward, her steps heavy but determined. She had no home, no direction, nothing but miles of unknown ahead of her.
And she didn't care. She would keep walking until she found answers. Until she found them. Vengeance was all she had left.
Luna moved through the wilderness like a shadow, gathering what she needed to survive. She picked wild fruits from low-hanging branches, their juices staining her fingertips. At the streams she crossed, she caught fish, carefully gutting and roasting them over small, controlled fires.
But meat, meat was something she couldn't stomach.
The scent of charred flesh haunted her, the memory of her burned pack-mates twisting her insides every time she thought about it. Even the sight of fresh meat made her gag. It wasn't just food anymore. It was death.
She paced herself, careful not to push too hard. She wasn't as strong as she had once been. Her body, though still carrying the powerful blood of an Alpha, was weakened. Without her wolf spirit, she felt incomplete, like a blade missing its edge. But she would not be weak forever.
She refused to be.
Luna knew what she had to do.
If she could not fight like before, she would learn to strike in other ways. She would study the land, the plants, and the hidden weapons nature provided. She would master poisons ones that killed slowly, ones that burned from the inside out, and ones that could bring even the strongest warrior to their knees. And she would learn their antidotes as well, because knowledge was power, and power was survival.
She would become the most feared healer and poisoner to ever walk the earth.
Her wolf spirit was gone, but her Alpha blood still flowed strong. She was still Luna.
The night was not kind to the lone and the weak. Without a pack's protection, she was vulnerable to creatures that lurked in the darkness, waiting for someone like her to fall. But she would not fall.
So she kept walking.
One step at a time, she carried herself forward, into the unknown, into her vengeance, into the woman she was meant to become.
Luna moved with caution, walking from dawn until dusk, her steps slow but steady. Each day was a test of endurance, her body growing weaker but her mind sharpening with a single purpose: survival. At night, she found shelter wherever she could: small caves, thick underbrush, even hollowed-out logs when nothing else was available.
She knew the dangers that lurked in the dark. She wasn't strong enough to fight them off, and if she was caught, she would die. The thought did not scare her as much as it should have. But she wasn't ready to die, not yet. Not before she had taken her revenge.
As she neared the edge of her territory, Luna faced a decision.
To the east lay human lands, the border between her world and theirs marked only by a thin river and the remnants of an old fence. The humans weren't as dangerous as the creatures of the wild, but if she were caught by them, she would have to lie, hiding what she was and what she used to be. And if they discovered she was a werewolf, even a broken one, they would turn on her.
To the west, the wild stretched endlessly, filled with beasts far more dangerous than humans. Rogues. Vampires. Shifters who had lost their sanity and now hunted indiscriminately. Without her wolf spirit, she was no faster or stronger than a human woman. If she were cornered, she would not stand a chance.
She needed an advantage.
Settling into the safety of a rocky outcrop, she made her decision.
If she could not fight with claws and fangs, she would fight with knowledge.
Luna spent the next week gathering dangerous herbs, venturing cautiously into the woods to collect the deadliest plants she could find. She took special care with the wolfsbane, harvesting it in large quantities. It was lethal to wolves, causing burning, paralysis, and eventually death if the dosage was high enough. Once, she had learned to handle it under the watchful eye of the pack's healer, always protected by gloves and cloth to avoid exposure.
But she was just human now. The poison did not harm her.
That thought burned deeper than any venom.
She ground the wolfsbane into a fine powder, mixing it with opium poppy and cannabis to dull the senses, deadly nightshade to disorient, and oleander for a slow, excruciating death. She measured each ingredient carefully, making sure the doses were lethal. She was no longer a warrior, but she would make herself a weapon.
She had no idea what she might encounter along the way, but if she could not fight her enemies with strength, she would make sure they never saw their deaths coming.
Luna packed the powders into small pouches, tucking them away in the folds of her tattered clothing.
Then, without hesitation, she stood, turned west, and stepped into the wild.
That night, Luna curled up in the damp cave, her body aching from days of walking and foraging. The cold stone pressed against her back, and the faint drip of water echoed in the darkness, but at least she was safe for now.
She risked making a fire, though she didn't cook anything. The mere thought of roasted meat made bile rise in her throat. Instead, she ate fresh fruit and peanuts, forcing each bite down despite the tightness in her stomach. Hunger gnawed at her, but she had learned to ignore it.
She barely slept.
Every sound in the cave, every shift in the wind, and every distant howl kept her on edge.
Once, her wolf had shielded her from the cold, her thick coat and heightened senses a barrier against nature's cruelty. Now, stripped of that power, the cold gnawed at her bones, her fingers raw and cracked from exposure. Scrapes no longer healed in moments—they festered. Insects buzzed relentlessly, biting through her skin with no regard for the broken girl beneath. And when the misery became too much, she let herself drift dissociating into fragile memories. For a moment, she was home again, seated at the dinner table, laughing beside her parents as warmth and candlelight wrapped around her like a blanket. Then the scene curdled. The walls blackened, the ceiling groaned, and the air turned thick with smoke. She watched, helpless, as their flesh bubbled and slid from their bones like wax, mouths open in silent screams. She tried to cry out to warn them, to run to them but her throat burned, her voice lost in the choking haze. All she could do was watch as her family melted into ash.
"Their eyes fixed on her, wide and melting, as if begging her to do something anything. But her limbs wouldn't move, her voice cracked and useless. Smoke filled her mouth like tar, and her screams drowned in it."