Claiming His Luna

Cercei’s POV

As I approached the grand gate of the mansion, a sense of foreboding gripped my senses. The atmosphere was heavy as if the remnants of a once lively party lingered in the air. However, no guests were in sight, and the darkness enveloped the surroundings, with the lights ominously switched off.

As I stepped through the entrance, I was met by Maria’s worried countenance at the door. “Where have you been?” she inquired anxiously.

“Just taking a moment to breathe,” I responded, noticing the distress appeared on her face. She seemed perturbed and on edge.

“Is there something wrong, Maria?” I furrowed my brows, waiting for her answer. She averted her gaze, concealing her unease with a forced smile.

“Shall we go for a stroll? Let’s leave this place,” she urged, reaching out to grasp my arm. I stood my ground, captivated by her strange behavior. This time, she met my gaze, her eyes reflecting fear, panic, and uneasiness.

“Maria, please, tell me what’s bothering you,” I begged her.

She laughed feebly and once again averted her eyes. I tried to catch her gaze, sensing that something was indeed wrong. Her gaze drifted down to my arms; even in the dimness, my wounds did not escape her observant eyes. She clasped my arm gently, scrutinising it closely.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

“Cercei, what happened?” she asked, her concern clearly visible. I pulled my arm back, hiding it behind my back.

“I’m fine,” I reassured her.

“Was it Vienna?” she stated with certainty. I nodded in confirmation.

“That wretched woman,” she gritted her teeth in anger.

“Maria, please, let me know if something is wrong,” I steered the conversation in a different direction.

“N-nothing, I just wanted to spend time with you on your birthday,” she stammered, her unease still lingering. Despite my reservations, I allowed her to pull me. Perhaps it was wise to take a brief walk before returning back into the mansion to face Vienna. I knew that she wasn’t done with me yet.

Just as Maria began to pull me away, the sound of shattering glass reached our ears, followed by a blood-curdling scream. I shifted my attention toward the mansion, the turmoil audible even from outside, and it was terrifying. Maria tugged at me more forcefully, determined to keep me away from whatever chaos was unfolding inside the mansion. I stopped her tracks abruptly.

“Maria, please, I beg you, tell me what is happening,” I pleaded desperately, a hint of panic creeping into my voice.

“Nothing is happening, let’s go,” she insisted, attempting to reach for my hand once more. But I resisted, my intuition telling me that something was gravely happening inside the mansion.

As I glanced back at the mansion, another sound reached my ears, unmistakably my mother’s cry. Without hesitation, I rushed towards the door, Maria calling out my name in a futile attempt to stop me. Fear and worry overwhelmed my consciousness, rendering me deaf to her pleas.

When I swung open the door, a scene of sheer horror greeted my eyes. My father lay on the floor, his body drenched in his own blood, while my mother wept uncontrollably by his side.

My heart sank, and my legs felt weak as I approached them slowly. My mind was blank, unable to process the magnitude of the tragedy before my eyes. My mother looked at me with shock, shaking her head as a warning to stay back.

“Papà,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“Cercei, get out of here,” my mother’s voice trembled with fear.

My trembling hands reached out to touch my father’s face, desperately hoping for him to stir awake.

“Papà!” I called out, my voice rising as I gently shook him. Tears streamed down my face, unbridled grief consuming me. He lay before me, covered in bruises and wounds, with a large gaping hole in his chest.

“Cercei, please, get the hell out of here,” my mother pleaded, attempting to push me away.

“No!” I forcefully pushed her hand aside. My mother’s hands pressed against my shoulders, holding me back, preventing me from getting closer to my father. Yet, I persisted, clutching my father’s lifeless hand in mine.

“This is what happens to those who dare stand in my way!” bellowed our evil Alpha, his voice reverberating through the room. I turned my stare towards him, witnessing his own battered and bruised form, his suit torn apart. My eyes fell on his hand, and I instinctively brought my own hand to my mouth to stifle a scream.

Blood dripped from his hand as he gripped my father’s heart. Overwhelmed by hysterical cries, I collapsed onto the floor, drenched in my father’s blood, my gaze fixed on Monsieur Remus, my fury burning intensely each passing moment.

“You…” Consumed by a burning anger, I rose to my feet, wanting to launch an attack against the Alpha, oblivious to my own position or the dire circumstances.

Before I could take a single step, my mother interrupted me, holding me back with desperate strength. I struggled against her grasp, but she clung to me as if her life depended on it.

Monsieur Remus laughed, enjoying the anger that distorted my expression. Vienna stood at a distance, trembling and shocked, a silent witness to the unfolding tragedy.

“Oh, my, I never knew you possessed such anger, Cercei,” he taunted, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“My father stood by your side for so long. How could you do this to him?!” I demanded through tear-streaked cheeks, my voice filled with fury.

“Your father,” he emphasized the last word, “forgot his place and dared to stand in my way.” He took a step closer, but my mother swiftly shielded me, bravely facing the Alpha.

“I beg you, do not harm her. She knows nothing, please,” my mother pleaded, her voice wrapped with misery.

“You would be wise to remember your place. Let your father’s demise serve as a constant reminder,” he heartlessly dropped my father’s heart onto the floor, mercilessly crushing it underfoot before leaving. My mother sank to her knees in a mix of relief and grief while Vienna averted her gaze and silently retreated.

I embraced my mother tightly as she let out abundant tears flowing down her cheeks, both of us drenched in blood and sorrow, clinging to my father’s lifeless form.

“Mamà, what happened?” I inquired, seeking answers. Yet, she continued to weep, seemingly oblivious to my question. I held her shoulders, urging her to look at me, but she couldn’t meet my eyes.

“Please, tell me,” frustration seeped into my voice. It felt as if I had asked that question countless times today, yet no one seemed willing to provide me with the truth. She shook her head, unable to bring herself to speak.

Collapsing against me, she cried as if her own heart had been torn away; perhaps it truly had. I knew how much she loved my father; he was everything to her, just as she was to him. I stopped asking questions, giving her space to mourn in her own way.

A comforting touch on my shoulders made me look up, and I found Maria standing by my side, her own eyes brimming with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice choked with grief.

Resting my head on her shoulder, I continued to hold my mother while she found comfort in my embrace. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion. This, undoubtedly, was far from the joyful birthday I had anticipated.