The Alpha’s Luna Contract Mate

Maya was supposed to be his Luna.

Handpicked by the council. Contract signed. Six months pretending to be the mate of the most feared Alpha in the northern territories — raise his baby daughter, attend his pack functions, smile for the cameras. Clean money. Simple deal. Then go home.

But twenty-four hours before the signing, my sister collapses.
Poison.
And the antidote costs more than my family will ever see in a lifetime.

So I do the only thing I can. I walk into that council chamber, sign her name, and become Luna to Alpha Oliver Michael.
He doesn’t notice the switch.
He barely looks at me.

The contract is simple:
Six months as his Luna in name only. Care for his infant daughter, Nadia. Attend pack events. Smile. Play the role. Do NOT fall for the widowed Alpha still drowning in grief.

What nobody told me:
His daughter isn’t just sick. She’s cursed. And every night I hold her, I feel the darkness in her blood — the same darkness that recognizes what I am.

The last thing I am.
The last of a bloodline the council spent three hundred years hunting to extinction.
A Moonweaver.
Every time I use my power to save Nadia, it costs me something I can never get back. I have been spending myself in the dark since day one. I have not been counting the cost.

I should have been counting.
Then Oliver starts watching me.
Not the way a man watches a contract employee. The way a predator watches something that doesn’t fit the pattern. He notices I don’t flinch when his Beta shifts. He notices I know pack law better than I should. He notices Nadia only sleeps in my arms and the strange silver marks on her skin fade when I sing in a language I was never taught.

“Who are you?” he asks one night, cornering me in the nursery. His eyes flash gold in the dark.
“Your contract Luna,” I whisper. “Nothing more.”
“Liar.”

He has known for three weeks.
He said nothing because whoever is trying to kill me is the same person who murdered his mate.

And now the blood moon is coming. The council has been waiting for it for three hundred years. The contract I signed was never a marriage agreement.
It was a trap.
One designed specifically for me.
One that will consume everything I have left — unless I break it first.

The blood moon rises in four hours.
The contract ends at midnight.
Neither of us is going anywhere.

This is not a story about a contract.
It is a war wrapped in a lullaby.
And the only way out is through.