Nyberg Luna Daughter of the Moon

1. Auflage 2026
ISBN: 978-91-8114-169-6
Verlag: BoD - Books on Demand
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 480 Seiten

Reihe: Luna

Luna runs away from home at the age of 15, from her cruel father. Ten years later, as she wanders through a dark park, late one night, on her way home, she is attacked by a man. However, he does not take her life, but gives her a new one instead. A little later, she meets the man who will become her soulmate, at the same time she decides to take revenge on her father.

The author has always been fascinated by vampires and has now written his first book on the subject. Books 2 and 3 are already written and will be published soon.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Nyberg, I. L.

Leseproben

The day had begun like every other—grey, flat, suffocating in its monotony. The sky hung heavy above the city, thick with clouds that seemed to press down on the streets and buildings, as if the world itself were tired of existing. Each breath I drew felt heavy, weighed down by the sameness of it all, the dull repetition of waking, moving, breathing. Even the air smelled muted, lacking life, tinged with the distant exhaust of cars and the faint tang of urban decay.

I woke to the stale smell of my tiny apartment, the faint hum of the city outside, and a familiar weight pressing on my chest. The mattress beneath me sagged in familiar patterns, holding my body like an indifferent observer. Another day. Another stretch of hours to endure. The sunlight that crept through the blinds was pale, filtered, incapable of warming anything, and it seemed to reflect my own lack of vitality.

I moved mechanically, dressing without thought, catching only a glimpse of my reflection. The mirror, grimy and scratched in the corners, offered back the same pale face I had stared at for years. The same dull eyes, tired and lifeless. The same hair, grey and limp from over a decade of neglect and routine indifference. Nothing about me had changed, and yet every day I felt smaller, more invisible, like a shadow slipping unnoticed along the walls. My movements were automatic, my hands brushing over familiar fabrics without care, and I wondered if anyone would notice if I stopped moving altogether.

By the time I left for work, the sky itself seemed tired, as though it had forgotten to shine. Even the morning light was hesitant, fragile, struggling to penetrate the heavy layer of clouds. The streets were damp from last night’s drizzle, slick, and reflective, showing neon signs that flickered weakly, buzzing like faint reminders of life that I had long ceased to feel part of. Puddles mirrored broken images of the buildings above, distorted reflections that matched the fractured sense of myself I carried silently.

Work was a ritual of invisibility. I scrubbed, wiped, emptied, polished, each motion automatic, a performance practiced over years until my hands knew the routines without thought. The trash bins overflowed like careless thoughts, brimming with discarded remnants of people’s lives that I would never touch. Desks carried fingerprints and coffee stains, faint yet permanent, like echoes of existence I could not claim. Bathrooms reeked of perfume and neglect, the chemical undertones mingling with a human presence that had no memory of me. I moved through it all like a ghost, erasing evidence of other people while leaving none of myself behind.

My hands told the real story. Red, cracked, raw from constant exposure to harsh chemicals and scalding water, they bore witness to every silent day, every unnoticed hour. My nails were bitten down, cuticles torn, a testament to nervous tension and perpetual anxiety. Sometimes they throbbed with a pain that made me want to scream, but I never did. Screaming drew attention. Attention was dangerous. Ten years. Ten years of being unseen. The dull ache of invisibility had settled deep into my bones, a constant companion, more familiar than comfort or warmth.

The office girls were worse than usual that Monday. They congregated in tight little clusters, laughing sharp and deliberate laughs, each one a blade that cut into my confidence. Gossip spilled over the desks, an endless narrative of who went out with whom, who had the hottest date, who dined at the most exclusive restaurants. Their voices, bright and, musical, carried a weight I could not reach, a sense of belonging I had long been denied. Their conversations had not evolved since adolescence, and I was reminded painfully that I had been invisible even then, watching, hearing, existing only in the margins.

I sat alone in my lunch corner, the cleaning closet I had claimed as my own sanctuary. The dim light flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows on the walls. My sandwich, always cheap, always practical, tasted like nothing, and I ate mechanically, chewing without thought, the monotony of flavor mirroring the monotony of my life. The only sounds were the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the scrape of my broom across the worn floor, the rhythm comforting in its predictability.

The other cleaners spoke in their own languages, distant worlds that never intersected with mine. I did not need them; they did not need me. We coexisted silently, a shared presence with no connection, no acknowledgment, no recognition. My world had always been a series of silent spaces, where effort and presence went unnoticed, where existence was defined by erasure rather than engagement.

But that day, one presence tore through the monotony.

Her.

She moved as though the world bent for her, every step deliberate, every sway calculated. Tight skirts, low-cut tops, heels clicking like warning signals across the tile floors. Every glance, every tilt of her head, every flutter of her lashes was a performance meant to draw eyes, a choreography of power and allure. Watching her made old wounds ache, memories of humiliation and powerlessness surfacing like ghosts I had tried desperately to forget. She reminded me of someone I had buried in the recesses of memory—a girl from school who ruled through fear and, charm alike. My chest tightened, a cold knot forming as I remembered the times I had watched, silent and powerless, while she commanded attention effortlessly.

The office manager laughed a little too loudly as he leaned in, brushing her waist, and she leaned into him with practiced ease, each flutter of lashes rehearsed and deliberate. My stomach sank, and I felt the familiar hollow ache of being unseen, of being unworthy of notice. I could feel the old fear resurface—the invisible chains of childhood humiliation wrapping around me, tightening as I observed the effortless dominance of her presence.

By nine o’clock, the office emptied. One cleaner had called in sick, leaving me with double the work. My muscles screamed, my back ached, my hands throbbed, and yet I had no choice but to continue, to finish everything. Calling in sick was impossible. This job was off-the-books, precarious, a thread I could not risk severing. If anyone asked questions, if my father found out… the risk was too high. I moved mechanically, scraping, scrubbing, wiping, each motion a repetition of survival, a survival I no longer felt proud of, only obliged to.

I grabbed my coat from the rack, the last to leave as always. The streets were deserted now, shadows stretching long under the sparse streetlights. The air outside was warm, a gentle breeze brushing against my face, caressing the rough edges of my skin. After months of bitter winter, this warmth felt alive, tangible, like a whisper from a world I had long forgotten existed. The full moon hung luminous in the sky, a pale sentinel that bathed the streets in silver light, reflecting off puddles and wet asphalt. It felt protective, as though the universe itself had chosen to watch over me. Moonlight had always felt like mine. My real mother had named me Luna, after the moon. My stepmother had reminded me endlessly of that connection, of my birth under a full moon. It was a fragile thread of comfort in a life otherwise bereft of it, and tonight, that thread felt stronger than ever, anchoring me as I navigated the shadows.

But that evening, the moon poured extra strength and courage into me. On top of that, I was running late, completely exhausted, and it was so late that all I wanted was to get home as fast as humanly possible—feed Grey, wash off the grime of the office, and collapse into bed.

What I didn’t know then was that that very night, my entire life was about to change—in just a matter of minutes! That night would mark the last time I would ever set foot in my dreaded workplace, the last time I would have to crawl under someone’s thumb, or live in fear of getting beaten or robbed. That night was going to be the beginning of something far bigger. I was about to get a second chance at life.

I made the decision: despite everything, I would cut through the park and save myself almost twenty minutes. The full moon was lighting up the whole park, and the moon had always been my ally—it wasn’t going to let anything bad happen tonight, not this one time. The gentle May breeze caressed my cheeks as I stepped into the park. But despite the moon’s energy fueling me, I was physically drained, barely able to muster more effort that evening. All I wanted was to get home.

Yet, dark clouds were gathering on the horizon, and it looked like a serious storm was brewing. I could already hear the wind picking up, the treetops swaying high above me as the gusts caught hold. Those clouds hadn’t been in the sky, ten minutes ago when I left the office. Where had they come from, so fast, so unnaturally fast? I realized I had forgotten my umbrella back at the office, but I didn’t have the energy to go back for it. Instead, I quickened my pace, racing against time to get home before the rain hit—because it could start, at any second. Those clouds had appeared so fast, even though the wind had been just a soft whisper when I stepped out only minutes ago. It was as if even the sky itself wanted to warn me: something ominous was waiting just around the corner.

I hurried as fast as I possibly could, even though every last bit of my energy had been drained over the course of the day.

Then it all happened so fast that I didn’t have a single...