Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
When I registered the mischief in his gaze, I rolled my eyes and stalked off to the living room, leaving him alone in the kitchen with his antics. The Alpha’s chuckle followed me.
The kitchen was open, and I instinctively reached for my phone. Killian glanced over, remembering something he’d “forgotten” because of dinner. “Your phone was ringing when you were asleep. I answered it.”
I blinked. “You… answered my phone? Without permission?”
He didn’t look fazed, expertly flipping a pan. “Your phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and it was disturbing my rest. Someone refused to wake up, so I intervened.”
“Besides,” he added, feigning innocence, “I took a few verbal hits for you.”
I scrolled through the call log, expression neutral. It wasn’t surprising. My mother hadn’t yelled enough at me this morning, so the family apparently decided to take turns calling in rapid succession. Even Knox Draven, Celestine’s little lapdog, had joined the chorus. News of me sending Celestine to the emergency room had traveled fast.
If Killian were my subordinate, this would count as on-the-job hazard pay. But he wasn’t. He was Alpha, Shadowbane Alpha. Capital and power wrapped in human form.
“So… you yelled back for me?” I asked casually, shrugging.
“Nope,” he said, still calm, flipping a vegetable with precision. “How could I demand payment if I hadn’t even vented my anger?”
I shrugged harder. “Then the deal’s clear-you only do it if I give you a reward.”
He leaned back, pondering, a faintly amused glint in his golden eyes. “So… if I insult your family for you, you’ll pay me?”
I answered immediately. “Yep.”
Killian picked up his phone and called Jackson, issuing a single command: insult the Vale family.
I could almost see Jackson’s face through the call. The task was absurd, juvenile, yet he obeyed. He hired a few skilled voices to run through the list Killian provided, each taking turns, lashing the Vale family with a precision that made even a wolf like me smirk.
Then I can imagine the scene: in the hospital, Celestine sat with Tristan and Lykos, Fenrir was handling the old estate issues, the Moonvale elders attended a temporary dinner, and Knox Draven nursed his wine-all their phones buzzing in unison with the results of Killian’s little operation.
Back in my kitchen, Killian’s cooking impressed me. Three dishes, one soup, and even a chili chicken adjusted perfectly to my palate. My mouth watered. A wolf of his caliber should have been clumsy with mundane tasks, yet his hands were deft, efficient, and even gentle when necessary.
For once, I felt a strange sense of domesticity. Sharing a meal with Killian Sanchez in my home felt almost… warm. Wolf warmth.
After dinner, I cleaned up the battlefield, hands finally washed, and Killian, lounging on the sofa, beckoned me over with a simple gesture, his fingers curling like a wolf claiming territory.
“What now?” I asked, slowly approaching.
“To collect proof of payment,” he said, eyes glinting.
Jackson had already filtered through the recorded calls and videos, selecting the ones with the most impact and creativity. Side by side on the sofa, Killian played the first clip.
The sound and scenes of Alpha Remus exploding in anger filled the room. I froze, staring at the screen. The Vale patriarch, usually untouchable, had just been verbally eviscerated by Alpha Killian. I had to suppress a laugh.
This was life with Killian Sanchez. Dangerous, wild, and utterly… wolf.
Killian’s POV
I watched the videos with a measured calm, but inside, a low rumble of satisfaction stirred. The voices on the line, Jackson’s carefully selected proxies, didn’t pause for breath-they tore into the Valefamily with an unrelenting barrage of words. “Blind and foolish, incapable of managing their own den, unfilial, unworthy…” The list was endless, unique, and sharp as a wolf’s fang.
I could sense their defenses, even across the distance. They had blocked unknown numbers, switched off phones, tried backup lines. Clever wolves, but my team was cleverer. They were persistent hunters, shadowing their prey with surgical precision. The audio, loud enough to bleed into the moonlit banquet, drew awkward glances. I allowed a corner of my lip to twitch. Discomfort was delicious.
Alpha Remus and his mate looked thoroughly humiliated, slinking from the hall with tails tucked, faces flushed. Even he-so refined and self-contained-let loose a curse, smashing his own phone in anger.
At the hospital, Celestine Ward nearly spewed blood from frustration as my proxies called her family with sharp, cutting words: “Homewrecker, false heiress, thief of nests, evil wolf…” I could hear Lykos and Tristan scrambling, frantic, trying to revive the situation.
Knox Draven didn’t last two minutes. His temper flared like a cornered wolf; he retaliated with a half-hour of futile counterattacks, eventually smashing Celestine’s carefully chosen device in pure rage.
My proxies reported back with precision. “Boss, unless they cut themselves off from the world entirely, we’ll keep at them like shadows. Three days of cursing guaranteed. Two days, twenty-three hours, five minutes remaining.”
Dedication and discipline. I could respect that. Background checks, timing, delivery-all accounted for.
I watched Wren-Moonvale’s stubborn little wolf cub-eyes wide, sparkling with glee, absorbing every syllable. She had never encountered revenge so surgical, so relentless. And yet, she was thrilled. Her small, human heart radiated satisfaction like a beacon. For once, someone fought back on her behalf.
“Boss… amazing, truly amazing! Tell me, anything you want, I’ll make happen,” she said, practically bowing with adoration.
I stifled a laugh, recalling the many times she’d been impossibly loyal, impossibly insistent on following her whims. My hand jabbed at her forehead, playful but firm. Even now, she tried to knead at my injuries like some silly apprentice wolf.
“Best thing you can do now is keep your distance,” I warned, amber eyes narrowing.
“Got it!” she bounced three feet away, a blur of human exuberance.
I frowned. Wolves should respect boundaries-but somehow, watching her retreat left a sour taste.
“Never mind. Come patch me up.”
“Yes, sir!” she chirped, eyes gleaming with the thrill of proximity. Her hands were quick and eager as they trailed over my muscled torso. I caught her mid-motion and pinned her gently, letting her squirm and plead until I finally permitted her to retreat to her own quarters.
All night, she’d run my orders without hesitation-sharp, efficient, yet with that flicker of joy she couldn’t quite hide. My wolf saw it clearly: Wren enjoyed watching her enemies kneel. She fed on the justice I delivered, on the humiliation of the once-proud Vales. And yes-the one million credits only made her satisfaction sweeter.
But when the work ended, the real torment began.
We had traded rooms for the night-her idea. She’d insisted I take the bed inside, while she slept out on the narrow couch by the fire. I hadn’t argued. It seemed harmless enough.
Until I lay down.
Her scent was everywhere.
Wildflowers after rain. Clean linen. Wolf musk so faint it threaded under my skin instead of across it. Every breath filled me with it, every shift of fabric carried her warmth. The bed was soft, alive-hers.
My control frayed. Muscles tensed. Heart hammered. The room felt too small for everything I was trying not to feel.
I should never have agreed to this.
Finally, I pushed off the mattress, the decision made. I would carry her to the bed and take the couch myself. Distance-that was the only cure for this ache clawing at the edges of reason.
But when I bent to lift her, her hand found me in the dark.
She murmured something broken and impossibly tender-“Grandmother…”-and her arms wrapped around me like a vine seeking warmth. Her cheek brushed my throat, soft and trusting, unaware of the storm she’d just unleashed.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled.
I-Killian Sanchez, Alpha of the Shadowbane Pack, predator, ruler, executioner-stood frozen, pulse thundering, caught between instinct and mercy.
The wolf inside me wanted to pull away, but the man… the man stayed.
And so I did not move.
I stood there in the dim light, her breath feathering against my skin, her scent flooding every corner of restraint I had left-and for the first time in years, I didn’t know which part of me she was saving, and which she was destroying.
Wren’s POV
The scream tore through the dawn silence.
Mine.
Before I could scramble away, a heavy arm locked around my waist, dragging me back into the solid wall of muscle and heat behind me.
“What are you yelling for?” The voice against my ear was low, rough, and threaded with amusement. “Sleep a little longer.”
Sleep? My body was rigid, my heart pounding like a drum. The scent of him-cold steel, burnt cedar, and something darker-filled the air. It was the kind of scent that warned every sane wolf to run. But his arm didn’t loosen.
“You-why are you in my bed?” I hissed, shoving at his chest. It was like trying to move a mountain.
He cracked one eye open, silver flashing like the edge of a blade. “Correction, little Vale-you’re in my bed.”
My jaw dropped. “I was sleeping on the couch!”
“You wandered in yourself.” His voice was thick with sleep, lazy, unbothered. “Didn’t lock the door. You must have sleepwalked.”
“I don’t sleepwalk!”
“Apparently, you do.” He didn’t even bother pretending to care.
I twisted, trying to break free, but the more I moved, the tighter his arm became. A low rumble rolled in his chest, half warning, half instinct. And then-spirits above-he buried his face in the curve of my neck. His stubble scraped against my skin, rough and intimate, and his breath slid warm against the pulse at my throat.
My wolf bristled, heat sparking under my skin. Every nerve screamed danger. And yet… it wasn’t just fear that made my body tremble.
“Relax. Nothing happened,” he murmured, voice husky and close enough to taste.
“Then maybe stop acting like it did,” I managed, trying to sound composed even as my pulse betrayed me.
He ignored me entirely, like an Alpha dismissing an inferior wolf’s protest.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“Killian-“
He made a sound that might have been a growl or a sigh. “You said you owed me. Sleep beside me for a month-we’ll call it even.”
I blinked, staring at him like he’d just grown another head. “Excuse me?”
“Just sleep,” he said with infuriating calm. “No bite marks. No claiming.” His mouth curved lazily, dangerously. “Yet.”
I froze. Yet?
Saints of the Moon. Was he serious?
