Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
“Does no one teach you boundaries where you come from?” I snapped.
“Boundaries?” He finally opened both eyes, silver burning like moonlight through smoke. “I don’t have any.”
I almost choked. “You-you can’t just-“
“Can’t what?” he drawled. “Share a bed with a wolf who screams like she’s being murdered at sunrise?”
“I screamed because you were in my bed!”
“My bed,” he corrected smoothly, voice full of mock patience. “Try to keep up, little Vale.”
If I could have shifted right then, I would’ve happily bitten him.
“Don’t you have a mate or a girlfriend or something?” I asked instead, exasperation and disbelief warring inside me.
“No.” He didn’t even hesitate. “Single. Unmated. No she-wolf.”
“Then maybe ask if I do?”
That finally made him look at me-really look. The humor faded, replaced by something sharp and assessing. His hand slid up my waist, fingers tracing the line of my ribs.
“I don’t care if you did,” he said softly. “From today, you won’t.”
My breath caught. “You-what-?”
But he’d already closed his eyes again, like we hadn’t just crossed twelve kinds of moral lines.
I lay stiff in his arms, glaring at the ceiling, every muscle taut. The warmth of his skin seeped into mine, his slow, steady breathing maddeningly calm. I’d known this man for less than a handful of days, and somehow I was already sharing his bed.
Tristan Blackwood-the Alpha I’d spent nearly two decades beside-had never once even touched the edge of my sheets. Three years of love, and not a single morning like this.
Maybe that said everything.
Because with Killian-whoever he really was-there was no pretending, no restraint, no walls. Just danger and something wild enough to make my wolf stir.
Fine. He wanted a pillow? He’d get one. For a month, I’d play along. Then I’d be gone.
He shifted suddenly, dragging me closer until my back was flush against his chest again. The weight of his arm pressed heavy around my waist, possessive. “Stop thinking,” he muttered against my hair. “It’s too early for that.”
I bit back a snort. “You don’t even know me.”
His lips brushed my temple-barely there, but enough to make my heart lurch. “You think I need to know you to keep you here?”
“You’re insane.”
He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through my bones. “So they tell me.”
My wolf paced inside me, torn between irritation and something far more dangerous. There was a pull between us, primal and unexplainable, and I hated it-hated how easily he seemed to read me without even looking.
“Get some rest,” he said finally. “You’ll need it.”
“For what?”
He smiled into my hair. “For surviving me.”
Before I could come up with a retort sharp enough to cut through the tension, a loud pounding echoed from the door.
Killian’s entire body went still. The air shifted-thick, electric, lethal. His eyes snapped open, cold and predatory, no trace of the lazy wolf from a moment ago.
“Stay,” I whispered, pressing a trembling hand to his chest. “I’ll handle it.”
He didn’t move. But the pulse under my palm was a growl waiting to break free. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t someone the world believed alive.
“Please,” I added. “Let me go.”
After a long, tense pause, his grip loosened.
I slipped from the bed, legs unsteady but determined. My body still hummed with the echo of his touch, my skin tingling where his scent clung-smoke, steel, danger.
Whatever waited beyond that door, it was safer facing it alone than letting a wolf like him off his leash.
The pounding came again, louder this time.
I crossed the room, pausing at the door. Behind me, I could feel him watching, his energy coiled and ready to strike.
Just as I reached for the handle, his voice rolled across the room-low, dark, and almost amused.
“Remember what I said, little Vale.” His tone sent a shiver down my spine. “You can run, but you’ll still be mine by nightfall.”
I didn’t turn around.
But the mark his scent left on my skin burned all the same.
Wren’s POV
When I opened the door, Fenrir stood there-dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.
My brother.
Once my protector. Now just another wolf who’d learned to fear my name.
He looked wrecked-like someone who had been running from fire for too long.
Maybe he had. I was the fire.
Ever since my coronation ceremony with Tristan turned into chaos, everything had gone to hell.
Celestine’s car crash, my public accusation, the pack’s screaming matches, the fight that sent Celestine to the healer’s ward, and finally-the Moonvale Manor burning under the full moon’s glare.
One thing after another, all of it traced back to me.
Or so they said.
Fenrir had been trying to fix the mess ever since, chasing after me like a desperate hound, putting out fires that I’d started-or that others blamed me for.
When he showed up now, I could smell exhaustion and frustration dripping off him like sweat. His wolf’s scent-pine and storm wind-was dulled with fatigue. Even the proud bearing of the Moonvale line looked worn thin.
“Wren,” he said, voice rough, eyes pleading. “Can we stop this war already?”
He tried for calm, but I could hear the edge of accusation under his words.
“You’ve made your point. The house is gone, Celestine’s injured, the pack’s in chaos. Father and Mother can’t take much more of this. They’re not young anymore.”
I folded my arms across my chest, chin lifting. His tone alone was enough to make my wolf snarl. “You want peace, Fenrir?” I asked quietly. “Tell me-how does it feel to be accused and condemned without anyone hearing your side first?”
He stiffened. “Not good,” he admitted after a beat.
“Then you understand,” I said, voice low. “Do you remember when we were pups? When Celestine’s roses withered in the garden? She cried, and you yelled at me for an hour. Made me replant them under the summer sun until my hands bled.”
He looked away.
“Or the Winter Solstice Ball,” I continued. “Her dance shoes were torn. You threw mine away before I could even explain. Neither of us danced that night. But at least she got your pity.”
He winced.
“And when I went missing on the pack’s spring retreat during our first year at the Academy,” I said softly, “you told everyone I’d tricked Celestine into following me so she’d faint and steal her spotlight.”
His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
I could see the realization dawn in his eyes-the years of unspoken wrongs rising between us like ghosts.
The truth was simple, cruel:
The roses were destroyed by a child from the visiting Ironhowl Pack.
The shoes were torn by one of Celestine’s admirers out of jealousy.
And Celestine fainted because Lykos dragged her onto a ride that made her sick.
But none of that had mattered. Not when I was the easy one to blame.
“You never gave me a chance to speak,” I said. “Not once. Every punishment, every glare, every silence-you made sure I carried it.”
He swallowed hard. “You were always at odds with Celestine-“
“I was different,” I cut in sharply. “That’s what you mean.”
My voice dropped. “Remember when I fought with that chubby boy in the pup school? The teacher called our parents, but you ran from the Academy just to defend me. You said your sister could never be wrong-that if she hated someone, it was because they deserved it.”
I stared at him, eyes burning. “What changed, Fenrir? When did I stop being your sister worth defending?”
He looked like I’d struck him. His mouth opened, closed again, and for once in his life, he had no answer.
He muttered something about making peace again, about how I should forgive, about how the family didn’t mean to hurt me. But I was done listening.
By the time he turned to leave, shoulders sagging under the weight of guilt, I could smell the regret bleeding through his scent.
He hadn’t even managed to say what he came for-to beg me to stop the prank calls, the howls in the night that haunted their den, the little revenge spells I’d scattered across the pack network.
