Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
The stench of blood was heavy, filling my lungs, seeping into my skin. To me, it was as familiar as rain. My heart didn’t even quicken. This was my territory, my law, my justice.
Then, my phone buzzed.
The room fell quiet as I checked the screen. My men, still cleaning the scene, glanced up cautiously. And then they froze-because the moment I saw the message, the monster in the shadows smiled.
Warmth, of all things, flickered in my chest.
I typed quickly, slipping off my black gloves and tossing them to Jackson. “Clean up. I’m heading out.”
“Uh, Alpha,” Jackson called hesitantly, “you’ve got the Eastern Europe meeting in twenty minutes.”
“Postpone it. I need to water my little rose”
“…Yes, sir.” He sighed. “Our Alpha’s getting softer these days.”
Kian walked in just as I was leaving, his brows lifting in surprise. “Where’s he rushing off to? Isn’t he supposed to-“
Jackson gave a helpless shrug. “He said he’s going home… to water his little rose.”
Kian blinked. “…What?”
The legendary butcher of the Shadowbane Pack, the wolf who tore through three mafia clans and crushed his uncle’s rebellion-leaving to water flowers?
He’d think I’d gone mad if he knew the truth.
Because the moment Wren Vale’s name appeared on my phone, every instinct in me shifted. The Alpha in me softened, the wolf in me stilled.
Her messages came one after another, like soft nudges against the pack bond:
“Then hurry, I’m starving.”
“What’s for dinner? How about sour fish?”
“We’re out of green onions. Bring some back with the fish.”
“I want strawberries and yogurt. Pretty please?”
“Emergency! Snacks running low! (???)”
Anyone reading them would think she was the Alpha, and I was the one paying her ten million to stay fed.
But after weeks together, nothing about it felt wrong. It felt… natural.
If Jackson or Kian ever saw her bossing me around like that, they’d probably faint on the spot.
Fortunately for them, no one but me was allowed near her den.
Third Person’s POV
Killian left the compound with a rare lightness in his chest.
Even though the messages from Wren kept flooding in-complaints, reminders, little threats about her hunger-his mood didn’t darken in the slightest.
He approved the dinner menu she sent, but exercised his Alpha veto over her growing list of snacks.
Leaving the supermarket, he made a brief detour to a private patisserie known only to the upper packs. He waited patiently among humans and lesser wolves, finally securing a small strawberry cake.
Conor’s curses still echoed in his head-how no one would ever love him-but Killian found them meaningless. Love was a fragile, human thing. He didn’t need it. He only claimed what was his, and once claimed, he never let go.
Wren-his delicate little rose from the
Moonvale Pack-wasn’t something he’d call love, not yet. But she had already been marked in his mind, placed under his protection.
A fragile bloom, perhaps, but one he didn’t mind nurturing.
His pleasant mood, however, soured the moment he reached her apartment building-and saw the pest waiting downstairs.
Tristan Blackwood.
The once-proud Alpha of the Blackwood Pack, now reduced to a lovesick shadow haunting her territory.
Killian’s jaw tightened. The air around him crackled with suppressed dominance, the scent of danger curling like smoke.
Tristan had been waiting Wren’s regrets for weeks, guilt and desperation etched into every line of his face. He had told himself he was waiting for Wren to calm down, to reach out first. But as days bled into nights, and her silence stretched on, anxiety hollowed him out.
He replayed their last argument endlessly-her fire, his pride. He thought of the small cottage that had burned down, the one tied to Wren’s late grandmother. The Moonvale Pack had tried to hide the truth, worried Celestine’s fragile health would worsen. But when Luna Evelyn brought up the land deed, she’d been forced to admit it: the place was gone.
Celestine had wept, heartbroken.
“That was Grandmother’s most precious thing. How could Wren be so cruel?”
Evelyn had comforted her gently, promising to find something “just as meaningful.”
Celestine’s words echoed in Tristan’s ears, but he had only half-listened. He knew how deeply Wren loved her grandmother. If Celestine was this distraught, what must Wren have felt-what despair had pushed her to burn it all down?
Regret clawed at him. When she’d needed him most, he hadn’t been there.
He tried to call-blocked.
Went to her home-no answer.
He’d even considered alerting the city patrols, until Skylar cursed him out over the phone and told him Wren was fine.
Fine-but unwilling to see him.
Now, night after night, he waited below her window, watching the faint light through her curtains. He’d knocked until the guards were summoned. His once-proud posture had wilted, and the Alpha of the East looked more like a beggar in love.
His mother had noticed.
She remembered Wren as a bright, sweet pup-the darling of the Moonvale Pack. But over time, resentment had crept in as the Wards became more favored, as Celestine’s delicate health won sympathy and status.
Watching her son return each night defeated, she snapped.
“Maybe it would have been better if your engagement was with Celestine instead.”
She hadn’t expected the look he gave her-feral, deadly.
“I will only ever marry Wren,” he said, voice low and trembling.
“Then why,” his mother shot back coldly, “do you always choose Celestine over her?”
Her words cut like claws.
Even she could see how the Moonvale elders preferred Celestine, how Wren had grown up in their shadow-and yet Tristan had still stood against her, time and again. Out of guilt. Out of cowardice.
Leaving home that night, Tristan went back to her apartment again, driven by the same desperate hope: that she’d finally open the door.
But to Killian, the scene was nothing short of disgusting.
The Alpha loitering around his territory, tainting the scent of his little rose.
He exhaled slowly, suppressing the growl that threatened to break free.
A pest. A crawling parasite that fed on regret.
He wondered, almost idly, if he should break Tristan’s legs-or dig out those pleading eyes.
The thought brought him a calm sort of satisfaction.
He’d investigated Tristan before-his history with Wren was in every report.
The rejected proposal, the misplaced loyalty, the pathetic begging.
Even now, Tristan’s presence was a stench in the night air.
“Crawling bug,” Killian murmured to himself, sliding his hands into his pockets, eyes glowing faintly with the shadowed gold of his wolf. “Doesn’t know when to stay out of another Alpha’s den.”
Killian’s POV
I could have crushed the pest lingering outside her building-snapped his spine, let his blood stain the pavement, ended the problem for good.
But between killing an eyesore and going home to feed my little rose, I didn’t hesitate for long.
Even a beast knows priorities.
I’ve heard that a dead “white moon” burns brighter in memory than a living one ever could. Perhaps that’s true. But I’m not the sentimental type.
And I’m not saying I want to “fall in love” with Wren Vale. Love is a fragile, human thing. I don’t need it.
Still, I’ll be damned if my pet keeps thinking about another man.
Letting that Alpha from Blackwood die quickly would be too merciful. No-peeling him apart, layer by layer, until his pretty lies and rotting insides were bared before her… that would be far more satisfying. I want her to look at him and feel disgust instead of longing.
As I drove, my wolf-Rafe-purred beneath my skin, already crafting a hundred and eight ways to make them sever for good.
Maybe start with humiliation. Maybe a scandal. Maybe fear.
The thought alone made me grin.
