Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
“Because they’re too busy trying to survive,” I muttered.
There was a long pause, thick and crackling with disbelief. “You think this is a game, don’t you? You’ll march to Ironhowl tomorrow and apologize.”
My wolf bristled. Apologize? To prey?
“I’m not apologizing,” I said flatly.
“You will. The Moonvale Pack’s alliances are already strained, and I won’t have you wrecking what’s left of our reputation.”
His tone softened slightly, but it only made my stomach twist harder. “Wren… you can’t keep fighting everyone. You’re not-“
“Not what?” I snapped. “Not like you? Not tame enough to play politics while our so-called allies bite at our heels?”
I could almost hear him grinding his teeth. “You sound just like her.”
That shut me up for a heartbeat. He didn’t have to say her name-my aunt’s ghost haunted us both enough as it was.
When I spoke again, my voice was colder. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
He sighed heavily. “You’ll be at the estate by morning. That’s not a request.”
The line went dead.
For a long while, I just sat there, staring at the dark screen. The wolf inside me was pacing now, restless and defiant.
“Apologize,” I murmured, bitterly amused. “Right. If they can afford it.”
Third Person’s POV
Celestine’s soft voice slid over his like silk wrapping a blade. “Father, don’t be angry. I know Knox. If Wren apologizes properly, the Ironhowl Pack won’t pursue it further.”
Her words were gentle, but her eyes gleamed faintly with triumph.
Remus sighed, looking at Celestine with paternal affection. “You see, Wren? If you had half your sister’s sense, I’d live ten more years.”
Wren’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “You already know he’s in the ward, but you didn’t think to ask if I was hurt? Or do your Moonvale morals only extend to outsiders?”
Remus frowned. “Don’t twist this, girl. I heard what happened. You were at a tavern-again-and got into trouble with several males involved. You can’t keep visiting those dens of filth.”
“Celestine said that, didn’t she?” Wren asked lazily. “And you just believed her?”
“Enough!” Remus snapped. “Your sister speaks for your own good. She’s always defending you even when you make it impossible.”
“Defending?” Wren’s wolf stirred, her voice turning low and dangerous. “Knox Draven dragged me into a booth with his pack of mongrels and demanded I drink with them. He thought the daughter of Moonvale’s Alpha would sit pretty and pour his liquor. So yes, I hit him. Consider yourself lucky I didn’t take his throat.”
The silence that followed was sharp as frost.
Remus’s jaw tightened, his dominance pulsing faintly through the call-an instinctive attempt to rein her in. But Wren wasn’t a cub anymore. Her wolf pushed back, calm and unyielding, until his aura broke against her resistance like waves on stone.
He exhaled slowly. “Is that true?”
Wren smirked. “Why, does it make you proud? Or are you wondering if the great Alpha Remus has fallen so low that his blood can be mistaken for a barmaid’s?”
Remus’s roar shook the speaker. “Watch your tongue, girl!”
But she could hear the shift in his breathing, the doubt seeping in. Celestine’s hands froze mid-pour, her delicate mask tightening.
Remus’s voice lowered. “If that’s truly what happened, then we have every right to stand our ground. No pack insults Moonvale’s blood.” He hesitated. “You weren’t… harmed, were you? Did that whelp touch you?”
Wren’s grin widened. “Finally remembered I’m your daughter, Alpha? Don’t worry. I’m perfectly fine. Still alive. No need to prepare my funeral pyre just yet.”
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Must you speak like that? You curse yourself every time you open your mouth.”
She let out a short, cold laugh that carried no warmth.
Celestine, sensing the shift, quickly stepped in. “Father, please don’t be upset. Wren didn’t mean it that way. She’s just… emotional. Maybe she can apologize in person, to show good faith to Ironhowl. I’ll even go with her.”
Her tone was gentle, her smile sweet-but her eyes flicked briefly toward Remus with a silent cue.
Remus blinked, then cleared his throat as though recalling something important. “Ah, yes. Wren, your aunt’s memorial is in two days. Don’t forget. Be here early-we’ll prepare the offerings together before heading to the ancestral grove.”
At the mention, Wren’s expression froze. Her hand clenched around her phone until her knuckles whitened.
“I remember,” she said quietly. Then, without another word, she ended the call.
The flat tone of disconnection filled Remus’s office. For a long moment, neither he nor Celestine spoke.
Celestine finally broke the silence, her voice soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t realize things were like that. I only knew Knox was badly hurt and the healers said his injuries were serious. I was worried.”
Remus waved a hand, weary. “It’s not your fault. You were thinking of the pack.”
“What about Ironhowl?” she ventured cautiously.
He let out a derisive snort. “Hmph. The boy tried to toy with my daughter and ended up on the floor. They’re lucky we don’t demand reparation. The Dravens should count their blessings.”
Celestine bowed her head, but behind her composed expression, her thoughts turned darker. The Dravens’ fall would ripple through the packs like blood through water-and somehow, Wren would walk away untouched, as always.
She smiled faintly, her eyes glinting with something unspoken.
Wren’s POV
The day of aunt Yuna Ward’s death anniversary always leaves the air in Moonvale thick and heavy. Even the winds outside the pack’s estate seem to move slower, as if afraid to disturb the ghosts that still linger.
From the moment I woke, a dull ache throbbed beneath my ribs-my wolf restless, my pulse sluggish. I stared at my reflection: black dress, pale skin, the faint shimmer of gold in my irises betraying my bloodline. I looked every inch the Alpha’s daughter… yet felt like nothing more than a shadow wearing her skin.
Before the ache could swallow me whole, I raised a hand and covered the mirror-blocking out my own reflection.
By the time I arrived at the Moonvale manor, the scent of roasted grain and herbal tea hung in the air. The family was gathered around the long dining table, five of them-Alpha Remus, Luna Evelyn, Fenrir, Lykos, and Celestine Ward-eating as if it were any ordinary morning.
When I entered, forks stilled for half a heartbeat. Then Celestine smiled sweetly, that perfect, practiced Luna-in-training smile. “Luna Evelyn,” she called gently, “perhaps we should add another seat for Wren?”
Her voice was honeyed, her eyes glittering with amusement.
I looked at the five matching oak chairs-five, not six-and shook my head. “No need. I’ve eaten.”
No one argued. The air hung heavy with unspoken words. Even Lykos, the loudest of my brothers, didn’t dare make a joke. Grief had a way of silencing even wolves.
Luna Evelyn glanced at me, her expression a mix of yearning and restraint. My father said nothing, simply kept cutting into his food. The silence stretched thin until Celestine sighed softly, like she pitied the tension.
When breakfast ended and preparations for the ceremony began, Celestine suddenly gasped and slapped her forehead lightly. “Oh! I forgot-Mother’s gift! I left it upstairs.” She turned to me, eyes wide and innocent. “Wren, will you come with me? It’s a bit heavy, and I could use your help.”
Her tone was bright, but beneath it pulsed the faint hum of dominance-subtle, coaxing. It wasn’t lost on me.
Before I could answer, Lykos offered, “I’ll go.”
Celestine’s smile never faltered. “No need. You’re a boy, and boys have rough hands. The ribbons will crease.”
Her father chuckled softly, mistaking her poison for charm. “That’s thoughtful, Celestine. Go on, Wren. Help your sister.”
I didn’t argue. Not today.
Celestine’s eyes glimmered as we ascended the grand staircase. Behind us, Luna Evelyn watched with quiet hope-as if believing that one trip upstairs could fix years of buried venom.
Celestine didn’t lead me to her own chamber. Instead, she stopped before the door that once belonged to me. The scent hit me before she even touched the handle-stale air, dust, forgotten memories.
“This one’s yours, isn’t it?” she asked lightly. “Father said I could stay here for a while. My wardrobe’s being expanded-can’t have the future Luna living out of boxes.”
She pushed the door open.
The room was dim, the curtains drawn. Once, sunlight used to pour through these windows, painting my walls gold. Now the air was heavy with neglect.
She walked in, brushing dust off a table. “No one’s been in here for years. You never visit home anymore, do you, Wren?”
I said nothing. My wolf was watching her too closely to waste words.
On the old bed lay a painting-nearly my height, draped in white cloth. Celestine pulled the cover away with a flourish. Beneath it was a portrait of Luna Yuna Ward-her mother.
The woman’s smile was soft, eyes luminous, as if she were still alive in that single stroke of oil and pigment.
Celestine’s fingers brushed the painted cheek.
“She was beautiful, wasn’t she? Almost as beautiful as your mother.” Then she turned to me, eyes glinting. “Do you still remember her face, Wren? Truly remember it?”
Her words unlocked something deep in my chest-memory and scent colliding.
I remembered the first time I met Yuna Ward. I was six-wild, untrained, too curious for my own good. Yuna was kind, her voice warm as the sun. She smelled of wildflowers and pine sap. But her smile never reached her eyes.
Celestine had been different then-quiet, bruised, watchful. She hid behind her mother’s skirts, smelling of fear and damp stone. I used to bring them flowers from the garden, thinking it might make them happy.
“Here,” I told Yuna once, holding out a handful of petals. “If you take them, you’ll smile again.”
She did smile-but there was sorrow in it, a kind of knowing that made my young wolf uneasy.
I was too young to see the truth in her gaze. Too young to sense that pity can cut deeper than claws.
Celestine’s voice snapped me back. “Do you remember what happened after that? The day of your sixth naming ceremony?”
Of course I did. The memory stung like silver.
