Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
I had found a pup in the forest-tiny, trembling, blood on its flank. I begged my parents to let me keep it, and for once, they agreed. I named him Ember. He followed me everywhere.
Until that day.
Celestine had cornered him while I wasn’t looking-jealous of the attention, or maybe just because she could. I found her standing over him, her boot pressing into his ribs. He whimpered, and my wolf rose like fire. I shoved her away, hard. She fell and screamed. When the adults arrived, she held up her scratched hand like a victory flag.
No one believed me. Not even my father.
The next morning, Ember was gone.
Wren’s POV
That night, Yuna Ward found me crying behind the garden wall. She knelt beside me, her scent heavy with something sweet and strange. “If your parents find the pup,” she whispered, “they’ll kill it. You must hide him. Take him to the glade. I’ll help you.”
I believed her. I searched the forest for hours, following his scent until the sun bled out. I never found him-only a patch of red-stained earth where his trail ended.
Finally, after my relentless efforts, I found the injured and starving Ember in the woods.
I couldn’t bring the pup home. The anger in my family’s scent, sharp and suffocating, made it impossible. My claws itched to defend, my wolf snarled at the thought of returning empty-handed, but I had no choice. Quietly, I slipped back to the only one who had ever helped me-my aunt. She had told me to hide the pup in the park and not be found. She would bring salves and healing herbs herself.
I waited. Hours stretched, the forest shadows lengthened, and the wind carried the scent of rain long before the sky broke. My paws were soaked, my fur matted with grass and bramble scratches, the pup trembling against me, weak and crying. My heart hammered with desperation and guilt.
The rain fell in sheets, soaking me to the bone, washing mud and blood over my skin. The pup’s cries grew faint, nearly swallowed by the storm. Fear finally outweighed patience. I couldn’t lose him. Not like this. I had to take him home, to my mother, to beg her to save him.
At the edge of the park, where two paths crossed, I saw her-or thought I did. My aunt’s form lingered in the rain, empty-handed, shadowed, almost like a phantom. I ran toward her, tears mingling with the downpour, my wolf leaping with hope.
The pup, struggling in my arms, twisted and wriggled. Its claws caught, and we stumbled. My body slammed against the wet earth. Everything happened in a blur. My vision flickered with streaks of gray and green. A scream pierced the storm, then a sudden, violent impact.
I saw her thrown aside, a fleeting, almost unreal sight. The pup was under the wheels before I could react. Orange fur flattened, small life extinguished in an instant. Blood, vivid and bright, blended with the rain, painting everything crimson. My senses overloaded-the coppery scent of death, the wet fur of the pup, the thunder of my own heartbeat in my ears.
Before I could even process the grief, I felt another force slam into me. I was knocked to the ground, boots sliding in mud. Alpha Remus’s roar cut through the storm. “Why did you run away from home? Do you know how long we searched for your aunt? You’ve killed her!”
The sound was a tidal wave-his fury, Celestine and Luna Evelyn’s sobbing at the side of my mother, the screaming of humans, the wail of sirens mingling with the rain, the frightened cries of birds taking flight. Even the echo of the pup’s final whimpers burned into my memory, along with the whisper of my aunt, carried away by the wind: “I’m sorry.”
My senses spun, the wolf within me screaming in anguish, but my body went numb. The world tilted, colors and scents blending into a nightmare haze. And then, darkness.
When I awoke, everything had changed. The rain had passed, leaving the world slick and cold, but the scar of what had happened lingered in every scent, every whisper of wind.
Celestine was leaning over me, eyes sharp and predatory. Her claws traced lightly along my cheek-not enough to mark, but enough to make my skin crawl. “Do you remember her?” she asked, voice low, dangerous, like a growl laced with poison.
My mind immediately went to the last look my aunt had given me before she was struck, that fleeting smile, that gaze-soft, full of warmth and trust, now ripped from the world. My wolf snarled in silent grief, teeth bared at the injustice of it all.
Celestine’s words cut deeper than any claw. “Why are you still alive? The Moonvale Pack needs only one daughter. When you weren’t here, everything was fine.”
Her voice dropped even lower, thick with venom and promise. It curled around me like smoke. “Wren Vale… everyone in this world can thrive… everyone… except you.”
Third Person’s POV
Downstairs, the wait for Celestine and Wren to retrieve the gifts stretched longer than expected. Alpha Remus could not resist peering toward the staircase with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
Luna Evelyn’s brow furrowed, her senses twitching. “Wren has a temper. They won’t start fighting, will they?” she murmured, her wolfish intuition pricking at her nerves.
Remus, for all his sternness, remained seated, ears flicking. “Not today. The day’s weight keeps her contained,” he rumbled, scenting the storm of emotions brewing above.
Lykos, the most impatient, stomped. “I’ll go nudge them,” he growled and started up the stairs, but Fenrir intercepted him, muscles coiling. “If anything erupts, you’ll only make it worse. I’ll handle this.”
The thought of Wren and Lykos-two young wolves, volatile and untamed-clashing in the confined space of the estate’s upper floor sent shivers down Fenrir’s spine. Their feral instincts, if triggered, could tear the room apart.
Reaching the second floor, Fenrir froze. From behind a door, a piercing cry, sharp with fear and pain, echoed. “Please! No!” followed by the harsh clatter of something heavy hitting the floor.
Fenrir’s claws dug into the wood, instincts screaming, and he surged forward. The sounds had reached the ears of those still below, and they hurried after him, senses on high alert.
The door swung open, and the scene that met them was harrowing. Wren stood across from Celestine, her posture rigid, a Swiss-made dagger glinting at her feet-the gift Fenrir had once given her for protection during a past Shadowfang kidnapping incident. The blade, once cherished and untouchable, now lay abandoned, a silent witness to the chaos.
Celestine’s eyes were red, tears streaming as she clutched the damaged portrait of Yuna, her mother, a vision of grace and warmth now scarred by violence. Fenrir didn’t hesitate; he leapt forward, stepping over the fallen dagger, steadying the portrait before it tumbled further.
“Wren! What are you doing?!” Remus’s growl thundered behind them.
Other members of Moonvale had arrived, drawn by the commotion, their nostrils flaring, unable to comprehend the intensity of the scene. Celestine’s usual composure shattered as she yelled, her voice laced with anguish and betrayal. “Wren! I know you resent that our parents left grandmother’s room to me! If you wanted it, I would have given it. But you burned it in silence? Why destroy my mother’s painting? She cared for you! Even in death, she deserved your respect!”
The scent of betrayal, anger, and grief hung thick in the air. Wren’s lips pressed tight, her jaw firm, eyes glinting with the unspoken feral restraint she maintained for years. She didn’t respond.
Fenrir’s nostrils flared. “Who else could it be? Only the two of you were here.” His voice carried the unyielding authority of the Alpha he served under, tempered by years of reading the subtleties of wolf pack dynamics. “Do you know how much effort Celestine put into that painting? Every discarded sketch, every sleepless night I saw her labor while others slept.”
Remus’s hand rose, striking Wren’s cheek-not in uncontrolled rage, but as the pack’s head enforcing order. “Apologize!”
Wren’s gaze dropped, lashes shielding her eyes. “I didn’t break it,” she said softly, voice edged with the chill of distant ice, the wolf inside her curling into a defensive coil.
Lykos, standing guard to prevent her retreat, sneered. “If not you, then who? You were alone with her. This is deliberate.” He hissed, the sharpness of his words almost predatory. “You killed a bond of trust, and now you attack her mother’s memory? The pack will not forgive this lightly.”
Luna Evelyn pressed her hands to her chest, voice trembling yet demanding: “Apologize!”
The weight of centuries of pack tradition and respect for the dead bore down on Wren. Memories of her childhood, the way Yuna Ward had protected her like a second mother, pressed heavily on her chest. The unrelenting gaze of her family pinned her. She had no allies here-her silence was both shield and defiance.
Even though her heart remained guarded, a thin glimmer of unshed emotion flickered in her eyes, unnoticed by the rest. Her spine straightened, claws flexed beneath the surface, yet she did not yield a sound. The pack’s unspoken hierarchy, the reverence for the dead, and her own wolfish pride wove a cage around her, forcing her to endure the scrutiny without a growl.
“I… I’m sorry,” she muttered, voice low and reluctant, more to steady her own heartbeat than to absolve herself. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to…” Her words faltered, almost drowned by the thunder of her own racing pulse.
Celestine’s sobs quieted slightly, her body trembling as relief and disbelief mingled in the air. Fenrir and Remus exchanged a glance, acknowledging the truce that had been carved through sheer force of restraint rather than ease of heart.
By the time the Moonvale family descended to the ancestral graves, the air was heavier than usual. Rain began to fall, a soft but persistent drizzle that mirrored the tension and remorse in every scent, every pawstep. Celestine laid lilies-Yuna’s favorite-while her damaged painting stayed behind, deemed imperfect for the eyes of the dead. Celestine promised she would create a new one next year, one worthy of her mother’s memory.
Wren’s gaze remained fixed on the wet earth, the wolf inside her restless but silent. Each drop of rain felt like the weight of the pack’s expectations, each gust of wind a reminder of her transgressions.
Then Remus commanded, sharp as any Alpha’s directive, “Kneel.”
Third Person’s POV
Rain poured over the Moonvale Pack’s ancestral cemetery. The scent of wet earth and silverstone drifted in the air-heavy, suffocating.
Alpha Remus’s voice cut through the storm like a blade.
“On your knees,” he ordered coldly, his tone carrying the full weight of an Alpha command.
Wren didn’t speak.
This was the grave of the wolf who had died because of her.
The photo on the tombstone was being washed clean by the relentless rain, and this time, Wren did not resist. Her knees hit the marble ground with a hollow thud, quickly soaked by the icy water running across the stone floor.
“We’re not asking you to worship your savior’s daughter,” Alpha Remus said, his voice hard as granite. “But at least don’t be ungrateful. Think about what you’ve done these years. You can’t even admit your mistakes. Can you face your aunt, Wren? You’ll kneel here today and repent before her spirit.”
Each word from her family was another lash against her skin.
The rain grew heavier, driven by sharp northern wind that whipped across her face. Even the umbrella could not keep it out.
It was cold-so cold Wren felt as if she had never walked out of that rainstorm when she was six years old.
After a long silence, Celestine finally persuaded the others to return to the convoy.
Soon, only two wolves remained: one kneeling, one standing before Luna Yuna Ward’s grave.
The silence stretched until Celestine spoke first.
“You know,” she said softly, “I used to envy you.”
Once, she hadn’t been Celestine Ward at all.
She was Celestine Voss, the daughter of a broken rogue wolf-Carden Voss, a drunkard, gambler, and woman-beater, who also happened to be a master at hiding his corruption behind a mask of civility.
For years, Celestine believed all fathers were like him.
Her mother, proud and stubborn, refused to ask for help from her kin or let the pack see how low she’d fallen. The two of them lived among rogues and half-bloods in the outskirts-isolated, surviving on scraps.
The pups around her called her “trash-born” and “mud wolf.”
She bit back by calling them “strays without a den.”
Their lives were nothing but tooth for tooth, claw for claw.
Then one day, she met Wren Vale-her little cousin from the Moonvale Pack.
The girl wore a floral dress and smelled of lilies and Alpha bloodline purity. Her golden aura was so clean it hurt to look at.
In that moment, Celestine realized there were wolves who lived under sunlight, not under shadows.
Wren had it all: parents who adored her, brothers who doted on her, a home filled with warmth and laughter. She was carefree-so bright it was infuriating.
The first time they met, Celestine hadn’t even dared to touch her, afraid her dirty hands might stain the fine fabric.
But Wren didn’t care. She pounced forward with a giggle, hugging her tightly and sharing candies and toys Celestine had never seen in her life.
Celestine hated her.
Wren’s light made her darkness unbearable.
And then, her mother began to change. Yuna grew quieter, more somber. Celestine overheard whispers, words soaked with bitterness.
Her mother told her once, with shaking voice,
