Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
For years, Tristan had carried the weight of his actions with Wren-the fact that he could never seem to be enough, to be there when it mattered. But now, this-this responsibility for Celestine’s fragile state-was too much to bear. Her broken mind, the lies she wove, and the cold, unspoken guilt that followed him wherever he went, were all pulling him under.
But he couldn’t leave her in that state. Not when her broken heart was a reflection of his own.
When Tristan arrived at Moonvale Pack, Fenrir was waiting for him by the door. The tall, brooding heir of Moonvale looked at Tristan with sharp eyes that saw far more than anyone would like to admit.
“She’s not here,” Fenrir said, his voice flat, but there was a touch of concern behind his gaze. “She left earlier… and she hasn’t come back yet.”
Tristan’s jaw clenched, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Of course she didn’t come back. Why would she? She has a right to see how her
‘boyfriend’ is flirting with other women.”
Fenrir didn’t respond, though the weight of the situation hung heavily between them. They both knew what Tristan had failed to do. They both knew what had been slowly eating away at Wren-the fact that Tristan could never fully commit, never fully be the one she needed. His mind flashed back to all the ways he’d failed her.
“Celestine’s upstairs,” Fenrir muttered, not looking Tristan in the eye. “Maybe you should go see her.”
Tristan turned on his heel, fury rising in his chest. The image of Wren-alone in that damn cemetery, drenched from the rain, her pain thick in the air-tore at him, like claws scraping at his skin. But before he could turn around and leave, Celestine appeared in the doorway.
Her fragile body pressed into him with the urgency of a wounded animal. She clung to him like he was her only lifeline. “Dariusz, I need you,” she whispered, her voice high with desperation.
Tristan froze, feeling as though the weight of his entire existence had shifted in that one moment. He couldn’t push her away-not like this. Not with her fragility hanging on him like a curse.
The door shut quietly behind him as Celestine led him inside, her fingers trailing over his chest. She didn’t know, didn’t care, that Tristan was still thinking of Wren, of the woman he could never quite reach.
“Stay with me tonight, Dariusz,” Celestine whispered, her breath hot against his skin as she spoke. “I need you.”
Tristan’s gaze flickered. Stay with her. The words felt foreign on his tongue.
But that was the thing about obligations-they were never easy to break.
“I’m here,” Tristan said, his voice low and steady, though every part of him longed to be elsewhere. With Wren. The woman who had been bound to him, like a wolf to its pack.
Celestine smiled faintly, her golden hair damp against her flushed cheeks as she tugged Tristan Blackwood toward the bed. “Dariusz,” she whispered softly, eyes bright and pleading, “will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
Her voice trembled, fragile as spun glass. Then her fingers drifted to her throat-pale skin marked by faint, reddish claw lines, as though a wolf’s grip had lingered too long. Her expression turned troubled. “Wren got angry with me again today,” she murmured, her tone heavy with regret. “Tell me, Dariusz, what can I do to make her forgive me? Maybe we should just… get married soon.”
Her eyes lit with sudden hope. “If we marry, I’ll have a reason to move out of Moonvale territory. If I leave, Wren will come home again. She won’t have to see me anymore.”
Her tone was so earnest, so gentle, that even Tristan couldn’t find the heart to contradict her. She believed she was doing it for her sister’s sake-for Wren, who had once been her packmate, her blood, and the one she’d wounded most deeply without even realizing it.
But Dariusz was gone. The male she spoke of-the one she believed she still loved-had perished years ago, swallowed by the sea and the storm.
And Tristan could not bring himself to tell her that truth.
The words stuck in his throat, dissolving into a low sigh. “Let me tend your wounds first.” His tone was steady, measured, the way an Alpha handled a frightened wolf.
Celestine’s eyes softened. “You’re so good to me, Dariusz…”
Her hand came up, brushing along his jaw with the intimacy of a lover. “When you’re here, I’m not afraid anymore. You’ll stay with me, won’t you? Always?”
The touch of her skin burned. Tristan flinched slightly, guilt flickering in his amber eyes, but his voice remained calm.
“I will,” he said quietly. “I’ll stay.”
It was a promise he’d made a thousand times before, one that chained him more tightly than any oath.
Third Person’s POV
Ever since Dariusz had died to save him, Celestine had become Tristan’s burden-his guilt made flesh.
Years ago, before the storm, the three of them had been inseparable. Dariusz, charming and brilliant, with a laugh that could calm even the fiercest Alpha; Celestine, radiant and impulsive, adored by everyone; and Tristan, whose sense of duty had always come before his heart.
That was why they’d gone out to sea together that night. The waves had been high, but Dariusz had smiled as though he could tame the storm itself. He’d always been that way-drawn to danger, a wolf chasing the horizon.
When the storm hit and the ship began to sink, Dariusz had fought like a god. He saved Celestine first-dragged her through the freezing surf to a shattered lifeboat, his strength waning with each pull. He saved the others too. And when Tristan went under, pulled down by a broken mast, Dariusz had gone back.
He’d gone back-and never resurfaced.
When Celestine awoke days later, she learned what had happened. The shock broke her. She’d tried to follow him into the waves more than once. Each time, Moonvale’s healers brought her back-shaken, empty, her wolf howling for a mate that was no longer there.
Until one night, after another failed attempt, she woke from near drowning… and the first face she saw was Tristan’s.
Her shattered mind had filled in the missing piece. Dariusz. The one who had saved her. The one who would always protect her.
Tristan had tried, in the beginning, to tell her the truth. He’d tried to bring healers, mind-menders, to coax her back from the edge. But Alpha Remus and Luna Evelyn had forbidden it. Celestine, they said, could not endure another shock. Her wolf was too fragile. The healing had to be gradual-or she’d lose herself completely.
And so, Tristan stayed. Bound by guilt, bound by memory.
Every time she called him Dariusz, he felt the weight of the sea again-the cold, the roar, the sound of a life slipping away beneath the waves. And every time she smiled at him with those luminous eyes, he thought of Wren Vale, standing alone in the rain, unaware of how deeply the past still chained him.
He was the Blackwood Alpha-strongest in the East-yet powerless to free himself from the ghost of another wolf’s love.
Tristan had once sworn under the sacred moon to protect Wren. But oaths made in moonlight often burned like silver when broken.
After Dariusz’s death in the Sea of Storms, the packs called it destiny. Yet Tristan knew better. Dariusz had died saving him. The weight of that debt was carved into his bones – and into Celestine Ward’s madness.
She no longer recognized the world as it was. In her broken mind, she saw only her lost mate. And when she looked upon Tristan, she saw Dariusz reborn.
The healers said her spirit had fractured under grief, that the scent of the sea and the sight of silver light could drive her into a frenzy. But no healer dared tell her the truth: that her beloved was gone. The Moonvale Pack forbade it.
And so Tristan bore the lie.
He stayed at her side when her heat surged without control, when her wolf howled for the one who would never answer again. She would cling to him, call him by another name – “Dariusz, my moon, my mate”-and he would lower his head, letting her scent wash over him like chains.
He could not refuse her. Not when he owed her so much. Not when every breath he took reminded him that Dariusz had died to save him.
Even his father, Lord Blackwood, had said coldly, “Our pack cannot raise an heir accused of ingratitude. You owe her blood and peace.”
The Moonvale Pack had long since turned their grief into accusation. Wren, the true daughter of Alpha Remus, stood alone against it. She was born of the same blood as Celestine, yet treated like an outcast. Every wolf in Moonvale whispered that Wren killed
Yuna.
And so, Wren carried the stain.
She had no fortune, no allies, only the fierce pride of a wolf who had already lost everything.
Celestine, though a fostered ward, was Moonvale’s shining pearl, wrapped in gold and protected by sympathy. The pack’s favor, the lands, even Fenrir’s loyalty – all bent toward her.
But Tristan’s loyalty burned where it should not.
He was bound to Wren by an unspoken claim – two hearts raised beneath the same moon, a love hidden between rival packs. Their bond had always been fragile, but real. Until guilt devoured him.
After Dariusz’s death, every eye turned upon him. And when Celestine began to wither, when her wolf’s cries shook the halls, the elders demanded Tristan’s presence.
He had resisted – at first. But when the Luna of Moonvale herself said softly, “Stay with her,
Tristan. Your presence calms her wolf. She believes you are her mate… let her believe it a while longer,” – he surrendered.
And when he did, he asked only one thing: “Do not tell Wren.”
Because he knew her.
He knew the wild purity in her soul, the way she saw love as sacred as the moon’s vow. To her, deception was betrayal. Even pity was poison.
So the packs lied together.
Wren noticed the change. The distant calls in the night. The scent of another female on Tristan’s coat. The missed moons, the silences, the way he avoided her heat rituals.
Still, she said nothing.
Until the night she followed his scent through the frostbound forest to the Moonvale amphitheater – where she saw him cradle Celestine Ward beneath the falling snow, whispering softly, pressing his lips to her brow.
Celestine trembled in his arms, her wolf on the edge of madness. “Why does she call you so often, Tristan?” she asked, voice breaking. “Celestine Ward – she calls and calls. Tell me, what is she to you?”
Her voice was petulant, trembling, childish. Her eyes glowed fever-bright.
Tristan’s back was to the door. He froze as the cold air shifted – he felt Wren’s scent.
Her moonlit presence cut through him like a blade.
Celestine pressed against him, seeking warmth. His hands trembled, but he did not push her away. “She’s nothing,” he said at last, voice strangled. “Just a sister of the pack.”
Wren stood in the doorway, her claws digging into her palms. Sister.
The word tore through her like silver.
All the signs she had ignored now burned in her mind – the secretive messages, the scent of lilies, the unreturned howls beneath the full moon.
It had always been leading to this.
Celestine had taken everything. Even the only male Wren had ever trusted.
She left without a word.
Later, Tristan came to her. His eyes were red from sleepless nights, his scent heavy with regret. “Wren,” he whispered, “it wasn’t what it looked like. Celestine sees me as Dariusz. Her wolf doesn’t know truth from dream. She’s ill, and the healers said-“
“-that you must play her mate?” Wren’s voice was low, trembling, dangerous. “That’s your excuse?”
“She’s dying!” he snapped. “You think I want this? You think I want her clinging to me while I-” He stopped himself, pain breaking through the Alpha façade. “If you leave me now, I’ll lose both of you.”
