Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
Her golden eyes met his. “You already did.”
He tried again, desperate. “Your father, your mother – they all knew. I begged them not to tell you, because I knew what you’d do. You’d run. You’d burn it all down.”
A bitter laugh escaped her. “So you all decided I didn’t deserve the truth.”
Silence stretched. The moon rose higher. The wolves howled in the distance – an echo of grief that felt almost like prophecy.
Her voice turned to a whisper. “If Celestine never heals, Tristan… will you always go when she calls?”
He faltered. “Her mind is mending. Soon she’ll remember-“
“Answer me.”
He couldn’t. His eyes said everything.
Wren stepped back, the last light leaving her expression. “Then you already made your choice.”
He caught her wrist, claws barely sheathed. “Wren, please. Don’t give up on me.”
Her voice was cold moonlight. “You did first.”
That night, the bond between them – once silver-threaded and sacred – snapped with a soundless shatter that only wolves could feel.
Afterward, the Blackwood heir stood alone beneath the Moonvale cliffs as snow fell silently over the graves of the lost. His wolf howled once for the female he had betrayed – and then no more.
Because in the world of wolves, love was not enough.
Loyalty was the true curse.
Wren’s POV
The hearth crackled low, filling Killian’s den with the scent of pine smoke and meat broth.
I sat curled in a fur throw, my legs drawn beneath me, only my face showing. Killian said I looked like a snow cub – small, harmless, and far too curious for my own good.
“Killian,” I asked, watching him move about the kitchen with that calm, predatory grace only Alphas possessed, “if choosing to stay with me meant being branded a traitor by your Pack… if others used debts or honor to force your hand – would you let me go?”
He didn’t glance up from the pot. Steam rolled off his hands as he poured the broth into a carved stone bowl. “If someone can put you on a scale, Wren, it means they’ve already decided you can be weighed.”
He turned then, eyes dark as the mountain night. “And if he lets you fall, no matter what reasons he gives – duty, gratitude, morality – it only means the weight on the other side mattered more. He wanted to be a noble wolf, not a loyal one. That’s the difference.”
Killian set the bowl before me and crouched, pulling me effortlessly from the couch onto his lap before settling me at the table. His breath brushed my neck – warm, steady, and disturbingly close.
“But I’m not that kind of wolf,” he murmured. “You forget our second meeting, little Vale. For me, being called ungrateful or faithless isn’t even the worst of my sins. My claws have already been bloodied.”
I looked at him, startled – and yet my pulse betrayed me. There was something darkly comforting about how easily he accepted his monstrosity.
He leaned closer, until our noses almost touched. “If something is truly mine, I’d never let it be placed on a scale. I don’t compare what belongs to me.” His lips curved in a low growl of amusement. “But if you want to climb off that scale, Wren Vale… try harder.”
Try harder.
My chest tightened. Was I something he could still measure, still weigh? Did he mean I should win him – prove myself precious enough that even an Alpha of the Shadowbane Pack would guard me like his hoarded moonstone?
I had no such confidence.
It was impossible to imagine a creature like Killian Sanchez, the wolf called Rafe, losing control for anyone.
But still, I asked softly, “And how exactly should I try, Killian?”
We were too close. My words brushed his mouth. The scent of pine and wild mint from his skin tangled with the faint trail of green tea soap on mine. His pupils flared; the air thickened.
I saw his throat move as he inhaled. His breathing grew rough, primal – a rumble building in his chest that wasn’t entirely human.
Just as the tension coiled between us, a sharp chime echoed through the den.
A visitor.
Killian stilled. His expression darkened.
I rose, wrapping the fur throw tighter around myself, but before I could move, his hand caught my wrist. “Stay.” His voice was low, edged. “That scent…”
But I already knew.
It was Tristan.
Even through the rainstorm that battered the mountainside, I could recognize the Alpha of the Blackwood Pack – the one who had once promised me the moon and delivered a shadow.
“Open the door, Wren!”
His voice carried through the downpour, raw, desperate. “Please – I just need to know you’re safe!”
I froze near the entrance. I could sense Killian behind me, silent as a storm on the verge of breaking.
The pounding continued. “Wren, I know you’re in there! I just want to see you-“
The latch snapped open.
I stepped into the threshold, rain spilling over the stone steps, my hair damp, my skin prickling from the cold. A heavy coat – Killian’s – had been thrown around my shoulders, swallowing me in his scent.
Tristan stood before me, dripping wet, his eyes widening. “Wren!”
He looked older than I remembered, the proud Alpha stripped down to a soaked wolf begging at another’s door.
But the ache I’d once felt for him was gone.
“Leave.” My voice cut clean through the rain. “Disturb my den again, and I’ll have the patrols drive you from my territory.”
He flinched, disbelief flashing across his face. “Wren, I’m your mate.”
I met his gaze, cold as moonlight on steel. “You were my mate,” I corrected. “The moment you chose her, the bond burned to ash.”
He stared at me like he didn’t understand the language of wolves anymore. “I just want to talk. After all we’ve been through-“
“I’m done talking.” I stepped forward, claws unsheathing slightly against the wood. “Your presence dishonors both of us. I won’t let this end in blood, Tristan, so go. Take what’s left of your pride and leave me my silence.”
For a heartbeat, his wolf glimmered behind his eyes – pain, regret, that old protectiveness.
“We’ve known each other since we were pups,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll stay away from Celestine, I swear it-“
I smiled without warmth. “And if I asked you to see her dead?”
His breath hitched. “Wren-she doesn’t deserve that. You two… it’s a misunderstanding.”
Wren’s POV
Tristan stood before me, his scent sharp with rain and regret.
I gave a small laugh, one that tasted like blood and moonlight. “The Tristan I knew,” I said quietly, “never asked whether I misunderstood anything. He simply stood by me, without reason.”
My eyes flicked toward the small cake in his hand, its sweet scent clashing with the storm outside. “You came because you were worried about me?”
He nodded quickly, as though my tone carried a fragile hope he didn’t dare crush. “Tonight… I thought you might be sad. And-it’s your birthday.”
I didn’t take the cake. Instead, my gaze dropped to the faint glint of his watch. “The Moonvale graves are always visited at the same hour-you know that. But from the Blackwood den to the graveyard and back here shouldn’t take this long. Where did you go before coming here?”
He opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat.
My voice stayed even, though the beast beneath my skin stirred. “The last two years, you were always with Celestine on this day. There’s no reason she’d stay away now. We already clashed at the graveyard, didn’t we? So you went to Moonvale again?”
He flinched. The scent of guilt was unmistakable.
“Tristan Blackwood,” I said, lowering my voice, my tone like the edge of a claw, “your promises are nothing but air. Even when you whisper apologies, your feet are already walking back to her.”
My words burned through the space between us. “I will never coexist with Celestine Ward. If she stands beside you, then you must choose. But hear me clearly-whatever you choose, there will be no going back.”
Our severance had already begun the moment he turned his back.
“Wren,” he said, his voice cracking, his hand catching my wrist. “I’m sorry. Please-at least let me stay and eat the cake with you. Just this once.”
He still thought he could mend what instinct had already torn apart.
“No.” I jerked free. The motion sent the cake tumbling.
Sweet cream splattered across the stone floor-our last tenderness shattered like sugar underfoot.
“I don’t need it anymore.”
Then, from inside the den, a low male voice called lazily, “Wren Vale, come blow the candles.”
Tristan froze. I saw recognition flash in his eyes-he knew that voice.
It belonged to the one who’d once answered my communicator, the one he thought I’d used merely to provoke him. But if my resolve had already been set, if I’d already chosen another’s presence over his shadow, then the man inside…
I watched his jaw clench. Fury, jealousy, and the raw scent of dominance spiked in the air.
The voice had been casual, but to an Alpha like Tristan, it was a declaration-a warning to stay away from what no longer belonged to him.
Just as I reached for the door to close it, his hand shot out, blocking it.
