Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
The troupe’s messenger had just delivered the news: because of her injury, she wouldn’t take the Black Swan’s center stage. The role she had spent six months preparing for would go to a replacement. The part she had worked tirelessly to perfect-the lead in the international master’s new choreography-slipped from her claws like prey escaping the hunt.
And all because Wren had struck first, leaving her legs broken.
Celestine’s wolf, restless even under sedation, surged with rage. How dare Wren, once the quiet, obedient cub of the Moonvale Pack, now rise with such cunning and vengeance? The idea was unbearable.
She clenched the edge of her bed, stifling the wail she refused to let her pack see. Her pride and stubbornness masked the pain, but every fiber of her being throbbed with betrayal.
Tristan noticed the tremor immediately. The Blackwood Alpha’s eyes softened with concern as he approached.
“What is it? Why are you crying?” His hands hovered over her shoulders, attuned to both human and wolfic unease. “Is it the injury? I can summon the healers.”
“No!” Celestine snapped, gripping his wrist. “It’s not that… The troupe just told me that the Black Swan lead has been given to someone else. I… I feel hollow.”
She swallowed hard, forcing a fragile smile that barely hid the ache inside-a mask any Moonvale observer would read as pitiful, but true wolves saw the storm beneath.
Tristan’s amber eyes darkened. He knew how much this role meant to her, how every sinew of her soul had been trained for it.
“Wren acted impulsively,” he said, carefully. “I will make it right. She owes you.”
Celestine’s gaze sharpened, a small edge of wolfish cunning passing over her face. “It’s… alright. I understand. Wren has always been the grandmother’s favored cub. Claiming her territory was natural. If she truly wanted the little estate, I could let her have it. I don’t want conflict between you and her over me.”
Tristan adjusted her pillows, helping her upright, the weight of his presence both protective and reassuring. “Don’t blame yourself. That estate should have a share for you, and you need it now more than she does.”
He hesitated briefly, then added, in a tone meant to settle the pack-born pride: “She owes you this.”
To him, the house was nothing compared to the pain Celestine had endured. Wren was caught in her own pack-driven obstinacy-everything she desired, she had to dominate. She had never allowed herself to touch what Celestine once played with and discarded, not even once. Now, the estate was no exception.
Even if ownership legally transferred to Celestine, Wren would likely return, scenting her claim-and Tristan could almost see the storm brewing in her wolfish mind. Since the failed pairing, Wren had avoided him entirely, not even sparing a call. Her silence gnawed at his patience.
He glanced at her silent phone, irritation prickling along his spine.
“She hasn’t answered?” he asked. “Shall I try again? I can explain on your behalf-about that day at the crowning ceremony. You didn’t leave deliberately.”
Lykos, entering the chamber with midday sustenance, scoffed at Tristan’s words. “She’s dramatic. For a minor slight, she’s got you running circles. And after she put Celestine in the healer’s bed, you’re still making excuses for her?”
“Lykos,” Celestine chided, eyes narrowing, but there was warmth behind it.
The younger Vale cubs often played such games. Tristan remembered Wren as a little cub, trailing after Lykos, boastful: “Brother, I have a little sibling now. Want five minutes? No, one will do. You can’t live without me!”
He pushed the memory aside and redialed
Wren’s number. Several days had passed without contact, and his wolf’s instincts buzzed with worry. He needed her calm, her reason… and an apology for her violent act.
Unexpectedly, this call connected. The three in the chamber-Celestine, Tristan, and Lykos-turned their attention to the ringing phone.
“Wren…” Tristan began.
“Hello.”
Two voices answered at once. Tristan’s brow furrowed-the male voice, deep and drowsy, unmistakably wolfed in tone, held a magnetic rasp. His pulse jumped.
“Who are you? How do you have Wren’s phone?” Tristan demanded, tension coiling in his wolf-heart.
“She’s still sleeping,” the stranger replied, unmoved.
Before Tristan could press further, Killian Sanchez-Shadowbane’s Alpha, the continent’s apex wolf, known in wolfing circles as Rafe-hung up and silenced the device.
He leaned back against the sofa, single hand shielding his face from the harsh light, his wolf instincts relishing the rare calm after the storm. The morning had been chaotic: from parents to packmates-each call a hunt, a test of dominance, each one tied to the same target: Wren.
Killian, for all his fury and pride, found amusement in the calculated chaos of the Vale cub. Her aggression, her timing, the way the pack fumed-perfectly synchronized like wolves circling prey.
Meanwhile, Tristan remained tense, unable to shake the unease. A stranger-male, strong, cunning-holding Wren’s phone, sleeping in her den. The implications of this intrusion were immediate and dangerous.
He rose swiftly, intention sharp, ready to confront Wren-but Lykos’ dry remark halted him.
“Hah, what’s Wren plotting now? Even using a stranger in her games. Clever little wolf.”
Tristan’s amber eyes narrowed as he watched Celestine bite her lip, her small frame tense.
“Who doesn’t know Wren has wanted you since she was a cub?” Lykos growled under his breath, muscles coiling. “This time… she clearly sought out someone just to rile you up. Tristan, how could you fall for it so easily?”
Celestine shook her head slightly, fangs pressing lightly against her lower lip, a subtle sign of suppressed irritation and unease. “Maybe Wren is angry… but she shouldn’t play games like this. She is still a young she-wolf,” she murmured, her voice soft yet tinged with steel.
Tristan’s fists clenched at his sides. Concern clouded his judgment; he could feel the heat of his blood, the surge of his Alpha instincts. For nearly twenty cycles, he had known Wren. She would never truly seek another mate-her moves were deliberate, meant to provoke him, to test his dominance. And he had risen to the bait. The stranger’s voice on the call had ignited a storm in his chest, a pack-born rage he could barely contain.
“She doesn’t apologize, and she won’t,” Lykos interjected sharply, fangs glinting. “Tristan, you cannot forgive her this time.”
No other pack sibling feud had ever escalated to this-Celestine had ended up in the healer’s den because of Wren. The Vale she-wolf constantly rewrote the rules of audacity.
Tristan pressed his lips together, holding the weight of his Alpha restraint. To bend Wren, to force her to lower her head even for a moment over a dispute about territory-about an estate-was near impossible. Her wolf was stubborn, territorial, and cunning.
“She doesn’t even want to face me,” he admitted, his gaze darkening with the shadows of worry.
Lykos shrugged, unfazed, his ears twitching at the scent of rising tension. “Hiding won’t help. The anniversary of our aunt’s passing is approaching.”
Tristan’s shoulders stiffened. He knew that day-the scent-heavy memory of grief, the shadowed wolf-heart of Wren-it was the day she carried the deepest sorrow. Every year, it clawed at her like a hunter cornered, and she would surface, no matter the machinations of the pack.
Wren’s POV
I rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from my eyes, yawning as the shadows of evening crept into the apartment. It was nearly eight o’clock, yet I had slept like a wolf hibernating through the day, every muscle loose and exhausted.
Stepping out of my bedroom, I froze mid-step. A man-tall, imposing, and radiating cold authority-stood on my narrow balcony, speaking into a phone. Even without the lights on, his presence was sharp enough to cut through the dim, a spine-chilling chill that clawed along my skin.
I blinked at him, then muttered under my breath, “Who the hell are you?”
“Killian Sanchez,” he turned to me and said casually, as if he’d read my thoughts before I spoke them.
I blinked. The name… Shadowbane Pack. The legendary Alpha. The ruthless, merciless wolf that ruled the continent’s most feared pack. My ears twitched involuntarily. “You… you’re the Alpha of Shadowbane Pack? The one everyone says is cold-blooded and kills without hesitation?”
His expression flickered the slightest hint of amusement. “Guilty as charged.”
I sucked in a breath and turned sharply toward the kitchen, reminding myself: don’t look weak. Not here, not in front of a predator like him.
Meanwhile, another man’s voice carried faintly from the phone, updating him about the chaos my… unexpected actions had caused. Word had spread that Killian had gone missing, badly injured, and now Conor Sanchez was making his rounds among shareholders, scheming to sway loyalties.
Killian’s gaze followed me as I moved, lazily cool. “Ignore his little games, Jackson” he said, voice smooth, dangerous. “The higher he climbs, the harder he falls.”
“Alpha, you shouldn’t be exposing yourself like this right now. Don’t you want to retreat to… Shadowbane Court for recuperation?” the man named Jacckson asked, I guess it should be the secluded estate he owned-staff and healers always on call, and a place so massive that even a single room outshone my whole apartment.
“I have my own arrangements,” he said simply, eyes flicking to mine for a moment before returning to the night outside. “Keep your eyes on Conor.”
I nearly touched the boiling pot on the stove, lost in my own thoughts, when suddenly Killian’s hand shot forward. He grabbed my wrist, and the warmth of his huge frame pressed against me as the small kitchen shrank around us. My elbow accidentally jabbed him in the stomach.
“What-what are you doing?!” I exclaimed, startled.
He made a low hum, unfazed. “I can’t have perfectly good dumplings tainted by the scent of burnt meat,” he said, and calmly reached behind me to switch off the gas.
I blinked, realizing that if he hadn’t caught me, I would have scorched my arm. I gave a small, reluctant smile and grabbed the opened dumpling package. “Fine, fine… since the generous Alpha is saving my life, you’ll eat dinner too,” I said, deliberately mimicking
Jackson’s tone.
He raised an eyebrow, a trace of amusement curling his lips. “You’re inviting your savior to dinner… and that’s all?”
I froze, realizing I hadn’t even cooked his portion. “Hey, you are a guest under my roof. Wrapping a few dumplings for you is already mercy. Don’t you dare complain,” I said, lightly elbowing him as a warning.
Killian finally released me from his embrace and straightened, leaning against the fridge. “Ten million,” he said casually.
I paused mid-motion, turning to glare at him with wide, golden eyes. My pack wasn’t poor, but I was down to my last reserves after buying this place outright.
Killian’s gaze softened slightly at the intensity of my stare, though I caught the faint glimmer of amusement. “Consider it your lodging and meals while I stay here,” he clarified.
I huffed, suddenly bending over the stove again. “Yes, yes, my great benefactor. Please enjoy your meal.”
I shepherded him back to the sofa, then picked up my phone to order takeout.
“As the great Alpha, don’t you deserve at least one home-cooked meal from me?” I teased, though inwardly I knew my culinary skills were laughable.
Killian tilted his head, pretending to be displeased. “You only make three dishes, right?”
“Exactly. Fried dumplings, boiled dumplings, pan-fried dumplings.” I said innocently, as if that somehow counted.
Wren’s POV
I watched him glance at the takeout menu with that faint look of disdain, and my mind immediately started calculating. “Maybe I could hire a personal cook” -give them twenty thousand a month-and still make a little cut for myself as middlewoman. Easy.
“Not interested,” Killian said flatly, cutting me off before I could even finish my thought. “I don’t like strangers in my space.”
I blinked. Well, that was… Killian Sanchez for you. The Shadowbane Alpha. Cold as ice, meticulous as a wolf tracking prey, yet somehow, he could make my small kitchen feel even smaller.
We sat in silence on the sofa for five long minutes, eyes locked like two wolves measuring territory. Finally, Killian sighed, reaching across to cover my wide, bright eyes with a heavy hand. The decision was final. “Order takeout. Buy groceries. I’ll manage.”
Half an hour later, I leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled, watching him in the cramped kitchen. He was actually… cooking. My chest tightened with a mix of disbelief and pride. Somehow, having the Alpha of Shadowbane Pack cooking dinner in my tiny apartment felt… domestic. Wolfish, almost.
I couldn’t help but worry. Yesterday he had bled so much. And looking at him now, effortlessly moving among the counters and chopping boards, I kept expecting disaster to strike. My dinner could easily have turned into a one-headed wolf’s feast if something went wrong.
Killian caught my hesitation and, with a smirk, shoved a freshly washed tomato into my hands. “Try it. See if I can handle it,” he teased.
“Try what?” My brain stalled for a moment.
