Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
Wren-Wren Vale, of the Moonvale Pack, sharp as a frostbite night-was speechless at my unilateral declaration. Her lips parted, blinked once, then settled into that stubborn line she always wore when she was trying to measure me.
Yet I surprised even myself by considering her perspective. Her argument-emotion can be nurtured. Foolish, yes, but… intriguing. I knew alliances were stronger when bound by profit, power, and loyalty, not fleeting human-like feelings. But still, I let her think the notion had merit.
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” she said, letting the edge of her fangs show just enough to remind me who she was.
The glow of her phone suddenly caught my attention. I pushed back from the table, stretching my long limbs, wolf instincts humming with anticipation. “I leave in one hour,” I informed her, voice smooth as silk but cold as steel. “You have time to think. Reach out when you’re ready. I can’t promise love, Wren, but I will restrain myself enough to be the mate you need.”
Her brows furrowed, the tension in her posture, the way her tail flicked subtly beneath her sleeping form-even in civility, wolves reveal themselves. “And if I don’t agree?” she asked, sharp, wary, but curious.
“Then you continue to think,” I replied, letting a dangerous grin curve my lips. “I only accept one answer.”
Others might call such words arrogance, but I-heir of Shadowbane, wolf Rafe incarnate-had the authority and the instincts to back them. She blinked at me like a doe trapped in moonlight, instinctively aware she was stepping into a trap. And in some hidden part of herself, she knew it.
“Wait,” she said suddenly, voice edged with confusion. “You were leaving anyway. Why such a reaction when I asked?”
I shrugged, palms raised innocently, wolfish ears twitching. “Going for work and being sent away by some wild male-are they the same?”
“I didn’t send you away. What wild male?”
“A man coveting another’s mate,” I said with a casual bite of amusement, voice low and playful.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperation clear. “You’re taking this roleplay too seriously.”
I leaned down, the scent of my wolf rolling over her like a predator’s veil, and pressed a fleeting kiss to her forehead. Only a brush, yet enough to make her flinch, instinctively ducking into the contact.
“Killian Sanchez!” she spat, fangs grazing her lips in indignation.
“Good,” I murmured, voice like a growl disguised as whisper. “I’ll go pack my things now.”
She stormed toward the door, tail flicking, ears flattened. Alpha theatrics, all hers and mine, intertwined. I watched her go, smiling beneath the calm, knowing that the Vale pack and her tangled past would shove her back into my orbit soon enough.
I let my wolf stretch in the quiet apartment, claws scraping lightly across the floor. The plan had never been to simply use her-initially, I sought a capable, bold wolf to share duties, a mate who could withstand the chaos of pack politics. But after weeks observing her-how she dared, how she struck, how she flared with raw, unpredictable strength-I realized she might give me more than mere practicality.
Wren had fire; she had instinct. And the thought made my pulse quicken, my wolf stirring, sensing the thrill of a hunt that might last a lifetime.
The agreement wife-this “protocol mate”-I found satisfaction in the notion. She challenged me, teased my patience, tested the boundaries of dominance. And beneath the carefully controlled veneer, I could sense the potential for something more… volatile, thrilling, and utterly mine.
The door slammed behind her, and I leaned back against the sofa, amber eyes glowing with calculated anticipation. My claws flexed against the leather, a silent echo of the predator waiting for the perfect moment. Soon, she would understand that being near me was more than circumstance. She would learn that in the Shadowbane Pack, proximity is survival, and survival comes at the price of surrendering-at least in part-to the alpha who chooses you.
I exhaled slowly, wolf’s instinct settling into patience, letting the tension simmer in the room long after her departure. The Vale may have tried to cage her, but here, with me, Wren Vale would either rise-or burn.
Either way, I was ready.
Wren’s POV
I couldn’t get Killian’s words out of my head: “Marry me.”
They echoed in the quiet of my apartment, heavy and insistent, like the low growl of a wolf in the dark. I didn’t know what to make of it-not yet. Part of me wanted to hurl him out of my mind entirely, another part… well, that part shivered at the thought, secret and unspoken. My instincts were torn.
Killian wasn’t just any Alpha. He was the Shadowbane Pack’s crown jewel, and the scent of him lingered on my skin, even miles away. My paws itched to hunt, to run, to forget the human civility I forced myself to wear like a mask.
So, I decided to ignore it. For tonight, at least, I would let the city’s pulse run through me, let my wolf side stretch in the neon-lit chaos.
Skylar found me without effort. The Frostfang heiress never failed to track me down, and the moment I stepped into the crowded bar, she dragged me to a plush corner booth with that effortless dominance of hers.
“You’ve practically been hibernating in that apartment,” she chided, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “If someone didn’t know better, they’d think you’d discovered a gold mine under the floorboards.”
I smirked, sipping from my glass. Gold mine? No. But there was one Alpha who counted for a great deal… though I hadn’t told Skylar about Killian yet.
I’d kept my distance this past month, hiding Killian’s movements, avoiding any unnecessary entanglements, using deadlines and “work” as excuses to stay out of the Frostfangs’ reach. But here, in this haze of bourbon and bass, I could speak freely. I recounted the past weeks in careful whispers, letting the tremor of excitement show just enough to make Skylar’s eyes shine.
“Holy hell,” she breathed, leaning closer. “So all this time, you’ve been making moves in secret? Damn, sister, I should have known! Pulling the Shadowbane heir into your orbit? You’re going to own the Imperial City one day.”
I let my fingers trace the rim of my glass, keeping my expression neutral. “I haven’t decided yet,” I murmured.
Her laughter died into seriousness, a rare moment. Skylar’s amber gaze bore into me, her voice low but sharp. “Don’t go thinking you need to risk yourself over Celestine Ward. I mean it. You can wait for me to wrest control from my father. I’ll use Frostfang and Moonvale together-you won’t have to claw alone to survive. Killian may be powerful, but the Shadowbane Pack… it’s full of snakes. And him? He’s a storm. Ruthless, cunning, and… unpredictable. I’ve heard whispers-remnants of tragedies in the Sanchez lineage that point straight to him. One day, if he decides you’re expendable… you won’t just be outfoxed. You’ll disappear. No one would even find your scent.”
Her words struck deeper than any fang or claw could. She had always seen through me. Always had. The memory of how I’d pulled her out when the world turned its back on her-a rogue wolf in a human world-made her protective now, almost painfully so. Skylar wanted me to survive, to be loved and not just used. I allowed myself a faint smile, pressing my head against her shoulder.
“Guess that makes me your responsibility, then,” I said, letting the secret thrill of it purr through me.
“Relax. I’ll keep you fed, clothed, and alive,” she replied, a smirk tugging at her lips. “My father’s inheritance will be ours to split anyway.”
I laughed, feeling the warmth of our pack-like bond, teasing her. “Your old man might just combust if he hears that.”
“Good. Let him. Early death, early ascension,” she shot back.
The laughter and lighthearted trash talk kept the edge of tension at bay… until a voice as cold and sharp as a steel fang sliced through the air.
“Well, well. Two of my favorite Moonvale wolves enjoying themselves. Care for a drink?”
I stiffened, ears twitching. Knox Draven of Ironhowl Pack. His presence was a growl I couldn’t ignore. Ever since Celestine Ward-he swore revenge, he seethed, and I was at the center of his simmering rage. Knox had been humiliated in front of his pack, and I had been the spark, the thorn lodged deep in his pride.
He glared at us, trying to mask the fury that radiated like heat from a hearth. Skylar didn’t move an inch, and I simply sipped my drink, letting the cold comfort of it ground me.
“Your face isn’t worth my time,” I finally said, my tone clipped.
Skylar’s grin widened, and I felt her wolfish amusement prickle against my own senses. “I don’t drink with bootlickers,” she added, tilting her head to mock him.
Wren’s POV
Celestine’s tears had stained the hospital pillow in the middle of the night because of me. Knox-I could almost smell his fury-hated me as much as the entire Draven lineage would ever allow.
Celestine’s leg injury had cost her a critical promotion, a chance she’d fought for tooth and nail. Knox had a score to settle, and I wasn’t about to cower away. But here’s the problem: I am not easy prey. I am a Moonvale wolf, and wolves like me do not simply expose themselves. I could hunker in my den all day, curled up like a tortoise, invisible to those who would dare strike me. That was the art of patience-and Knox’s predatory gaze had never found me at home.
“Ah, what is this?” Knox’s voice rolled over the music like low thunder. “After all this time, the Frostfang lady and the Moonvale wolf won’t even grant me a drink?” His eyes were predatory, but his teeth were clenched-anger and hunger mixed.
The sound that escaped Skylar was a laugh, sharp and gleaming with wolfish mirth. Knox’s ears twitched-he felt it, the double-edged bite of our words.
Knox’s kind of wolf is dangerous enough on its own. His blood ran with Ironhowl dominance, and I could smell his allegiance to Celestine in every tense movement he made. Yet in the shadow of the rising young Alpha Knox’s cousin, Serena, he had been humbled. Even the Ironhowl Pack could not fully shield him from the weight of his own family politics. His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring.
He gestured imperiously at the bar servers. “Bring the drinks!”
A cascade of colorful liquid was placed before us. I barely glanced at them. “Not sharing a table,” I said coldly.
The wolf within him snarled. Knox lunged into conversation, attempting to corral me into a trap I had no intention of stepping into. “That stunt with the messages a while back-you were behind it, weren’t you, Wren? Finish these drinks and I’ll let it slide.”
I let my amber gaze sweep over him, unbothered. “Slide or not, your opinion is irrelevant.”
Knox’s fangs glinted in the bar’s light, a sharp warning. He proposed a bet, claws metaphorically out: if I fell before him, I’d kneel before Celestine; if he fell, he’d leave me be for three months and gift me a car. I snorted, cold as ice.
“No,” I said flatly.
“Then confess for ten minutes.”
I shook my head. “Not playing.”
His growl rolled low in his throat, and I could smell it-the primal frustration of a wolf who cannot dominate his prey. “You can’t lose,” he spat.
“I don’t respond to childish challenges,” I said, the wolf inside me rising, coiled and ready.
I saw the dark storm behind his amber eyes. Knox Draven might think he is Alpha, but Moonvale wolves are patient hunters, and tonight, I was untouchable.
The tension thickened like mist over the forest. The bar’s chaos tried to hide it, but it was palpable-my ears twitched at every subtle sound of claws on wood, the hum of other wolves moving around us.
Then other packlings-exposed and brash-ambled toward us. Young Ironhowl sycophants, greedy for favor. Knox’s teeth flashed in a grin that did not reach his eyes. “Tonight, whoever makes these two wolves drink gets ten thousand credits. No limits. Any method.”
They licked their lips, the scent of greed obvious. Their paws fumbled with bottles, but I could smell fear beneath their bravado.
A lanky one stepped forward, hand reaching for Skylar. The second he tried, a hard leather bag crashed into his face with a sickening thud. “Back off, gutter wolf!” Skylar snapped.
I tilted my head, amber eyes icy, and flicked a splash of liquor at the man leering at me. He squealed, caught between burn and humiliation.
The barlings froze. My fur bristled, every muscle coiled. One wrong step toward either of us, and they would find themselves flattened under fangs and claws. Knox’s own scent mixed with frustration, arousal, and the hunger to control in tension, a storm barely restrained.
“Knox,” Skylar hissed, “using such methods on women? No wonder your Alpha regards you with contempt.”
He growled, and raised the stakes: twenty thousand credits now. The packlings wavered, caught between loyalty, greed, and fear. I could smell every hesitation, every twitch of their tails. They were prey trapped in the den of wolves.
I licked my lips, tasting the tang of power, the scent of the hunt. Tonight, the Ironhowl wolves would learn what it means to underestimate a Moonvale predator.
Wren’s POV
Across the table, a few low-ranked Ironhowl wolves hesitated. Their eyes flicked between Knox Draven and me, weighing danger against greed. One of them finally spoke up, voice cautious, “Knox, you sure you know these two?”
Knox let out a dark chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Afraid?” he sneered, his canines glinting under the red lights. “What’s there to be afraid of? One’s a bastard daughter whose father never claimed her, the other’s a stray mutt kicked out of her Pack. You could bed them right here and no one would dare interfere.”
The wolves around us stirred, catching the scent of his cruelty. Knox’s gaze dragged over me and Skylar like claws. “Pretty shells, that’s all. You should see what filth they hide beneath their skin. And that one in the red-“
He didn’t get to finish.
Crash!
The beer bottle shattered against his skull with a satisfying crack. Amber liquid and blood streamed down his face, and through that dripping mess, I smiled at him-sweet, bright, unhinged.
“Well then,” I said, voice lilting, almost sing-song, “since you already know I’m crazy, you should also know-crazy wolves don’t follow laws.”
The words barely left my mouth before the crowd erupted. Screams pierced the haze of music. Someone shouted, “Murder!” and the chaos multiplied. Chairs screeched, wolves stumbled over each other, instincts overriding manners as panic swept the floor.
