Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
The moment the bottle hit Knox, the pack hierarchy turned on its head.
Ironhowl wolves weren’t used to being challenged, least of all by someone from the Moonvale Pack. I could feel their uncertainty ripple through the air, a blend of fear and disbelief. A female wolf daring to strike a male Alpha-unheard of in their narrow world.
Knox was down, groaning, blood seeping into his collar. The rest froze, two already beaten earlier, the others too wary to make the next move.
They glanced between me and Skylar, calculating, but no one wanted to be the first to test us.
Skylar stood beside me like winter itself-cold, lethal, beautiful. “What’s the matter, boys?” she purred. “Didn’t you come here to drink? Don’t tell me you’re done already.”
The scent of fear rolled off them. One, a fat wolf with greedy eyes, spat, “You dare touch Knox Draven? The Ironhowl Alpha will hunt you down!”
I crouched, lifting the jagged half of a broken bottle. The shards caught the light, glittering like fangs. “Then he’d better hurry,” I said softly. “Because I don’t keep debts overnight.”
My wolf growled beneath my skin, hungry for violence. The predator in me was awake now, its instincts sharp and unflinching. I stepped forward; they all stepped back.
“Drink,” I ordered. “Didn’t you want a toast? Drink your own damn liquor.”
Skylar blocked the other exit, her smirk sharp enough to cut. “Gentlemen,” she said mockingly, “after you.”
The tension snapped. A tall one with glasses, his pride stinging, snarled, “They’re just females! Take them down!”
The packlings lunged together. Fools.
What they didn’t understand was that Skylar and I weren’t prey-we were huntresses.
The first came at me with a swing; I ducked low, swept his legs, then slammed my elbow into his jaw. The crack echoed deliciously. Beside me, Skylar was a storm-graceful, brutal, a Frostfang alpha in every motion. Her claws flashed once, drawing a clean line of blood across another’s cheek.
In less than five minutes, the bar floor was littered with groaning wolves. They clutched their ribs, their pride, and the last of their courage. None dared rise again.
I dusted my hands off and stepped over Knox’s body. His scent-iron, liquor, humiliation-filled the air. He was breathing, barely. Pathetic.
I turned to the few still conscious and jerked my chin toward the booth. “Sit,” I commanded. My Alpha tone slipped through, low and undeniable. They obeyed without thinking.
“Drink it all.”
Their trembling hands reached for the glasses-Knox’s own poisoned generosity. The liquor was high-proof, nearly pure spirit, meant to burn through a wolf’s veins like wildfire. Within minutes, their faces flushed red, sweat breaking across their foreheads as their hearts struggled to keep pace.
Skylar laughed softly, leaning back in her chair. “Boss!” she called to the bartender, “bring another round. Double. Charge it to Knox Draven.”
The bar owner, who normally wouldn’t cross an Alpha heir, smiled with almost perverse delight. “Right away, ladies,” he said. He knew who I was. Knew whose mark I bore once upon a time. The Moonvale Pack didn’t bow easily, not even to the Ironhowl.
I sipped my cocktail, unhurried. “And,” I added lazily, “add the cost of tonight’s damages to Knox’s tab. He can afford it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the owner said with a grin that was all teeth.
The battered wolves whimpered, clutching their stomachs. “Please-no more,” one croaked. “We can’t-“
Skylar’s eyes gleamed with frost. “Drink,” she repeated, voice soft but laced with Alpha command. “Or I’ll pour it myself.”
They obeyed. They always do.
I strolled to where Knox lay sprawled, his bloodied head lolling to the side. The smell of him-fear and defeat-was almost sweet. I gestured at the two wolves nearest me. “You. And you. Get him up. Sit him on the couch.”
They hesitated for only a second before scrambling to obey, hauling their unconscious Alpha like a sack of meat.
Wren’s POV
Finally free from the stench of liquor and fear, the wolves had time to breathe before I decided their punishment wasn’t over yet.
“Up,” I snapped. My voice carried the edge of my wolf, and even the half-drunk Ironhowl mutts jolted upright as if yanked by invisible chains.
For a heartbeat, they looked relieved-fools thinking I was done. Then came my next command.
“You,” I pointed at the one with glasses, then at Knox’s half-conscious form, “sit on his lap and feed him his drink.”
The glasses-wearing wolf froze, color draining from his face. I turned to the bulky one whose shirt was already soaked with sweat. “And you. Get behind him. Wrap your arms around his waist. Kiss his neck.”
The fat one stared at me, horrified. “M-Miss… please… that’s- that’s Knox Draven! I can’t-“
Skylar cracked her knuckles. The sharp pops echoed like breaking twigs. “Do it,” she said sweetly, “or I’ll choose which limb you can live without.”
The man’s scent spiked with terror-sour, bitter, pathetic. He knew we meant it. They all did.
Under Skylar’s frost-edged glare and my Alpha pressure rolling through the air, they finally obeyed. One by one, they shuffled into place, clumsy and trembling. The sight was so absurd, I almost laughed. Ironhowl wolves-once proud, arrogant, untouchable-reduced to props in their own humiliation.
The scene had a brutal artistry to it: a trembling man feeding his Alpha a drink while another clung to him like a lover. The others watched, wide-eyed, as if witnessing the downfall of a dynasty. Even Skylar, for all her icy composure, looked mildly revolted.
“Goddess,” she muttered, covering her nose. “I think I just lost my appetite for a week.”
“Don’t stop,” I ordered when one tried to pull away. “You wanted to play dominance games? Play them properly.”
He whimpered, feeding Knox another shot with shaking hands. Knox stirred faintly, his pride twitching even in unconsciousness. If he woke up right now, he’d probably beg for death before living through this scene.
Skylar rolled her eyes and stepped back, pulling out her phone. “Hold still,” she said, her tone wickedly bright. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. Lighting’s terrible, though.” She tapped her screen, adjusted angles, and began snapping photos with all the cold precision of a battlefield artist.
“Lift his chin,” she instructed the one in glasses. “Good. You-move your fat head out of the frame. No one wants to see that. Perfect. Now, more tension. Think passion, not funeral.”
Click. Click. Click.
Each shutter sounded like a nail in Knox’s coffin.
By the time she was done, every wolf in the booth looked like they wanted to dig their own grave. The stench of shame mingled with the sharp tang of blood and whiskey. Around us, other patrons kept their distance, pretending blindness. Even the bar owner busied himself wiping the same glass for the tenth time.
Skylar flicked through the photos, her grin sharp. “Masterpiece. You’d think Ironhowl had opened a new branch of entertainment.”
I couldn’t help but smirk. “Send me a few. Serena will want these.”
At her raised brow, I added, “Trust me. She’ll know what to do.”
The name alone was enough to shift the air. Serena Draven-Knox’s cousin, his greatest rival, the quiet storm that had waited years for an opening. Now, I was handing her one wrapped in silver ribbon.
While Skylar texted the shots, I leaned back against the bar, finishing what was left of my drink. The whiskey burned down my throat, grounding me. The night was thick with adrenaline, but satisfaction tasted sweeter than the liquor ever could.
Minutes later, my phone buzzed.
Serena:When did this happen? Are you serious?
Me:Tonight. Staged.
Serena:”Good. As long as no one’s dead. Knox is finished.”
Me:(*^?^*)
Serena:”Appreciate it. I’ll handle the rest. Dinner soon.
I could almost hear the amusement in her voice through the text. Serena always played the long game, and she’d just been handed a winning hand.
The Ironhowl Pack, proud and old-fashioned, valued dignity above everything. Photos like these, once released, would carve Knox’s reputation to the bone. He could try to call it an act, but either way, he’d be done. A perverted fool or a humiliated Alpha-there was no coming back from either.
In packs like Ironhowl, weakness wasn’t forgiven. Stupidity was worse than sin.
Skylar leaned against me, laughing softly.
“He’ll say it was a prank. It’s the only way to save what’s left of his face.”
“Exactly,” I murmured. “And he won’t dare blame us. Not without dragging Celestine into it.”
At her name, something cold twisted in my chest. Celestine Ward-Knox’s latest obsession. The reason he’d dared to insult me tonight. He wouldn’t risk her reputation for revenge. Wolves like him never did.
Let him choke on his pride, I thought. Let him learn that the daughters of Moonvale aren’t prey-they’re storms that swallow mountains.
Skylar signaled the bartender for water, her laughter still light. “Guess that’s one less Ironhowl pest to worry about. You think Serena will actually go through with it?”
“She’s already planning how to leak the photos,” I said, tucking my phone away. “Knox won’t even know where it hit him from.”
I stretched, rolling my shoulders, the tension easing out as the chaos died down. Around us, the bar returned to its uneasy rhythm-music thumping.
Third Person’s POV
Kian had been there from the start. He hadn’t planned to intervene-only to watch, maybe to step in if Wren Vale truly lost control. But as the chaos unfolded at the Moonfang Bar, he realized the infamous daughter of Moonvale Pack didn’t need anyone’s rescue.
“Not a rose,” he muttered under his breath, watching her command Ironhowl wolves into debasing submission. “More like a fire pepper straight from the Shadowlands.”
His lips curved in an amused whistle. The Frostfang female, Skylar, stood nearby, egging Wren on while taking photos like an artist painting a battlefield. It was brutal. It was glorious.
Somewhere across the ocean, Killian was bound to see this.
And Kian was right.
At that very moment, a message appeared on his comms-clean, direct, sharp as a claw:
Killian:”You’re letting my wife handle my enemies? Are you useless?”
Kian nearly choked on his drink. Wife? Since when had Wren Vale become that? He scrolled back, reading again to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated.
Wife.
So that was what the great Killian Sanchez was calling his supposed “ally” now.
