Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
“Out,” he said, voice clipped, wolf pacing beneath the words.
“Your grandfather’s lunar day is soon. You promised to help me choose his offerings.”
“Later, Mother.” His eyes glowed faintly gold.
“Not now.”
Her tone cut through the air. “What business could be so urgent? The Moonvale wolves are holding a burial. You have no right to intrude.”
He bared his teeth, frustration rising. “Don’t I? Do you even remember what day it is for Wren?”
Lady Blackwood’s expression hardened. “And what will Celestine think if she hears of this? You running to her rival’s side again?”
“I don’t care what Celestine thinks.”
“You should,” she replied, voice cool, ancient. “When the two of them clash-and they will-whose side will you take?”
His answer came without pause. “Wren’s.”
The silence that followed was heavier than thunder. Lady Blackwood regarded him for a long moment, then sighed. “You’re too much like your father. Fine. Go if you must-but remember this: if you go too soon, you’ll only fan the fire. Let her fall first… then be the one to catch her.”
Her words stung, but he said nothing. By the time he finally left, two hours had passed-two hours that would soon weigh on him like a curse.
The drive to the Moonvale cemetery was long, the rain endless. Lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the dark forest that guarded the burial grounds. The roads were slick and nearly deserted; even the lesser wolves kept to shelter. Tristan’s wolf pressed close beneath his skin, restless, growling, urging him faster.
He called Fenrir Vale on the way, his voice already edged with dread.
“What?” Tristan’s tone was sharp enough to cut steel. “You left her alone there? In this storm?”
Fenrir’s voice was low, weary. “She struck Celestine in front of Luna Evelyn. What could I do? She refused to come back.”
Tristan barely heard the rest. His claws flexed against the steering wheel. “You know that place is isolated! No shelter, no taxis-she’s alone out there!”
Fenrir hesitated, guilt creeping into his tone. “She might’ve caught a chill. I’ll send someone from our house to check-“
“No need,” Tristan snapped. “I’ll find her myself.”
He hung up and slammed his foot on the pedal. The forest blurred past, the scent of rain and earth thick in the air. His wolf snarled inside him, fierce and anxious. Too long. You waited too long.
When he finally reached the cemetery gates, the world was gray and drowning. The scent of lilies and wet stone filled the air. As he stepped out of the car, his senses sharpened-ears twitching to every distant rustle, eyes glowing in the stormlight.
Then he saw them.
A tall male figure was descending the mountain path, carrying a limp woman in his arms. Rain streaked across the man’s dark coat as he opened the door of a black Rolls-Royce and set her inside. The woman’s face was hidden-half-buried against his chest, the hood of his coat shielding her completely from view.
Still, as the wind shifted, a trace of scent drifted toward Tristan-wild moonlight tangled with crushed white roses. It struck something deep and wordless inside him.
He couldn’t place it, but his wolf stirred restlessly beneath his skin, claws flexing in silence.
By the time he drew another breath, the car was already gone, swallowed by rain and mist.
It took him several heartbeats to move. Then, with a snarl building in his throat, he ran-up the muddy hill, past the iron gates, through the sheets of rain that soaked him to the bone. His wolf half-surfaced, claws tearing through the wet soil as he searched for her scent.
But she was gone.
Only the graveyard remained, silent and cold. A wilted bouquet of lilies lay half-buried in the mud-hers. He knelt beside them, rain streaming down his face, chest rising with ragged breaths. The world smelled of loss.
He had waited two hours too long.
Under the storm’s hollow roar, Tristan bowed his head. The scent of her lingered like a ghost-sweet, fading, and unbearably familiar.
He and Wren-two wolves bound by the same cursed moon-were once again a heartbeat too late for each other.
Wren’s POV
The car’s interior was warm, but my clothes were soaked, clinging to my skin like a second skin. I sat on his lap, Killian’ scent all around me, a mixture of earthy musk and something darker-dangerous and calming all at once. His arm was around my waist, keeping me close, while he used a towel to gently wipe away the rain that still clung to my face.
“I’ve soaked your car,” I murmured, the words coming out slow, heavy with exhaustion.
He didn’t respond immediately, just continued drying my face with a softness that didn’t match his usual edge. “Mm, so, I’ll punish you next time,” he said, the low growl in his voice vibrating in my chest.
“Punish?” I leaned back into his chest, the scent of wet earth and rain mixing with his. “I thought you were away, overseas?”
I recalled that Killian wouldn’t be back for another two weeks. Yet, here he was, right beside me.
“Yeah,” Killian replied, his voice so calm, almost detached, as though the world was a game he always won. “But when I remembered today was important…” He trailed off, eyes hardening slightly as he looked out into the rain-soaked night. “I couldn’t stay away.”
“Important?” I asked, the word a mere hum of curiosity as I nestled deeper into his warmth.
“The future Mrs. Sanchez’s birthday.” His words were laced with an unexpected tenderness, though there was a flicker of something darker behind them.
I felt a pang in my chest at the mention of birthdays. It was a day that held no meaning for anyone else in the world-except for Killian.
I was lost in the scent of him, the scent of the rain, and the warmth that enveloped me like a blanket. But then, as though I was finally waking from a fog, I noticed something beside me-a large, carefully wrapped cake sat on the seat next to us, the soft pink frosting and elegant design unmistakable.
“Killian,” I murmured, a touch of disbelief in my voice. “You’re aware they say this is a day that shouldn’t be celebrated, right? It’s a cursed day. They say it’s… unlucky.”
He scoffed, low and filled with dismissive laughter. “Who says that? They’re all idiots. If a day brought you into this world, it’s the most precious day there is.”
His fingers tilted my chin up gently, his eyes locking with mine. I could feel the pressure of his gaze-his dominance wrapped in that quiet, yet firm assurance. “Tell me, my Luna… Does it make you happy, celebrating today?”
I swallowed, a strange sensation rising in my chest. The warmth from his touch, his words, the bond I couldn’t explain… it all wrapped me in a cocoon of safety, and I nodded, though I felt as if my own heartbeat had shifted slightly off track.
He smiled, a slow, predatory smile, and reached up to stroke my hair. His touch was rough, but it carried that same hidden tenderness that always seemed to reach deeper than I wanted it to. “Good. Then that’s all that matters.”
I couldn’t stop the small, tired sigh that escaped me as I let myself relax into his embrace. It felt safe here. It felt like home, even if it wasn’t.
Then something shifted in the air. Killian had that look again-the calculating one. I tilted my head slightly, catching his sharp, amused smirk. “Are you this good to all your partners, Killian?”
His hand gently pinched my cheek, and I found myself caught off guard. “I don’t have that many fiancés, Wren,” he replied with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
I blinked slowly, something stirring in my gut. Fiancé. Was this really all just about an agreement, a contract, a match of convenience? The thought left me cold, but then again… I had come to terms with this arrangement long ago.
Still, something about it didn’t sit right with me. I forced myself to breathe deeper, to ignore the gnawing feeling in my chest, and instead, I leaned further into him, relishing the heat that radiated off his body.
Killian didn’t notice my shift in mood-he was already focused on something else, a glint of something unspoken passing through his eyes as he glanced at the cake. Then he looked at me, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been quiet… What’s on your mind?”
I hesitated, staring at the cake. “Shouldn’t you be worried about how… Celestine might feel?” The question hung in the air, biting at the edges of my consciousness.
Killian’ chuckle was dark, a low rumble that reverberated through his chest and settled in my stomach. “Celestine? She can think whatever she likes. I’m here with you.” His hand moved from my face to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my damp hair, and his voice dropped to a low, possessive tone. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A shiver ran down my spine at his words, and despite the deep, gnawing ache in my chest, a part of me couldn’t stop the instinctive pull toward him. Stay close. Don’t let go.
When we finally made it to the bathroom, Killian was still holding me as though I were something delicate, something precious. His grip on me was firm, like he was holding something far more fragile than just a woman. “You want me to help you wash up?” he teased, the words carrying that playful edge I had learned to both fear and crave.
I blinked slowly, still half-dazed from the overwhelming emotions of the day. My eyes met his-no words, just an understanding. I pushed him away, almost instinctively, and didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.
Instead, I simply looked at him, letting the cool air hit my face. Killian just sighed in response, his fingers grazing my chin before he turned away and stepped out. He knew me too well-knew how to handle me, when to back off.
He was back moments later, though, carrying fresh clothes for me, including a nightgown that made me flush once I saw it. I glanced at him with narrowed eyes. “Why did you bring this?”
Killian kept his gaze averted, his voice teasing as always. “What? You like going without, don’t you? I don’t mind either way.” He didn’t meet my eyes, though I could sense the tension coiling beneath his words, the barely contained frustration.
I huffed, pushing him out of the room, the irritation and embarrassment coloring my face. “Out.”
Third Person’s POV
As soon as Killian stepped into the room, his expression shifted. The warm, teasing mask he wore in front of Wren was quickly replaced with the cold, ruthless mask that he showed the world. He pulled out his phone and dialed, his voice low and commanding.
“Has Moonvale Pack made contact with the project in the East District?”
A mocking tone came through the line. “What’s wrong? Did Moonvale Pack piss you off? I hear they’ve been pushing for this project-it’s been their main focus for years now. And I also hear their young heir has been on it for nearly three years.”
Killian’s eyes narrowed as he clenched his fist around the phone. “Fire the team. Give it to their rivals-Redmoon Pack.”
He heard the laugh at the other end, an amused edge to the words. “You’re not holding a grudge over Moonvale, are you? And this project… it’s the key to their transformation.”
Killian’s jaw tightened, his wolf stirring beneath his skin. He could feel the surge of power, the primal urge to tear down every obstacle in his path. His voice was like ice as he responded. “They can’t manage their own family. They’re unfit for anything. And while we’re at it, give them something to occupy their time. They’re getting too comfortable.”
He didn’t need to explain further. Too comfortable meant a threat. A threat that had been a constant-Wren. The one person he was willing to break his principles for. The one person his pride couldn’t touch.
The project in the East District wasn’t just a business opportunity-it was a statement. A message to Moonvale, to anyone who dared to try and threaten what was his.
Killian took a breath, forcing his wolf back into submission. He turned toward the kitchen, his hands tightening as he decided to brew ginger tea. He would need to calm the storm brewing in his blood before it consumed him.
Meanwhile,Wren’s absence from Moonvale left an uncomfortable void in Tristan’s mind.
He had called Wren earlier, but her phone had been unreachable. He had no idea where she was, but one thing was clear-she was no longer at the pack’s compound. A deep sense of worry crept into Tristan’s chest as he sat in his car, the frustration gnawing at him.
His phone buzzed in his hand, and he looked at the screen-it was Celestine. For a split second, he debated ignoring it. The tension between him and Celestine had been suffocating lately, and the thought of dealing with her made his stomach churn. But the phone kept ringing, insistent.
Finally, he answered, his tone clipped. “Celestine, what’s wrong?”
The voice on the other end was trembling, barely a whisper, but there was no mistaking the panic in it. “Dariusz… it’s thundering. I’m scared. Where are you?”
Tristan froze. The mention of that name hit him like a physical blow. The mention of Dariusz dredged up memories-too many memories that were suffocating, and overwhelming. He gripped the steering wheel, his vision blurring as the memories of Dariusz’s pain hit him like a flood.
The weight of a life lost.
