Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
Pain split the air-a sharp thud, the scent of blood. He’d caught his hand in the frame, but didn’t flinch. His eyes burned crimson. “Who’s inside? Why is he here?”
“It’s none of your concern.” I frowned, trying to shut the door again.
But he shoved it open, fury cracking his restraint.
It was the posture of a male catching his rival at his Luna’s den.
We’d known each other since childhood; he could smell truth from a heartbeat away. The voice inside wasn’t one he recognized. That only made it worse. To rise so swiftly from stranger to the one sharing my table-he could only assume the man sought something more than comfort.
The den wasn’t large. One glance, and everything lay exposed.
His gaze found the dining table first-the bowl of broth still steaming, the dishes set for two, and the birthday cake glowing with small flickering candles.
That fragile flame hurt him more than fire ever could.
Now he understood why I said I didn’t need his cake. Because he was too late.
His eyes turned to the one who had prepared all this. Killian-tall, dangerous, with the aura of an Alpha forged in iron. Sharp-boned, calm-eyed, his shadow thick with the power of the Shadowbane Pack.
Under the candlelight, his features were cut from the night itself-strong brow, straight nose, and a jaw that spoke of battles survived.
Third Person’s POV
Killian sat calmly at the table, dressed in black as night, his every motion steeped in quiet power. His long fingers toyed idly with the birthday cake before him. Even when he sensed the intruder crossing the threshold, his gaze didn’t waver, nor did his brow twitch. The air around him shimmered faintly with Alpha command-an unspoken dominion that pressed down like the weight of the moon.
When Tristan caught sight of his face, his pupils contracted sharply. Him?!
The heir of the Shadowbane Pack-Killian Sanchez-was a name whispered with both reverence and dread. Tristan had seen him only once, from a distance at a gathering of Alphas, yet even from afar, the male’s aura had been unforgettable. Handsome, cruelly composed, and reeking of ancient strength-he was the strongest Alpha of the continent, and the Wolf Rafe whispered in every war legend.
Tristan’s mind spun, instincts clawing at him. Why was such a creature in Wren’s den?
Before he could form the question, his body moved on its own-he stepped in front of her, every muscle coiled, his scent flaring with instinctive protectiveness.
The two males met eyes, and for a heartbeat, even the air froze.
Killian’s expression didn’t change, but when his gaze flicked toward the female behind Tristan, faint displeasure crossed the line of his brow. His dark eyes narrowed.
“Come blow the candles,” Killian said simply.
He motioned with a hand, ignoring Tristan entirely, his tone directed only at Wren. The dismissal was deliberate, as though Tristan were nothing more than a lesser wolf trespassing in the wrong den.
The humiliation bit deep. Tristan’s body tensed; his wolf bristled beneath his skin. But worse than the contempt was the sound behind him-Wren moving forward.
Her voice was soft, almost chiding. “Why didn’t you wait for me to light them? The wax will drip into the cake.”
Killian chuckled lowly, standing to draw her in. His hand found her waist, pulling her close as he murmured, “Then I’ll eat the part that’s ruined.”
He leaned closer, his dominance melting into something intimate. “Make your wish, Wren.”
She no longer flinched from his nearness. Their small gestures spoke of a quiet familiarity that tore at Tristan’s composure. His fury rose, burning beneath his skin.
“Wren!” he barked.
Killian’s smile vanished. His gaze turned, black and cold, locking onto Tristan like a predator fixing on prey. The weight of his aura crashed through the room-sharp, suffocating, primal.
Tristan’s breath hitched. For a fleeting second, he swore he felt fangs at his throat.
Wren stood calmly under Killian’s shadow, unshaken, and made her wish. When she opened her eyes again, she puffed her cheeks and blew out the candles with a soft “whoosh.”
The scent of honey and wild berries filled the air; her smile-brief, real-caught the light of the extinguished flames.
Tristan, however, could barely stand still. Every heartbeat in that den was agony.
Killian stood behind Wren like a beast guarding its chosen mate, his towering presence declaring silent ownership. Tristan could only watch as their proximity mocked his absence.
And in that quiet, cruel moment, he saw what he hadn’t before.
The slippers on Killian’s feet-half-worn, familiar. Not borrowed. Not new.
The clothes he wore-soft and domestic, not something an Alpha would ever wear outside his own den.
Two sets of dishes on the table.
The scent of shared living-his scent intertwined with hers.
Every detail was a blade driven straight into Tristan’s chest.
In his absence, another wolf had entered her world-and stayed.
He could not let himself imagine what else had happened within these walls.
When Wren finished her small ritual, Tristan’s voice trembled as he spoke. “Wren… come here.”
She straightened, finally looking at him with the cool detachment of a Luna addressing a stranger.
“Leave.”
The single word sliced through the air like a claw.
Tristan flinched. “Do you even know who he is?” he burst out, losing his restraint. “Killian Sanchez-the Shadowbane Alpha! He’ll bring danger to your pack!”
“So what?” Her tone was flat, calm as moonlight.
“You’ve trespassed in my den, Alpha Tristan,” she said evenly.
From behind, Killian gave a low laugh, tapping his fingers against the table-each tap a pulse of quiet amusement.
“Alpha Tristan?” Tristan echoed, stricken. “You call me that now? After twenty years?”
Killian tilted his head, his smile sharp as a blade. “Twenty years, and still managed to lose what was yours. Pathetic.”
Tristan didn’t look at him. His focus was all on Wren. “Wren, please. Let’s leave this place. I won’t ask about him. I won’t bring up the past. I’ll stay with you-no Celestine, no one else. I swear it. Let’s start again.”
His voice broke. The proudest Alpha of the East was begging.
But Wren’s heart was stone now.
“I never did this to provoke you. Don’t flatter yourself.” Her eyes were glacial. “Don’t speak as if I still belong to you.”
He refused to hear. He couldn’t. The thought that she had truly chosen another male was unbearable.
“You’re lying,” he rasped. “He’s forcing you, isn’t he? You don’t have to be afraid. Even the Shadowbane can’t touch the Blackwoods. Come with me-“
SLAP!
The sound cracked through the air like thunder.
Her palm left a bright mark on his cheek.
“I didn’t want to hit you,” she said coldly. “But you wouldn’t stop.” Her voice was low, sharp as a growl. “This isn’t about Killian. Tristan Blackwood, wake up. We’re over. You have no right to claim me.”
He stood stunned, unable to move.
Killian’s amused chuckle broke the silence. “Careful, Alpha. Don’t slander others. Wren and I have always been quite… mutual.” His tone dripped with mockery. “Unlike certain ex-mates who can’t take a hint. Tell me, how’s Celestine Ward these days? Recovering well enough that you finally had time to barge in here?”
“Stay out of this!” Tristan snarled, every vein standing out, the urge to shift burning under his skin. “If you want females, pick anyone-but not her! She’s my mate, my-“
Killian’s eyes turned black with rage.
THUD!
The sound was thunderous. Tristan’s body crashed into the wall by the door, the furniture rattling under the force.
Killian had crossed the distance in a blur, his dominance exploding like wildfire. He moved like a beast that had slaughtered its way through battlefields-and Tristan felt every ounce of that savagery.
Blood filled his mouth. His ribs screamed.
Killian looked down at him without guilt, voice steady and cold. “Who said I was playing?” His eyes cut like steel. “Don’t insult me. And don’t insult her.”
He smiled faintly, cruelly. “Judge others by your own worth, Blackwood. It fits.”
Then he turned to Wren, feigning innocence. “He was the one who barged in and insulted us. And apparently, he still calls himself your betrothed. How embarrassing.”
Third Person’s POV
Killian hadn’t held back his strength-Tristan was truly injured.
But the Alpha of the Blackwood Pack didn’t retreat. Instead, he fixed his bloodshot gaze on Wren, his expression burning with something between desperation and hope.
“You see?” Tristan rasped, wiping the blood from his mouth. “I told you he’s volatile-vicious and unpredictable. Stay with him, and who knows who he’ll hurt next? Wren, leave him.”
Killian’s expression darkened, the feral gleam in his eyes deepening until it was near lethal. The Alpha of the Shadowbane Pack looked every bit the predator he was born to be.
Annoying insect, his wolf growled in his mind. Feed him to the serpents. Rip that silver tongue from his skull and grind it to dust.
Murderous intent licked at the air, heavy with
Alpha dominance.
