Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
But just as that tension threatened to ignite, Wren moved.
Her brows furrowed, her back turned to Killian as she slowly approached the bleeding man on the floor.
Tristan’s heart flared with new light.
He played his part, voice trembling. “Wren… I’m hurt.”
That wasn’t entirely a lie-blood stained his lips, his ribs throbbed from the impact.
Killian’s hands clenched, his knuckles cracking. His wolf prowled restlessly beneath his skin, furious.
Scheming bastard.
Just as Wren was about to kneel beside Tristan, Killian’s low, hoarse voice broke the air.
“Wren,” he said, tone deceptively calm, “your soup’s getting cold.”
The faintest tremor lingered under the words-a mixture of restraint, resignation, and the ache of a predator willing to lose everything.
But Wren didn’t stop. She kept walking.
Killian’s pupils dilated, a storm gathering behind them.
The two men held their breath as she drew near.
Tristan’s eyes glimmered with hope of reconciliation.
Killian’s, however, had gone darker than night.
And then-she stopped.
Instead of reaching for Tristan, Wren turned to the side, bent down, and picked up a small carved wooden cat that had fallen near the cabinet.
She blew the dust off gently. “Good. It’s only wood,” she muttered, then turned and glared at Killian, eyes sharp. “If it had been porcelain, you’d be done for.”
Killian blinked-then laughed. The darkness melted from his face, replaced by something bright and wolfishly fond. “I’ll buy you a hundred of them.”
His grin was warm, genuine-the kind of smile that belonged to a man who had almost lost everything a moment ago.
Tristan’s world, in contrast, collapsed.
His face went pale; disbelief twisted through every muscle. In her eyes, he wasn’t even worth a carved trinket.
He had seen Killian strike her, had seen violence-how could she still speak to that wolf with such easy calm, even with that teasing tone that sounded almost… affectionate?
No. It wasn’t right.
Pain hollowed him out from the inside.
“Wren,” he tried again, his voice trembling. “I’m hurt.”
She placed the cat gently back where it belonged, her tone flat and distant. “Oh.”
“If you’re injured, go to the healer,” she said, meeting his gaze without emotion. “And don’t come back.”
The sound of his heart breaking was almost audible.
Killian walked over, his steps heavy with dominance, and grabbed Tristan by the collar. “Apologies,” he said with a polite smile. “Wren still has soup to finish. We won’t be seeing you out.”
He shoved the other Alpha out the door and closed it behind him with a firm click.
Wren didn’t try to stop him.
The light in Tristan’s eyes went out completely.
The wounds on his body burned, but they were nothing compared to the agony hollowing his chest.
He stumbled down the stairwell, half-blind, like a fallen wolf cast out from his own territory, craving the warmth of the den he could no longer enter.
Bless them? he thought bitterly. No.
He didn’t believe Killian capable of love. That kind of beast couldn’t know what it meant.
Let go?
That would be the same as tearing his own heart out.
Outside, the rain kept falling, merciless and cold.
Hours passed, and Killian never came back out.
Tristan stayed in his car, staring up at the window where Wren’s light still glowed. Finally, with trembling fingers, he dialed a number.
“Alpha Remus?” His voice was soft, even. “Yes… I just saw Wren. She’s fine.”
“I heard you’re holding a celebration for her soon. Three nights from now, yes?” He paused, his eyes fixed on the faint light above.
“I’d like to attend-and announce our mating bond that night.”
It was deceitful. It was desperate.
But even if it meant betraying the code of the packs, Tristan Blackwood would do anything to keep her.
Wren’s POV
Upstairs, neither Killian nor I spoke of Tristan Blackwood again. It was as if his presence had been scrubbed clean from the air, leaving only the steady sound of our breathing and the faint hum of the rain beyond the den.
“Happy birthday,” Killian murmured.
He lifted a slender chain and fastened it around my neck. It was a silver thorned rose-delicate yet bold, beautiful enough to draw the eye, yet subtle enough not to clash with everyday life.
I ran my fingers along the pendant. “It’s beautiful.”
It was my second gift this year. The first had come from Skylar-a painting by a northern master, given before she left the continent. She couldn’t return, so she’d sent me a message at dawn, her words arriving like frostlight through the pack link.
Killian’s gaze lingered on the pendant resting against my throat, his expression darkening into quiet satisfaction. I could feel his Alpha energy hum in approval, faintly possessive, as if the gift marked me in some way.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “For the gift… and for being here.”
Without him, I might not have made it back from the graveyard today. The thought of returning alone to that empty den had felt unbearable. Whatever Tristan said about Killian being dangerous or unstable… at least Killian hadn’t pretended. He’d stayed when others hadn’t.
His molten eyes met mine. I think he saw too much there-my quiet gratitude, my fragile trust. I was no longer armored; the hedgehog had shown her soft belly to the wolf.
And for some reason, that seemed to shake him.
Killian turned my chair toward him. Suddenly we were nose to nose again, his breath brushing against my lips, the air charged with the same heat that had filled the room before Tristan burst in.
“Then,” he said, voice rough, “why don’t we finish what we started?”
My face burned instantly.
The earlier moment replayed in my mind-the closeness, the almost-kiss, the electricity in the air. My wolf stirred beneath my skin, restless, confused.
He was still watching me, eyes molten with that teasing glint that could melt steel. Maybe this was what he wanted-maybe this was how Alphas received gratitude.
So I leaned forward and kissed him.
Just once.
A quick, feather-soft brush against his cheek-so fleeting it could’ve been imagined.
That should be enough, right? Anything more felt… too much.
I turned away, clearing my throat. “Ahem. The soup’s getting cold.”
Killian didn’t move. One hand rested on his thigh, the other draped lazily along the back of my chair. He stared at me like I’d just done something unspeakably confusing.
What was wrong with him?
This man had a reputation across the continent for being ruthless, untamed-the Alpha of Shadowbane Pack, wolf of storms. And now he was sitting there frozen because I’d kissed him on the cheek?
He should’ve been smirking, dragging me closer, whispering something indecent. Instead, he sat there like someone had short-circuited his instincts.
I hid a smile and picked up my spoon.
We finished the soup quietly.
To my surprise, Killian’s cooking was excellent-rich, warm, a touch wild, like him. If I hadn’t stumbled into his path that night, I never would’ve guessed that the heir of the mighty Sanchez line could cook like a seasoned pack mother.
In fact… I might’ve gained a few pounds since staying here.
While I lost myself in the taste of his food, Killian stayed strangely quiet, like the world had tilted a few degrees off its axis.
When I tried to clear the table, he caught my wrist. “Not tonight,” he said. “Birthday wolves don’t work.”
I leaned my chin on my hands and watched him wash the dishes, the light glinting off his dark hair. “Alpha Killian being this thoughtful… makes me wish tonight could last a bit longer.”
For a moment, something in his eyes softened. The storm inside him quieted.
