Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
He paused. “You like this kind of treatment?”
I nodded. “Of course. You’re powerful, handsome, you cook, you rescue me from graveyards… who wouldn’t like that?”
His lips quirked. “Then agree to be my Luna. You’ll have it every day.”
I made an X with my fingers. “Thanks, but no.”
He laughed under his breath. “So you steal a kiss and think you can walk away from it?”
My jaw dropped. “That’s not fair-you asked for it!”
Killian arched a brow, wolfish amusement flickering in his gaze. “I’m not the kind of Alpha who lets strange females kiss me for free. You should take responsibility.”
I stared at him, speechless.
A kiss on the cheek, and suddenly he was the chaste one? The most dangerous Alpha on the continent playing the offended maiden?
I escaped before my sanity did.
Even so, his presence had warmed something inside me. For the first time in months, the grief didn’t choke as tightly.
But when I entered my room, the silence returned-soft and heavy.
I opened the drawer and pulled out an old photo album.
In the picture, under the loquat tree of the Moonvale estate, my grandmother sat smiling in her rocker. Celestine and I stood on either side of her-two pups, once inseparable.
Grandmother had always wanted us both to be happy. She saw pity in Celestine’s fragility, sorrow in my guardedness. She never imagined her wish would turn into this: one sister cursed to destroy the other.
My fingers traced her face on the photo.
“Grandmother,” I whispered, my wolf stirring low in my chest. “What would you want me to do now?”
Third Person’s POV
“Clatter-“
Another goblet shattered, the sound echoing through the Ironhowl manor like a wolf’s snarl in stone halls. The servant who rushed in to clean the mess trembled, gathered the shards, and fled before Knox’s rage could find a new target.
His pale eyes burned crimson with fury. The wound across his chest had only just begun to close, his blue-streaked hair uneven where healers had cut through it to stitch the flesh beneath. Once a charming heir of Ironhowl, Knox now looked more beast than noble-his handsome face twisted by sleepless nights and humiliation.
The elders had spoken: once healed, he was to be exiled to the southern territories. But the one who’d ruined him-Wren-walked free, untouched, unpunished.
The memory of the night he’d awakened, surrounded by those cursed images, made his claws dig into his palms until blood welled.
The mockery of his kin still rang in his ears, their jeers whispering through the Pack Hall like ghostly howls.
Wren Vale, a castaway of her bloodline-how dare she defy him? How dare she, a wolf with no standing, humiliate an Alpha-born?
They said he’d offended a greater power, that an ancient name had moved in her defense. Knox refused to believe it. No-Wren must have caught the favor of some dominant male with that soft face of hers. He couldn’t touch whoever shielded her… but her? He’d see her brought to her knees.
When she became the pack’s disgrace, he thought darkly, let’s see who still shields her then.
Sometimes, a male wolf’s cruelty runs deeper than a blade.
Knox’s lips curved into a feral grin as he thought of the Moonvale birthday announcement-the grand feast where Wren was to stand before the Packs. He’d be gone soon, his exile secure, but not before he left her in ruin. The timing was perfect. Serena would handle the aftermath. Let them all choke on the shame.
After all, if he was to fall, Wren Vale would fall harder.
—
Wren, however, knew nothing of the storm circling her name. She hadn’t even heard she was to appear at the Moonvale celebration.
The pack estate had been a frenzy of preparation-servants rushing through corridors, Luna Evelyn arguing with Alpha Remus about the guest list, and Fenrir managing the northern scouts. Then Tristan had suddenly declared he would announce the binding of their bloodlines at the feast. The Moonvale household scrambled to adjust, sending word to the Blackwood wolves and the Frostfang envoys.
It was only when Luna Evelyn met with Lady Blackwood to confirm the ceremonial details that the oversight came to light.
“You mean to tell me,” Lady Blackwood said, arching a brow, “that you’ve arranged her entire debut without informing her?”
An uneasy silence fell. Luna Evelyn and her mate exchanged looks; Fenrir and Lykos both turned away, each assuming the other had spoken to Wren. Then they realized-every single one of them had been blocked from her link.
Lady Blackwood exhaled sharply. “And the gown? The consecration ornaments?”
Luna Evelyn managed a strained smile. “Celestine and I selected them on her behalf.”
Lady Blackwood’s eyes flicked toward Celestine Ward, who sat demurely nearby. The younger she-wolf’s posture was perfect, her throat adorned with the newest crest from House C-moon-silver and diamond-edged, meant for highborn heirs.
Lady Blackwood’s smile turned razor-thin. “I see. It would appear Moonvale forgets whose moon the feast honors. This is your daughter’s ascension, Luna Evelyn. Best remember who carries your blood.”
Her tone carried Alpha weight-subtle, but enough to silence the chamber. Though she had once favored Celestine as her future daughter-in-law, her son’s decision had shifted the balance. Tristan had chosen Wren Vale, and Lady Blackwood was too proud to let her pack be shamed by negligence.
“The Alpha of the Blackwood does not court shadows,” she added coldly. “If Wren bears the Blackwood mark, she will stand at the summit, not behind another she-wolf’s veil.”
Luna Evelyn’s expression froze. She mumbled something about fairness and love for both her daughters, but the words rang hollow.
Lady Blackwood merely turned toward her son. “And you, Tristan-are you content to let your bond ceremony be handled like a tavern supper?”
Tristan sat by the window, the storm beyond reflected in his dark gaze. He didn’t answer. The weight of duty pressed on him, and yet the thought of Wren-untold, unaware, unseen-gnawed at the edges of his restraint.
“Keep it simple,” he finally said. “If there’s an issue, let Alpha Remus and my father handle the announcement.”
“Simple?” Lady Blackwood’s voice cracked with disbelief. “Your union is a vow before moon and blood! How dare you speak of it as-“
But Tristan was already gone, his scent trailing through the rain-soaked corridor.
“I need air,” he muttered, and the heavy doors closed behind him, leaving silence in his wake.
Third Person’s POV
“Tristan!”
Lady Blackwood’s voice echoed down the marble corridor, sharp as a whip. Her son didn’t turn. He simply strode away, the heavy doors of the manor shuddering behind him as they closed.
She glared after him, her chest rising with restrained fury. “Moon above, what sickness plagues that boy?” she muttered.
He had fought for this union, torn through court and council to claim it-yet he showed not a glimmer of joy. His temper was brittle, his nights restless. She’d caught the scent of smoke on him too often, even the faint tang of liquor bleeding through his chambers at midnight.
When she’d asked if something had happened between him and Wren, Tristan had only replied, “Everything’s fine,” his gaze distant, voice hollow.
Now, he walked out in the middle of their discussion as though none of it mattered.
The Moonvale wolves tried to mask their irritation, but the absence of Wren herself-who hadn’t even answered their summons-left them little ground to stand on. So they smiled through the tension, discussing the coming feast as if nothing were amiss.
Only Celestine Ward watched Tristan’s retreating back with a strange glint in her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.
—
The Blackwood matriarch nursed a headache over her son’s moods. The Moonvale wolves had a worse problem-no one could find Wren.
The celebration was set for the next night, and still no word from her. The pack elders whispered of bad omens, and Luna Evelyn could no longer sit still. At last, she went to find her daughter herself.
She remembered the small den Wren had taken years ago when she’d left Moonvale territory. Evelyn had secretly followed her then, curious to see how her wayward child survived outside the Pack’s protection.
The den was near the borders of the old university lands, among the city-born wolves-crowded, noisy, far from the serenity of the Moonvale woods. Evelyn had expected her daughter to come crawling back within months. Wren, stubborn as stone, had not.
Pride had kept Evelyn from intervening. She’d wanted Wren to learn humility, to feel the weight of her choices. But as time passed, and word of her daughter’s quiet, disciplined life reached her, shame crept in like frost. She’d meant to offer her a better home-yet Celestine had told her that Wren had already moved.
Evelyn had assumed that meant Wren had accepted their help. She’d been wrong.
Now, standing before the new residence-a narrow stone apartment under the shadow of a half-moon-Evelyn felt the first true stab of guilt. Even the smallest estate given to Celestine was larger than this.
When Wren opened the door, she looked calm, her aura restrained, though Evelyn could feel the faint hum of dormant Alpha blood beneath her skin.
“Mother,” she said simply, ushering her inside.
Evelyn sat stiffly while Wren poured water for her. The silence between them was heavy, thick with unsaid words.
“This place is too small,” Evelyn said at last, her tone tight. “I’ll have Fenrir find you a proper home tomorrow.”
Wren’s reply was quiet but cutting. “Don’t. I couldn’t afford the debt.”
Evelyn frowned. “Debt? You’re our blood, Wren. What is a house, compared to that?”
Wren’s laugh was brittle as glass. “Forgive me, Luna Evelyn, but I remember the last time I took something from Moonvale. You made certain I returned it.”
The words hit harder than claws.
Evelyn looked away. She remembered that day-gray skies, the heavy scent of rain, her daughter standing before the great gates of the Pack estate with only a small case in hand. The guards had searched her belongings like she was a thief, under Remus’s command.
The air had been cold with humiliation.
“You’ve already cost the Pack enough,” Alpha Remus had said, his composure cracking. “We cleaned your mess for half a decade. You repay us with shame, and now you mock the Pack that raised you?” His claws had trembled as he pointed toward the road. “If you want to go, go! But don’t come back. And if you have pride enough to call yourself a Vale, return every ounce of what we’ve given you!”
Evelyn had stood there, frozen, as Wren turned away. The young wolf had walked into the storm without a word-her scent fading into the rain, until only silence remained.
At eighteen, Wren had nothing-no fortune, no allies, and now, a burden of debts that chained her to the Moonvale Pack like iron around a wolf’s neck.
She stood before the pack’s grand hall, her hand gripping the handle of her worn travel case. Her claws had broken skin; dark blood beaded against her pale palm, but her voice remained calm-too calm.
