Filed to story: The Lycan's Savage Luna (Wren Tristan & Killian) Book PDF Free
That was the final provocation. I rose, my height towering over the table, fur bristling along my spine, a wolf’s fury behind my gaze. I threw myself into the table, sending dishes, soup, and steam cascading over them. Chaos erupted.
I glared at my family, teeth bared, eyes burning red. Every word I spat carried venom: “Give it to her… does she deserve it?”
Luna Evelyn spun to shield Celestine, but even her quick reflexes couldn’t save the younger wolf from a splash of my fury-steaming broth clinging to Celestine’s hair. Her face twisted in shock and hurt. “Wren… even if you hate me… she is still my grandmother too. Why speak like this?”
Lykos spat on the floor, disgust evident. “Ignore her. She’s mad.”
Fenrir barked his warning, voice harsh. “Traitorous daughter! You dare upend the table in front of your parents? What next?”
Remus’ roar filled the hall, shaking the walls. Luna Evelyn flailed in panic, while Fenrir glanced between Celestine and me, torn between protection and fury. The servants waited at the threshold, frozen in fear, unsure whether to intervene.
I could see the anger, the shock, the helplessness in their faces-and I felt nothing but a grim satisfaction. They had ignored me, underestimated me, and now the truth of their underestimation slashed across the room like teeth sinking into flesh.
When I crossed the threshold, I didn’t look back. “The house of your grandmother…” Remus thundered.
“I don’t want it,” I spat, voice steady, though my chest heaved and my hands trembled slightly from the exertion.
I wouldn’t touch anything Celestine had tainted-Tristan would, and so would this house. Not if it became a blade aimed at me. My grandmother’s gift was hers alone, and I would not allow it to bind me to their whims.
My steps were measured, deliberate, wolf-like, every stride echoing dominance and control. My back was straight, my head high, though my eyes were wet and my claws trembled.
I whispered to myself as I moved forward into the night, a vow as sharp as a fang: Wren, don’t look back. Move forward.
Wren’s POV
The car purred out from the Vale estate garage. By the time I maneuvered it back onto the road, there she was-Celestine, standing right in front of my wheels.
Her skirt was still stained, her hair plastered with remnants of our last encounter. Yet that smug, victorious aura clung to her like a wolf marking territory. I could almost see the act she must have spun inside the house, wrapping the Moonvale elders in her honeyed words so they’d feel she, the victim, still cared for her “poor little sister.” The picture would have looked like perfect domestic harmony-fatherly pride, filial obedience, sibling camaraderie.
I killed the engine. For a long second I sat there, palms white on the wheel, watching the shadowed driveway beyond the open doors. Then I opened the door and stepped out.
Two wolves, squared off, a heartbeat apart.
“Wren Vale.” She purred it, the grin razor-sharp. “I told you, I’ll take back everything that belongs to you, one piece at a time. That’s what you owe me.”
I stepped closer until the moonlight carved her cheekbones. “Collecting someone else’s scraps-is that victory to you? Do you cherish every thing I touched just because I touched it? Celestine… are you a monster, or just insecure?”
Her practiced mask flickered for a breath before she reassembled it. “Humph. Speak as you will. You want Grandmother’s house, don’t you? Even when the Moonvale shares were transferred to me, you never cared so much. But when I had my ‘accident,’ Mother promised me that small estate. Three days later, the deed was mine. A seer said my life path was frail-so I needed something substantial to anchor me. The house was perfect.” She tilted her head, letting the venom sink in. “Isn’t it funny? Something you coveted for years… simply fell into my paws.”
I felt a hot wire of anger tighten behind my ribs. I remembered Remus’ lips, the way he’d murmured, “Give it to your sister.” Not random-preordained. Marriage or no marriage, that house had been promised away. Every negotiation had been a stall.
“You think I’ll let you have what I’ve clawed for?” I said, low and close to her. My fingers found her neck before she could fully react-enough to make her eyes go wide, to show the panic I wanted to taste.
She flinched, hands coming up. “Wren-” Her voice trembled.
Shadows of that cursed summer flashed behind my lids: peach trees in bloom, cicadas screaming, the basket of herbs, pill bottles scattered, Grandmother gone, Celestine’s grin like a wolf in the kill. Childhood innocence shredded. The world had frozen mid-spin.
I loosened my grip and stepped back, fangs bared in the moonlight. “You staged a car accident to frame me,” I said. “You only had the courage to scratch your own arm.” My voice was cold as river ice. “Tonight, you’ll pay.”
Her hands fumbled, then she lunged for the house-stumbling, desperate. She intended to make a scene, to return with a story and wounds to show off. I followed without hurry. When she was halfway across the drive, I slid into my car, doors thudding shut, the engine purring alive like a caged predator.
I had noticed how much that upcoming dance competition with Aine mattered to her. Her focus, her ambition, her pride-it was predictable. So I acted.
I pulled forward slowly, giving the façade of leaving. She turned-just a heartbeat-and I saw the rehearsed victim in her face, the same ugly grin I’d seen a dozen times in mirrors and crowded rooms. That was the moment I chose.
I drove at deliberate speed. The impact was precise and terrible. Celestine screamed as metal met bone; she crumpled, one leg folding under her, hands clawing at the asphalt. Blood bloomed dark against the grit, and glass glittered like broken stars around her.
The cameras couldn’t catch this. Otherwise, she wouldn’t dare flaunt her ugly grin at me.
I killed the engine, opened the door, and stepped out only far enough to crouch beside her, close enough that she could see my face. I traced the dark marks on her throat with a fingertip, calm and methodical. “You came hunting me for sport,” I said softly. “You never expected someone to bite back.”
She tried to scramble, hands clawing at the asphalt. “Wren! What… what are you doing?”
I leaned close. “You snuck out to confront me alone… planning to return home with your story rehearsed, wounds to show off. How thoughtful. But I’ve never spared a wolf who comes hunting me for sport. You know me, sister.”
Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated with pure, metallic fear.
“Don’t you fear our Alpha? Don’t you care if they disown you?” she whimpered.
I tilted my head, claws flexing. “Does it even matter now?”
Her scream tore through the night-a raw, ragged howl. Pain and terror painted her expression as she clawed at the ground, helpless.
By the time the Moonvale Pack arrived, it was over. Celestine lay crumpled, broken, blood mixing with shards of glass from our previous scuffle. And I? I vanished into the night, fangs glinting, the car engine purring like a predator satisfied.
The house-my grandmother’s gift-remained mine alone, untouched by her claws. Even if it later fell to her by some deceit, she would never lay paw on it while I drew breath.
Trade and negotiation were the language of Alpha politics, the kind I’d learned on my own since leaving Moonvale at eighteen. My savings, my strength, my cunning-they were my weapons, far sharper than any silver blade.
The thought of being bound to Tristan Blackwood, to tangle the rest of my life with his pack… unacceptable. Grandmother’s love was meant to bless, not bind.
Hours later, I arrived at the estate at the foot of the mountains-the small, secluded courtyard of my grandmother’s choosing.
My senses flared in the moonlight; every shadow whispered memory, every breeze carried the scent of the past.
For my grandparents, this place was a haven. For me… it was home.
Wren’s POV
Before Celestine ever entered our pack, I was the only daughter of the Moonvale bloodline-the Alpha’s child, born under the full moon, kissed by the Goddess herself.
Then one day, she appeared.
A trembling little thing with pale eyes and a sob story everyone adored. The pack whispered that Celestine’s mother, my aunt Yuna, had died because of me-because I ran off chasing a stray wolf pup on my Birthday, forcing her to come after me. The crash that took her life wasn’t fate, they said-it was my sin.
And so, Celestine Ward, the poor orphan of my mother’s sister, was brought into our pack to “heal” what I had broken.
They called her my sister.
I called her the curse that replaced me.
From the start, the moon rejected our harmony. Whenever we were together, disaster followed.
And of course, it was always my fault.
When we fell down the stairs, both bloodied and crying, Celestine woke first. The first words she spoke were to beg the Alphas not to blame me.
So noble. So self-sacrificing.
It wasn’t until I was punished-locked away without food for two nights-that I overheard the truth.
She had pushed me.
Because I wouldn’t give her the foreign doll Alpha Remus brought home from his last trip.
That doll was meant for me.
But when Celestine looked at it with those trembling lips and downcast eyes, my father melted. “Wren already has plenty of toys,” he said. “Let her have it.”
That night, I broke.
And when I refused to smile and share, they called me jealous, spoiled and heartless. Then they locked me in the cellar, under the pretext of asking me to reflect on myself.
By the time Tristan Blackwood found me burning with fever in the cellar, I had already realized: no one saves the wolf who refuses to bow.
My grandmother took me away after that.
She was the only one who saw what I’d become-a cub with teeth and no place to bite. For three years, she raised me in her quiet valley, taught me to listen to the moon’s pull and hold my rage until it was sharp enough to cut.
When she sent me back to the Moonvale Pack, I promised her I’d behave. That I’d try to live in peace.
Peace. What a joke.
Celestine had bloomed under their protection-sweet, graceful, adored by every wolf in the territory. And I… I had become something else.
When she smiled, the pack saw sunlight.
When I smiled, they saw danger.
Still, Grandmother never stopped trying to protect me. She kept our bond strong, invited us both to her old cottage each summer, believing that maybe, just maybe, we could learn to love each other again.
She never understood: some wolves are born enemies.
That summer, Celestine asked to come with me to visit. She said she wanted to “spend time as sisters.”
Luna Evelyn was delighted. I wasn’t.
For the first few days, I endured her-the fake gentleness, the way she flinched if I so much as spoke too loudly. But even my grandmother began to notice how I’d fold under her every word. How I’d retreat instead of snapping back.
One night, after I’d fallen asleep, I overheard them arguing softly in the living room. Celestine’s voice trembled with righteousness; Grandmother’s with disappointment. I don’t know what was said, but by morning, the air in the house felt poisoned.
The next day, I went to the mountains to pick moonberries. Before I left, I measured out Grandmother’s medicine and tucked it in her pocket myself, reminding her to take it on time.
Celestine stayed home, claiming she wasn’t feeling well.
When I returned, the air reeked of ash and death.
Grandmother was lying on the floor, her body cold.
