She must have felt it too, because he sensed that her wolf was restless. He could smell it on her skin—agitated, pacing. “You need rest,” she said, stepping back slightly, giving them both the distance that neither of them wanted. Moon was a professional, and why he expected her to be anything else was a mystery. He’d been around her enough to know who she was.
“Coward,” his wolf growled. He didn’t know if the word was directed at her or himself.
“Moon,” he said quietly. She froze. It was the first time he’d used her name like that. Not Doctor or a teasing nickname that he’d thrown across the table during a strategy session between their two packs.
“Yes?” she asked, turning to face him again.
“If the Capitol Wolves find out I’m here?—”
“They won’t,” she cut in. “Tempest has the perimeter locked down. And Howler’s men are already sweeping the docks.”
He nodded, not sure if that was going to be enough. “If they come for this clubhouse because of me,” he said, voice low and deadly despite the weakness in his body, “I will burn their entire pack to ash.”
A flicker of something dangerous sparked in her gaze. “Good,” she replied. “Because we were planning to do that anyway.”
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face. There she was. He was seeing Moon not just as the healer, or the she-wolf that he wanted to claim, but as the woman who saw the storm coming and stepped out into it anyway.
His chest tightened—not from his injuries this time. “You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she murmured suddenly.
“Like what?” he asked, playing dumb. He knew exactly how he looked at her, and stopping himself from doing it was going to be a problem.
“Like I matter to you.” The words were soft, but they hit harder than any blade. He went still, as her scent shifted—fear beneath composure. He could tell that she wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of attachment and the loss that came with it. He knew that feeling well. Mayhem understood that fear better than anyone.
“Moonlight,” he said, voice dropping into something deeper. “You pulled silver out of my body. You fought death for me. That means something.” Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’tanswer him. The air between them thickened. It wasn’t lust, but something wilder mixed with recognition.
Outside the clinic room, distant voices echoed. Tempest’s sharp tone and Howler’s low growl came through the loudest. The war was already moving closer. Mayhem felt it in his bones. The Capitol Wolves made a mistake tonight. They hadn’t just ambushed the Silverfang Brotherhood. They had crossed over into Dark Chaos territory, and they’d nearly killed the wrong wolf.
His wolf settled down for the first time since he’d woken. Not because the danger was gone, but because she was there with him. Moon adjusted his IV and stepped back again, putting some space between them. “You’re not allowed to die,” she said softly. “Not after the work I just did.”
A rough chuckle escaped him, even though it hurt. “Guess I’ll have to stick around then.”
Her gaze held his for one long, charged second. “Good,” she whispered.
As she turned away to gather supplies, Mayhem let his head sink back into the pillow. Pain still burned through him, and the war still loomed heavily around them. The Capitol Wolves still prowled Baltimore like rabid beasts, but beneath it all, something had shifted. He hadn’t just survived tonight; he’d found the one thing more dangerous than any rival MC—a silver wolf with winter eyes. And if the bond forming between them was real? The Capitol Wolves had no idea what kind of mayhem they’d just unleashed.
Moonlight & Mayhem Universal Link->https://books2read.com/u/479jq8
What’s releasing next from K.L.? Here’s a sneak peek! Be the first to get your hands on Cyclops (Road Reapers Book 6) coming March 2026!
Cyclops
The bar was rowdy, the way that trouble always seemed to be. The music was too loud, and the air was thick with smoke and heat from the summer night spilling in through the bar’s front door. Cyclops stood near the pool table, a cold beer in one hand, his thumb hooked in his belt loop like he owned the place. Hell, he practically did with Mace out of town. His club’s Prez was on a much-needed and overdue (according to his wife) vacation, and he was brave enough to put Cyclops in charge while he was gone. He wasn’t sure if he’d call Mace’s decision brave or stupid, but it was done, and he had to admit—he liked being in charge of the club, even if it was for just one week.
His patch caught the dim yellow light every time he turned his head, a reminder to anyone dumb enough to think about crossing him. His job, as Sergeant-at-Arms, was to keep the peace around the club, and that was exactly what he was going to do, even as acting Prez.
“Cyclops,” Ink hollered from behind the bar, already half drunk. “You tellin’ the Flaming Taco story tonight, or we gotta beg you for it?”
He rolled his one good eye. “You gotta shut your damn mouth, is what you gotta do.”
The whole table of prospects howled with laughter. They all knew the story—it was practically club legend. Only an idiot tried to set his dinner on fire and eat it. Cyclops had done it stone-cold sober and drunk as sin. Only the drunk version took his eye. He was a stupid kid, but he knew if she was asked to do it all over again, he would, because for some odd reason, he just never learned his lesson.
The bar grew quiet as the front door opened, and that was when he saw her. She walked in like she didn’t care who was staring at her. Jeans hugging her beautiful curves, her boots scuffed just enough to say she wasn’t afraid to get a little dirty if needed. The woman’s long hair was tied back and messy, and the don’t-mess-with-me expression on her face let everyone know that she wasn’t there to fuck around. She was the kind of beauty that could make a man stupid. He had known a few women like her and was lucky to get out with his balls intact. She slid onto a stool at the end of the bar, ordered a whiskey, and ignored the wolves who were eyeing her. The guys were circling like vultures, and she didn’t give one single fuck.
Cyclops set his empty beer bottle down and wandered over to where she sat, his boots thudding against the floor as he made his way across the bar. Maybe he was being stupid. Actually, he was sure that he was being a fucking idiot, but there was something about the woman that made it impossible to think clearly. Hell, he probably wasn’t thinking with his head at all, and when he thought with his cock, it usually got him into more trouble than he bargained for.
“Hey,” he drawled, voice rough and low. “You look lost, sweetheart.”
Her eyes flicked up to study the patch, then back to his face—unflinching. “You look like a bad decision,” she mumbled. “AndI don’t make them anymore.” He was sure that was a lie. She looked like a woman who thrived on making bad decisions and probably made them daily.
