I sat in my car staring at the dark house and my hands were shaking on the steering wheel. Where did she go? Whitebrook, probably, to her grandmother, but I didn’t know for sure and the not knowing was its own kind of torture. She could be anywhere. She could be hurting, alone, and I’d done this to her. I’d driven her out of her own city, away from her friends, away from the shelter, away from the life she’d built.
The porch was dark. I stared at it, at the spot where I used to lie beside her in wolf form while she read to me, her voice filling the night, the Scottish accent terrible, the commentary between chapters better than anything in the book.
I missed her so badly it felt like a physical weight pressing on my ribs. Not the bond pain, which was constant and dull. This was sharper, more specific. I missed the sound of her voice. Theway she said my name when she was annoyed, two syllables loaded with exasperation. The way she scratched behind my ear without thinking about it while she talked, her fingers absent in my fur. Those nights were the only time my wolf was ever truly calm. Now my wolf was gone, the porch was dark, and she was somewhere I couldn’t reach.
I sat there until my phone died. Then I drove home.
Three in the morning. My office at the estate. Reports on the screen I couldn’t focus on, the words blurring, the ache in my chest spiking every few minutes when my brain cycled back to her.
Luca showed up at the estate at three in the morning. I heard the front door, then his footsteps down the corridor. He appeared in the doorway of my office in his jacket, keys still in his hand, looking like he’d driven here on impulse.
“Your phone is off,” he said.
“Battery died.”
“I called six times. Figured I’d check you weren’t dead.” He looked at me, at the dark office, the reports I hadn’t read. “You look like shit, Finn.”
“Thanks.”
He walked in and dropped into the chair across from my desk. He looked at me the way he’d been looking at me for weeks, worried underneath the casual front.
“You need to get her back.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Yeah, I do. Your mother is sick. You made a promise.” He rubbed his face. “But I’ve been covering your council briefings, handling your territory disputes, watching you walk around the office like a ghost. Something has to give.”
I didn’t respond.
“I’m not sure I should say this,” he said.
“Then don’t.”
“I’m going to say it anyway.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Lorraine wouldn’t make a good Luna.”
I looked at him.
“She’s an Alpha from one of the most prominent families in the pack. She’s been around pack politics her entire life.”
“Yeah, she has. And in all that time, name one person in the pack who actually respects her.” He held my gaze. “Not fears her, not tolerates her because of her family name. Respects her.”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
“A Luna isn’t a title you hand out because someone’s family has money,” Luca said. “A Luna is the emotional center of the pack. She’s the person people go to when they can’t go to the King. She’s the one who holds things together when you can’t.She needs the pack’s trust, Finn. Their actual trust. Not their compliance.”
“Lorraine has...”
“Lorraine has been telling betas she’s the incoming Luna and using the title to push people around for months. That’s not trust. That’s authority nobody gave her.” He paused. “You know who the pack would trust? Someone who treats everyone the same regardless of rank. Someone who pushes back when you’re being unreasonable. Someone who isn’t afraid of you.”
The name he didn’t say filled the room louder than if he’d shouted it.
I looked away. The ache under my sternum spiked, sharp, relentless.
“She’s gone, Luca. She left the city.”
