7

Emma made a new friend at school the next day.

His name was Charles, just Charles. No surname or middle name.

He was cute. Like, annoyingly cute with platinum blonde hair and the softest, most disarming blue eyes she’d ever seen on a person. Eyes that made you want to spill your deepest secrets and then bake cookies with him.

They had French class together, which was ironic because Charles’ French was well….absolute rubbish.

“Je suis une pomme de terre,” he had said confidently in class, and Emma had nearly dislocated her ribs trying to hold in laughter.

“I am a potato,” she had whispered to him after class, her smirk barely restrained.

He grinned. “Ah, but I am a very charming potato.”

They clicked. Instantly. Like magnets. Or like bread and butter. Or like trouble and Emma.

Oh, and he was a werewolf too. Of course he was.

Funny how she hadn’t made a single human friend since moving here. Not one. Which reminded her,

Vanessa.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Vanessa was her closest friend back at St. Gabriel’s High School. She was loud, chaotic, loyal, and dramatically hilarious. Her messages came in speedy bursts of concern and nosiness.

“ARE YOU ALIVE?” “How’s school? Met the love of your life yet?” “Have you punched someone yet?” “You better gist me AND DO NOT LEAVE ANYTHING OUT!.”

Emma laughed out loud. Classic Vanessa. The texts were punctuated with a galaxy of emojis. hearts, sparkles, dramatic crying faces, a random eggplant, and a final “I MISS YOUUUU!!!”

Emma typed back quickly.

“Hey V, I miss you so much!!! I’ve been fine, mostly. Nope, no love of my life in sight, and sadly, no nose has been punched off. Well, not yet.”

Sent.

She pocketed her phone and hopped up the steps of the porch, her boots clicking lightly but something felt... off.

She paused with her eyes narrowed. Emma had grown up with instincts sharper than most and right now, those instincts were screaming like a kettle with fully boiled water in it.

She opened the door, and the delicious smell of pork chops wrapped around her. But she wasn’t fooled. Something had happened.

She stormed into the kitchen.

And got the shock of her life.

Her mom, the eternally apron-wearing, kitchen-dominating, lowkey supermom of the century, had the biggest smile plastered across her face.

“I’m going to start working,” she announced.

Emma’s jaw opened slightly.

“You’re.........what?”

Her mother beamed. “I’m opening a restaurant.”

Emma started feeling lots of emotions. Pride. Happiness rotated with shock and confusion. Somewhere in the corner, worry tried to grow.

“You’re opening a restaurant?” Emma repeated.

“Yes! A real one. With a proper menu and everything. Can you imagine? Me! A chef in my own space.”

Emma blinked. Then grinned. “Mom. That’s amazing. This town’s taste buds are about to be blessed”

Her mom’s face melted with pride, and Emma pulled her into a hug. She smelled like thyme and warm bread and unconditional love.

“Thank you, my love. I was worried you’d be upset.”

“Are you kidding? You’re the best chef in the whole world.”

“Oh stop it.” Her mom swatted at her, her cheeks pink. “How was school?”

Emma made a face. “Same old. You definitely won the interesting news trophy today.”

Her mom chuckled, already pulling a dish from the oven. “Good. Because I’m going to need your help with the restaurant. You and Daniel.”

Of course. There it was.

“For just a month!” she added quickly. “To help me set up the restaurant. Just a few hours a week.”

Emma sighed dramatically. “Urgh, fine. It’s not like I have any choice in the matter anyway. You will probably pull the ‘I carried you in my womb for nine months’.”

Daniel strolled into the kitchen. “I’ll help. In fact, I am glad to help. But only if I get free meals.”

Mom shook both their hands with excessive enthusiasm. “DEAL!”

She practically glowed. Like a teenager going off to college after growing up with strict religious parents who did not let her attend parties or have friends over and expected her to find a religious boyfriend without dating.

Dinner was fantastic, as always. The pork chops were seasoned with a blend of secret spices Emma had long given up trying to identify. Afterward, with a full belly and a sleepy mind, she crawled into bed.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

Instead, her mind wandered to the most recent happenings in her chaotic life.

Tammy and Rakesh had mind linked with her.

The first attempt had felt very uncomfortable. But then crazy. There was a connection, like their thoughts were carried on together like soft breeze. It was... kind of addictive.

Tammy had taken things a step further. “I can heal,” she had said nonchalantly in the girl’s bathroom before slicing open her own palm. Emma had gasped. Tammy had merely grinned and healed herself.

Magic trick? No. This was real. This was powerful. This was Zeda apparently.

Tammy belonged to an ancient order of women in the tribe called Zeda. Warrior healers, passed down from mother to daughter. Their roots stretched back to the Pacific War. The Luna then had pleaded with the Moon Goddess, Mesiac, for help. In response, Mesiac gifted her the ability to heal. She became the first Zeda. The first “Mother of All.”

It explained the admiration. The traditions. The name they gave every Luna.

But they hadn’t had a Luna in over a decade.

Because Noah’s mother had died according to what Tammy said and during childbirth.

Emma’s thoughts swerved and landed directly on an image she had rather not see. Noah and Sarah.

Gross.

“Ewww,” she muttered, and pulled her blanket over her head.

********

Noah opened the door to the Alpha’s mansion and was immediately hit by the sharp, bitter sting of alcohol. The smell clung to the air, and to his father who was currently slumped across the couch, a half-empty bottle still clutched in his hand.

His father, once the formidable Alpha King, now looked like a former sad version left to gather dust.

Zeus whimpered inside him.

“The pain of losing a mate is excruciating”, the wolf whispered. “An Alpha King losing his mate? That’s a wound only death can heal.”

Noah had grown up with that pain engraved into the walls of his home. He wore it like a second skin. His father didn’t say it aloud, but sometimes Noah could feel the blame. Like a question he wasn’t allowed to ask.

Once, in a sporadic moment of drunk honesty, his father had tried to explain the feeling.

“It’s like a box,” he’d said, slurring. “And inside the box is a button. And a ball. When she died, the box was tiny, and the ball kept hitting the button. Every. Damn. Fucking. Time. And that button, it is pain. Agony. Now the box is bigger. But this month?” He laughed, humorless. “The ball just keeps bouncing and the box keeps shrinking.”

Noah never forgot that.

Right now, watching his father, he could almost see the invisible ball smashing into the invisible button over and over and over and over again.

He never knew his mother, Cara. She had died giving birth to him. Everyone knew his mother except him. All he had were pictures and other people’s memories about her.

She had died ten months into her reign as Luna. The tribe hadn’t had a Luna since. To make it worse, the land wasn’t at peace. Factions were rising. Packs were whispering rebellion behind closed doors.

Noah had brought it up with his father months ago, especially after his encounter with Sullivan, a man who was as subtle as a neon sign in the dark. A man with the charm of a cult leader and the morals of a shark.

“He’s a mosquito,” his father had said, waving it off. “Annoying, but harmless.”

But Noah knew better.

Sullivan was more than a nuisance. He was the rumored leader of the Hortis faction, packs that didn’t respect tradition or honor the Moon’s order. Some rumors mentioned that he was being called the “Alpha King.” He made no attempt to correct them.

He was a sociopath with an obsession for power and a pattern of marrying teenage girls. He was a culmination of everything bad in one person.

The tribe needed a glue. A heart. A Luna.

Noah needed to find her.

Fast.

Because the ball was bouncing.

And the box was shrinking.