King of the North

Chapter Four

The rain was pouring heavily.

Deluca stood at the edge of the Blackwood border, his boots sinking into the thick, churned mud of the neutral zone. His charcoal coat was drenched, clinging to the broad, heavy muscle of his shoulders. Behind him, his Beta, Ryder, and his lead scout, Devron, waited in silence.

"We’ve been out here for three weeks, Alpha," Ryder said, his voice straining against the wind. "The scent ended at the river. If she was here, the storm has washed her away by now. Maybe the Moon Goddess isn't ready for you to find her."

Deluca stormy blue eyes were fixed on the dark tree line of the Blood Moon territory. For years, he had felt the hollow ache in his chest—a phantom limb of a bond that had never been filled. He was the Alpha of the Northern Ridge, a man who had conquered every rival and stabilized a dying pack, yet he was an Alpha without a Luna.

"She’s here," Deluca rumbled. His voice was deep, a low frequency that seemed to vibrate in the very earth. "I can feel the pull, Ryder. It’s faint, like a dying ember, but it’s there."

"Alpha, look," Devron whispered, pointing toward a cluster of jagged rocks near the riverbank.

Deluca moved with a predatory speed that defied his massive build.

There, slumped against a moss-covered stone, was a woman. She was soaked to the bone, her pale skin almost translucent in the moonlight. Her fingers were curled into the mud, and her dark hair was plastered across her face.

Deluca dropped to his knees, his heart doing a violent thud against his ribs. The moment he reached out and touched her shoulder, a jolt of electricity surged through his palm. It wasn't magic—it was the raw, primal recognition of a second-chance mate.

"Goddess," he breathed.

He brushed the hair from her face. She was beautiful, but she looked like she had been through a war. There was a faint, jagged cut on her throat, and her scent—usually sweet like rain and honey—was laced with the bitter tang of rejection and exhaustion.

"She’s marked," Ryder said, leaning over. He pointed to the gray, fading scar on her neck. "Blood Moon mark. That’s an Alpha’s rejection, Deluca. She’s a stray."

"She’s not a stray," Deluca snapped, his voice crackling with a sudden, protective fury that surprised even him. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. "She’s mine."

"Deluca, taking a rejected Luna from Kashton Blackwood is an act of war," Devron warned.

"Then let him come for her," Deluca hissed, tucking her head against his chest. Even unconscious, she let out a small, broken whimper and instinctively clung to his shirt.

Her touch shattered him.

"Get the car. Tell Claire to have the healer’s wing ready. If she loses another degree of body heat, I’ll have everyone’s head."

The Northern Ridge Pack was the opposite of the Blood Moon’s cold marble. It was all dark wood, furs, and roaring fireplaces.

Deluca paced the hallway outside the medical suite, his jaw set. He had refused to change out of his wet clothes until the healer came out.

The door opened, and Claire, a sharp-eyed woman with greying hair, stepped out.

"She’s stable," Claire said, wiping her hands on a towel. "Severe exhaustion, malnutrition, and the mental trauma of a forced rejection. It’s a miracle she made it across the river in that storm."

"Is she awake?" Deluca asked, already moving toward the door.

"She’s drifting. But Deluca..." Claire hesitated, her eyes searching his. "There’s something else. I need to run more tests when she’s stronger."

"Tell me now, Claire."

"Her scent is... complicated. It’s not just the rejection. There’s a faint secondary heartbeat, Alpha. Or maybe more than one. I can't be sure yet because she's so weak, but she’s not traveling alone."

Deluca froze. His hand stayed on the door handle. A rejected, pregnant Luna. Kashton Blackwood hadn't just thrown away a wife; he had thrown away his blood.

"Does she know you know?"

"No," Claire said. "And if I were you, I wouldn't bring it up. A woman in her position is like a wounded animal. If she thinks you’ll take those pups or send her back, she’ll bolt."

Deluca nodded, his chest tightening. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was warm, the fireplace crackling softly. Nora was tucked under a pile of thick faux-fur blankets, looking tiny in the massive bed.

He pulled a chair close and sat down, watching the way her eyelashes flickered. He didn't know her name. He didn't know her story. But as he looked at the bruised skin of her neck, a protective instinct he had never felt before roared to life.

Nora’s eyes fluttered open. They were a deep, soulful brown, clouded with fear. She gasped, trying to scramble backward, but the weakness in her limbs betrayed her.

"Easy," Deluca said, his voice dropping to its softest register. He stayed perfectly still, keeping his hands visible. "You're safe. You're in the Northern Ridge."

"Who... who are you?" she whispered, her voice a shredded thread.

"I'm Deluca. The Alpha here."

Nora’s eyes widened. She looked at the door, her breath hitching. "Did he send you? Did Kashton send you to finish it?"

"Kashton Blackwood has no power here," Deluca said firmly. He leaned in just an inch, enough for her to catch his scent—cold mountain air and sandalwood. "I found you at the border. You’re under my protection now."

Nora stared at him, her lip trembling. She looked at his broad chest, the power radiating off him, and then back to his eyes. For the first time in five years, she didn't see coldness. She saw a strange, burning intensity that felt like... worship.

"Why?" she asked. "I'm a rogue. I'm nothing."

"You are everything," Deluca murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, raw honesty. "You are the woman I've been searching for since the day I took my title."

A knock at the door interrupted them. A servant entered with a tray of hot broth, fresh bread, and fruit.

"Eat," Deluca commanded gently, taking the tray and placing it across her lap. "You need your strength."

Nora looked at the food as if it were a trap. She picked up a piece of bread, her hand shaking. "I can't pay you for this. I have nothing. He took everything."

"I don't want your money, Nora," Deluca said, knowing her name instinctively from the papers he’d seen tucked in her bag. "I want you to breathe. I want you to feel safe."

He reached out, his hand hovering over hers. Nora hesitated, then slowly, she let him take her hand. His skin was scorching against hers, sending a wave of calm through her battered system.

"You're not a replica here," he whispered, his thumb grazing her knuckles. "And you're never going to be second best again."

Nora felt a sob catch in her throat. She looked at this massive, dangerous stranger who was treating her like she was made of glass.

"You don't know what you're taking on," she whispered, her eyes drifting to her own stomach for a split second before she caught herself. "There are things... secrets..."

"It's fine," Deluca smiled, a slow, devastatingly handsome curve of his lips. 

He stayed with her while she ate, talking in low tones about the mountains and the pack, giving her fragments of a life that seemed like a fairy tale compared to the hell she’d left behind. For a moment, the pain in her heart dimmed.

Nora finally drifted into a heavy, medicated sleep, Deluca stood by the window, looking toward the south.

Ryder entered quietly. "Alpha, we intercepted a message. Kashton is telling the neighboring packs that Nora stole high-value items before she fled. He’s put a bounty on her head."

Deluca’s eyes turned a lethal, glowing blue.

"Tell the border guards to double the patrols.”

"Find out exactly what Maeve’s role was in this. I want to know everything that woman whispered in Kashton’s ear."

Deluca turned back to the bed, watching Nora’s chest rise and fall. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small crumpled piece of paper he had found in her bag—an old ultrasound photo.

He hadn't told her he saw it. He wouldn't tell her yet.

But as he looked at the tiny, flickering life in the photo, he realized the war wasn't coming. It was already here.

And then, a sharp, frantic scratching came from the window.

Deluca pulled the curtain back. A hawk, its leg tied with a Blood Moon ribbon, was pecking at the glass.

He opened the window, and the bird dropped a small, blood-stained note onto the sill.

Deluca unfolded it, his face turning into a mask of pure horror.