His Dying Luna’s Greatest Secret

DELIA WHITAKER POV

"Are you standing there all day, or are we signing the pack register?" Rowan Calloway’s deep, gravelly voice cuts through the muggy air, sharp enough to snap my jaw shut.

I pull my eyes away from the massive alpha standing at the stone steps of the Briarford Registry Office. He wears a plain white shirt and dark trousers, but there is nothing simple about him. Broad shoulders, a lethal frame, and a dark, suffocating alpha pressure radiate off his skin, making every human and low-ranking wolf on the street turn to stare.

He lowers his phone from his ear, his piercing eyes narrowing straight at me.

"Delia Whitaker?" he asks.

"Yes," I say, taking a step forward. My voice barely wobbles, though my heart is hammering against my ribs like a caged beast. "Rowan Calloway?"

He gives a curt nod, turning on his heel to lead the way inside. "Let's get this over with."

His stride is brutal. I have to jog just to keep up with him as we cross the marble foyer of the registry building. My chest heaves, my mind racing back to the photograph my grandmother sent me this morning. The picture did not do him justice. In person, his aura is absolute dominance, commanding obedience without saying a single word.

"Are you sure about this?" I call after him, forcing him to pause right before the heavy wooden doors.

Rowan stops, checking the heavy metal watch on his wrist with a flick of his dark brows. "Do you have concerns?"

Do you even know who I am? Do you know what they said about me three years ago?

The questions burn the back of my throat, but I swallow them down. What is the point? He isn’t here for a true mate connection. He isn’t here because the moon goddess aligned our stars. He is here because his grandmother, Florence Calloway, arranged this mate marriage record to settle him down, just like my grandmother, Mabel, forced me into it to secure my safety.

We are business partners on a legal document. Nothing more.

"No," I say, lifting my chin. "Let's go."

The process takes less than ten minutes. The clerk registers our details under the pack records, stamping the parchment that legally binds us as mates in the eyes of the law, if not by blood or scent.

The moment the stamped paper lands in my hands, a black metallic card is pressed against my palm.

"I have pack matters to oversee," Rowan says, his voice devoid of any warmth as he steps back toward the exit. "Take the card. The pin is six sixes. Buy whatever you need."

Before I can even open my mouth to refuse, he pushes open the heavy glass doors, stepping into a blacked-out SUV that speeds off down the avenue, leaving me standing on the concrete alone.

I stare at the plastic in my hand. It feels like a burning coal against my skin.

I don't need his money. I work as an administrator at the Calloway Regional Office, and I co-own a graphic studio with my sister. I earn more than enough to feed myself. My goal was never to leach off a stranger; it was simply to give my aging grandmother peace of mind so she would stop worrying about my reputation.

Pulling out my phone, I snap a quick picture of the official mate marriage record and send it to Mabel.

Grandma, it's done. We signed the records.

Her reply comes back instantly. Good. Now make sure you bear him a strong pup before the year is out.

I stare at the text, a heavy weight settling over my ribs. I lock the screen and slip the phone into my pocket. In our pack, a woman without a mate is hunted by rumors, and a woman with one is expected to breed. There is no middle ground.

A year passes in a blur of endless work and silent nights.

Rowan never calls. He never sends a message, never visits, and never asks about the woman he linked his name to at the registry office. My life carries on as if that afternoon never happened—until my hard work pays off and I am transferred up to Calloway Tower in the heart of Briarford City.

The air on the executive floor is thick with tension today.

"He's coming up right now," my coworker Tamsyn whispers, leaning over my desk with wide, terrified eyes. "The Alpha returned from the overseas territories this morning. If you make one mistake in front of him, you're out."

"Is he really that strict?" I ask, adjusting the file folder in my hands.

"Strict isn't the word," Tamsyn breathes. "He runs the entire Calloway Corporation like a war camp. Last year, a girl from accounting tried to drop her handkerchief in front of him. He had her banished to the outer territory pack branch before the sun went down."

Before I can answer, the quiet chime of the private executive elevator echoes down the hall.

The heavy steel doors slide open, and three figures step out into the marble lobby. Standing front and center is a tall, imposing man in a tailored dark suit, silver-framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He moves with the silent, dangerous grace of an apex predator.

My breath catches in my throat.

He looks... familiar.

I stare a second too long, trying to place those sharp jawlines and the commanding posture.

"Do you really think a low-grade wolf like you is worthy of looking at him?" A sneering voice cuts through the air behind me.

I don't even have to turn around to know it's Fallon Greer. Ever since I transferred to this department and turned down his attempt to force a court dynamic with me, he hasn't missed an opportunity to snap at my heels.

"I was just looking at the incoming line, Fallon," I say coldly, keeping my eyes fixed forward.

"Sure you were," Fallon sneers, stepping up beside my desk. "Females like you come to Calloway Tower for one thing. You think a pretty face means you can climb into the Alpha's bed and become Luna overnight."

"That's enough," a sharp, composed voice cuts off Fallon's mockery.

Meredith Sloan, the head executive assistant, steps into the hallway, her clipboard tucked neatly under her arm. Her eyes scan the three of us with cold precision. "Delia, Tamsyn, Fallon. The Alpha wants to see the candidates for the open lead assistant position. Inside. Now."

Fallon immediately straightens his jacket, casting a smug look in my direction as he smooths his hair. "Watch and learn, Whitaker."

We follow Meredith into the grand office at the end of the hall. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the entire outer wall, looking out over the sprawling skyline of Briarford City.

The man standing by the glass turns slowly to face us.

The silver frames of his glasses reflect the morning light, obscuring his eyes for a split second before he steps into the shadow of the desk. The sheer weight of his alpha aura rolls over the room, so powerful that Tamsyn drops her gaze instantly, her shoulders trembling.

Fallon steps forward first, flashing a practiced, eager smile. "Alpha Calloway! It's an honor. My name is Fallon Greer. My uncle, Malcolm Ellison, told me to pass along his highest regards from the pack council..."

Rowan doesn't even blink. His face remains an unreadable mask of cold marble, his silence crushing Fallon's words mid-sentence until Fallon awkwardly steps back, sweating.

Rowan's dark eyes shift to Tamsyn.

"Tamsyn Price," she squeaks out, her voice tight. "Three years in administrative services, Alpha."

Rowan offers no response. His gaze glides past her, stopping squarely on me.

I lift my head, meeting his dark, piercing eyes head-on. Standing this close, without the distraction of a crowded street, the scent of crushed pine and winter frost hits my nose—the heavy, unmistakable scent of an apex alpha.

My heart stops in my chest.

The sharp slope of his jaw. The deep, lethal tone of his voice. The absolute dominance in his posture.

It hits me like a physical blow.

The mysterious, plain-clothed man named Rowan who signed my mate certificate a year ago in front of a rundown registry office... is the supreme leader of the Calloway Pack.

Rowan’s eyes narrow behind his silver frames as he stares back at me. A subtle shift ripples through his alpha aura, his nostrils flaring just a fraction of an inch as he catches my scent across the room.

He steps away from the window, his heavy boots echoing against the hardwood floor as he stops directly in front of me.

"Name?" he demands, his low voice vibrating right through the floorboards.

My throat goes dry as bone. "Delia... Delia Whitaker."

Rowan stares down at me, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes. He doesn't say a word, but the sudden, intense flare of his wolf's interest fills the tight space between us.

Before I can breathe, the sleek black phone resting on his massive oak desk begins to ring violently, breaking the suffocating silence of the room.

Rowan doesn't look away from my eyes. He reaches down, pressing the speaker button with one long finger.

A hurried, frantic voice blasts through the desk speaker. "Alpha! We have a breach at the southern boundary! They found the—"

Rowan slams his hand down on the button, cutting the line off mid-sentence. His eyes hold mine captive, dark and unreadable.