Callum

Ace had been a nightmare all week. My wolf was usually steady—quiet as a blade sheathed under a suit, silent until there was blood to spill. But lately? He hadn’t stopped clawing, snarling, pacing the dark corners of my skull like he was seconds from cracking bone and daylight.

Go back.

The command splintered through me as I stepped out of the steaming shower in Red Crescent’s guest suite. Water slid down my shoulders; steam curled over carved obsidian tile. Ancient wards glowed faint beneath my feet—silver sigils etched into stone when this valley still traded oaths with dragons. The patterns pulsed in time with the pack’s heart, a low, familiar thrum I could have mapped in my sleep.

The Crescent Packhouse had the same bones as every old stronghold in Lycandra—massive pine beams blackened by age, ceilings etched with lunar runes, high windows cut wide so the twin moons could bleed argent light across the floors. But Crescent’s latticework carried more than wolf magic. Fae glyphs thread the beam seams; dragon fire-brands were baked into the foundations—a relic of the Accord years when the realms braided power to keep balance: Lycandra’s shift, Valoria’s glamour, Drakonis’s flame, Lycan’Dra’s governance. This place was a knot in that net. The wards weren’t decoration. They were alive.

I dragged a towel across my face, patience frayed to a single fiber. I already knew what waited past the door.

I was right.

Serena sprawled across my bed in curated abandon, moonlight slicking her skin, highlighting every angle she’d angled. Lips parted, breath a practiced tremble, her hand sliding where she thought it would tilt the odds. She held my gaze like she’d already won.

Pathetic.

“Alpha,” she purred, letting the title drip—sweet as poison, twice as cheap. “Since you’re leaving tomorrow, why not let me send you off properly?”

I’d seen this a hundred ways in a hundred territories: she-wolves with famous names, desperate for proximity to power, throwing themselves like offerings. A night in an Alpha’s bed was a victory on paper. To me, it was hollow theatre.

Ace’s snarl tore through my chest.

Not her. Wrong. Save it for the one.

The beams above us shimmered—the silver veins in the old timber flared faintly with my rising dominance. Even borrowed Crescent magic bent, ward-light bowing before it like fields before wind. Serena’s breath hitched. Instinct never lies; wolves always know when a storm is rolling in, and whether they are the tree or the lightning rod.

I moved slowly. Deliberate was my weapon. Seth burned reckless; Rory smirked through chaos; Jaxon hunted like night given teeth. Me? Stillness. My silence did the work.

Two strides and my shadow swallowed the bed. Her smugness faltered.

“Sweetheart,” I said, low, steady—my hand fisting in her hair, tilting her chin until her pulse fluttered against my thumb. “If you want to play, you follow my rules.”

Fear flashed in her eyes—just a heartbeat—then obedience slid into place. That was all she had left.

Ace clawed harder.

She isn’t it.

He was right. No magnet. No tether. No spark. Lust dressed like purpose.

But the ache had gnawed for too many years. Waiting wears even granite thin.

I leaned closer, voice a blade at her ear. “On your knees.”

The room’s moonstone inlays shimmered; wall sigils breathed brighter, the air prickling with dominance. Serena obeyed, starving for scraps.

And as she shifted, a cold, clean certainty rooted in my chest.

This wasn’t her.

But soon—when the right scent cut the world to ribbons—I’d know before she spoke a word. Ace would stop pacing. The wards would answer. The bond would slam home like the final click in a lock.

The Luna Ace was howling for.

Jaxon’s POV

Night air bit colder than the heat clinging to my skin. I leaned on the balcony rail, staring at the forest spread below like a black ocean frozen mid-wave. Twin moons painted silver on the canopy; border wards glowed faint at the treeline, sigils humming a slow, old heartbeat under the wind.

Blaze wouldn’t settle. My wolf stalked the edges of my mind, claws raking. A caged animal wearing my bones.

Go back.

Back where? To who?

Metal groaned under my grip; iron warped. Control frayed is still control—until it isn’t. Distractions didn’t bite anymore. She-wolves, sparring, whiskey—it all went thin and tasteless when the absence burned this loud. When the hole her not-being-here carved through my ribs made breathing feel like failure.

Phone buzz. Didn’t have to look.

Aria.

“Baby,” she cooed, sugar stretched thin. “I miss you. Your Alpha ceremony’s soond—we should go shopping for my dress—”

“No.”

Silence. Could hear the pout even through a tower of stone and air.

“Pick something,” I said. “Send the bill.”

Click.

Door creaked. Seth and Rory slid in like sin and trouble. Seth’s grin crooked—grey eyes bright with violence and jokes; Rory loose-limbed, posture lazy, mind never off the chessboard.

“That the she-devil?” Seth asked, stealing a grape because boundaries mean less than gravity to him.

“Let me guess,” Rory said, dropping onto the couch. “She wanted a personal tour of every boutique in the capital.”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

Because it wasn’t Aria. It was never Aria.

It was her. The ghost Blaze hunted while I slept. The scent that would cauterize every other from memory. The one my hands weren’t tired of before they touched.

I wanted her.

Patience and I got divorced years ago.

Buzz again. Lila.

“Jaxon!” she sang. “Mom and Dad said you’re back tomorrow! Party Friday—you’re coming, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good! Love you!”

I smiled despite myself. Lila’s the only one who can walk into the cage and pet the tiger. She knows I don’t waste words. She never asks for the ones I won’t give.

I stared past the pines. Past our borders lay other hearts beating: Valoria’s mirrored rivers threaded with starlight; Drakonis’s molten peaks coughing embers into black; Lycan’Dra’s marble spires and law like a guillotine. The Great Accord braided those pulses together and wrapped them in runes. We live under that net. We enforce it when others forget. Supreme Alphas sit above us when the realm lines blur—Tristan, Lucas, Hayden—the Triplet Kings who answer only to the Moon’s will. We’ve stood in their shadows and just theirs.

None of it mattered. Not without her.

Lila had a bond burning warm under her skin. Theo wears it like armour.

We were still hungry.

Blaze shoved harder—snarl ripping loose. Wards answered with a faint flicker, like the latticework tasted the shape of my want and glowed for it.

Ours, Blaze ground out.

“Soon,” I promised back, even if the word tasted like a lie.

Patience?

Mine was ash.

Seth’s POV

Jax brooded on the balcony like an Alpha ad carved from obsidian. If there’s ever a contest for Most Menacing Silence, we’ll build him a throne.

Me? I was making a list.

Not of names. Names were boring. Reactions were art.

Our mate would roll her eyes at my jokes, mutter “asshole” when I pushed, maybe throw something if I earned it. Her pulse would jump when I got close, and she’d hate that it did—until she didn’t. She wouldn’t want the crown. She’d want… us. Me. The feral under the grin, the teeth behind the laughter. The part everyone else pretends not to see until it’s chewing on their bad decisions.

Scar stirred, prowling the bars of my ribs. He’s worse than me. Or I’m worse because of him. Hard to say where the line is anymore.

I sprawled deeper into the chair, boots on the table because Callum wasn’t here to glare me into pretending to be civilized. “Let’s finish the rogue briefs before we roll,” I said. “Dad wants the Crescent contract wrapped.”

Rory groaned like dying art. Limbs everywhere. Pure chaos. “Paperwork? I’d rather sprint at a rogue nest with a steak tied to my throat.”

From the balcony, Jax huffed a humourless laugh. “You’d enjoy that.”

Rory flipped him off—lazy, efficient—then smirked at me. I laughed. Pissing each other off is our family’s love language. We came out identical—thirty-two,broad, tall, black hair, grey eyes—but under the skin we’re different weapons. Cal is the commander blade. Jax is the executioner’s axe. Rory’s a poisoned smile. Me? I’m the grin on the wolf that already ate you.

The wards hummed low—sigils in the suite walls soft-glowing like banked coals. Accord magic never sleeps. Tonight the hum sat higher—an itch on the teeth.

She’s coming.

Don’t ask me how I know. The certainty presses the inside of my chest until the latticework in the walls brightens like it recognizes the shape of it. Some truths don’t need evidence; they arrive with teeth marks.

Can’t sell that to my brothers. Not yet. Not with nothing but a feeling chewing at my spine. They’re my pack, my breath. We move together or not at all. If I say it too soon and I’m wrong, it takes a piece of us I can’t glue back.

People whisper the mate-pull is rare. That sometimes the Moon looks away and leaves you starving. They say a lot of things. They didn’t watch our sister’s bond take Theo’s knees out from under him like the first time pride met purpose. The pull is real. The waiting is the hell.

Scar raked his claws along my ribs, impatient. He doesn’t want warm bodies and hollow nights. He wants the girl who’ll glare when I smirk and soften when I don’t. The one who’ll hate how fast she blushes and won’t tell me to stop.

She’s out there. I don’t need a map. I’ll know the moment the air changes temperature when she steps into it.

And when she does?

Game over.

She’s ours.

Rory’s POV

The corridor breathed silver. Old lunar runes pulsed along the plaster seams, each sigil a heartbeat in light. Valoria gifted most of this lattice after the Accord—fae engineers weaving wolf warding with glamour anchors so even our tempers don’t knock the roof off. Every step under this roof sits under the Moon’s eye whether you nod to Her or not.

Serena swept past, silk robe “accidentally” loosening, the perfume cloud an assault. Chin up, eyes glazed—desperation draped in satin.

Jax’s lip curled. Silent judgment. His specialty.

“Guess Cal’s still breaking hearts,” I said, letting the words roll.

“If I had a dollar for every she-wolf he’s sent packing,” Seth said, snatching a grape without breaking eye contact—

“We’d own another island,” I finished, because we share one brain cell and take turns borrowing it.

“Think bigger,” Seth drawled. “Human double-decker planes. An airborne fortress.”

I barked a laugh. “Nothing says ‘Alpha dominance’ like snacks at 30,000 feet.”

We pushed into Callum’s suite. The scent hit first—sex, whiskey, frustration—burnt sugar and flint. Moonstone flames licked along an obsidian hearth; the shadow it threw fit Cal like upholstery.

He sat in the armchair, jaw a weapon, grey eyes gone darker—stormbank about to roll. Control rides him like a second spine; right now it was riding hard.

I leaned on the doorframe, smile easy. “Judging by your face, she either proposed with a PowerPoint… or asked to grow you a small army.”

His glare snapped—a perfect, flat blade. “Both.”

I whistled low. “Ouch. Rough night for the king of restraint.”

Jax ghosted past me, poured himself more whiskey he didn’t need, lip nearly twitching. Seth sprawled with a grin that said say one more word and I’ll make it funny.

The glass Callum hurled moved like a bullet. Seth caught it one-handed without looking. Smirk widened.

There it is. We’re not the same. Cal is the commander; Jax is the guillotine; Seth’s the grinning grenade. I’m the smiling map that already led you off a cliff.

Cal’s exhale came measured; he locked the storm back down. For a breath, steel irised to black; then it shuttered again.

“Tomorrow,” he said, voice a quiet knife. “We leave for Ridge Storm.”

I cocked my head. “And?”

The air changed. You feel it first in your molars. His wolf pressed forward—Ace’s dominance humming hard enough the sigils in the walls flared silver like breath caught.

“I think we’re going to find her.”

The words hit like the first drop before a downpour.

Jax straightened—predator lines sharpened, the lazy roll of muscle gone, everything arrowed forward. “You sure.”

Not a question. A demand to compare certainties.

Callum nodded once. “I can feel it.”

Seth whistled, low and wicked. “Well, fuck.”

Heat slid through my veins. Years of waiting. Years of wolves pacing our bones until the floors should have cracked. Years of letting bodies try to fill a shape that didn’t change.

Now the shape felt close enough to breathe on.

She was out there.

And when she stepped into our gravity, she wouldn’t drift. Not from me. Not from us.

Because what we are might scare entire halls quiet, but what we are with her?

That will make the wards sing.

And if—no, when—the Supreme Alphas and the Triplet Kings look down and ask what the hell the bond resonance spike was across our borders, I’ll tell them the truth with a smile:

The Moon finally answered.