Chapter 8: first days

Mary Ann

The first few days in the Luna Wing passed in a quiet blur of determination. I refused to sit idle while the mate bond pulled at me and Modric kept his distance. Instead, I toured the pack lands thoroughly, listening more than I spoke. What I saw broke my heart in places.

The kitchens were chaotic—food wasted daily because of poor storage and outdated systems. The infirmary lacked basic supplies and organization, leaving healers overwhelmed. And the orphan quarters… the children there had threadbare blankets and meals that barely satisfied growing wolves. I didn’t complain or demand changes from the top. That wasn’t my style. I rolled up my sleeves instead.

I started small. In the kitchens, I worked alongside the older women, quietly reorganizing shelves, creating inventory lists, and showing them simple ways to preserve leftovers. We turned scraps into nourishing stews and redistributed excess to families who needed it most. The changes saved enough supplies in just a few days to feed several struggling households. The infirmary came next—sorting herbs, cleaning, and making sure every healer had what they needed. The orphan quarters got fresh linens I arranged from storage and extra playtime with stories I told in the evenings.

The older women began to like me first. They saw the effort, the way I listened to their stories and laughed at their jokes without putting on airs. The children followed soon after, crowding around me with bright eyes when I visited. One afternoon, as I helped serve lunch in the main hall, an elderly pack member named Elder Mira took my hands in her wrinkled ones. Her eyes shone with warmth.

“The Moon Goddess chose wisely,” she said loud enough for several others to hear. “You have a good heart, child. This pack is already brighter for it.”

Her blessing settled over me like a soft blanket. For the first time since the wedding, I felt truly seen. Not as the “Fat Luna” or the alliance bride, but as someone who belonged.

The praise from the elders during lunch that day came as a surprise. They raised their glasses in my direction, voices warm as they spoke of the improved kitchens and the hope blooming in the younger ones. I smiled modestly, cheeks warm, focused on the good it was doing rather than the attention.

Modric ruined it the moment we were alone.

He’d pulled me into a private side room off the main hall after the meal, his expression thunderous. The door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in tense silence.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, voice low and sharp.

I blinked, confused. “Helping. The kitchens were wasting food, Modric. I fixed it. We’re now feeding three extra families who were struggling. The elders—”

“You’re trying to make yourself look good,” he cut me off, stepping closer. His gray eyes flashed with something dark. “Parading around, winning everyone over like this is some game to prove you belong here. The perfect little Luna saving the day while I look like the absent Alpha.”

I kept my voice calm, even though frustration simmered under my skin. “That’s not true. I only want to help the pack. This is my home now too. I’m not doing it for praise or to undermine you. The changes are practical. You can check the numbers yourself.”

He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his dark hair. The spark between us flared angrily, mixing with the tension until the air felt thick. “Practical. Right. You always have to make yourself the center of attention. Maybe if you spent less time eating, you wouldn’t be so…”

He stopped abruptly, the word dying on his lips. But it hung there between us anyway, heavy and poisoned.

“…fat.”

The room fell deathly silent. That single word sliced through me sharper than any blade. It dragged me back to the Academy hallways, to the laughter, to the nights I’d cried myself raw. My eyes filled with hurt, hot tears blurring my vision as my chest tightened. The girl who had worked so hard to love her body, to find strength in her curves, felt small again in that moment.

Without thinking, I reacted.

Slap!

My hand connected with his cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the walls. His head snapped slightly to the side, the sound shocking us both. The room fell silent except for my ragged breathing.

Modric’s eyes widened, shock flashing across his face. Instead of striking back, he grabbed my wrist in a firm but careful grip, pulling me toward him until our bodies were only inches apart. His breath mingled with mine, that electric mate spark igniting wildly at the contact. I could feel the heat of him, the rapid beat of his heart, the storm raging in his gray eyes.