Chapter #12 That Girl is a Pyscho

Fenric POV

Shadow Luna Packhouse

She moved like moonlight.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Not trying to be anything she wasn’t. Just… gentle. Warm. Soft in the way the world didn’t deserve but desperately needed.

Emara. My mate.

My pulse kicked every time she laughed, every time her smile brightened a room, every time her shadowfire flickered around her fingers as she helped a young Omega fix a broken drawer or soothed an elderly wolf’s aching joints.

She wasn’t trying to lead. She simply was. And wolves followed kindness far more fiercely than cruelty.

I stood in the rebuilt hall with my arms crossed, watching her flit from room to room with Rowan at her side. My chest tightened, painfully but pleasantly, at how beautiful she was when she was simply allowed to exist.

“Fenric,” Rowan drawled behind me. “You’re staring again.”

I didn’t look away. “She is magnificent.”

Rowan let out a dreamy sigh. “I swear… I hope I find a man who looks at me the way you look at her.”

I turned, clapped his shoulder once, firm enough to make him wobble, and met his eyes.

“This man must be worthy of you,” I said quietly. “Or I will break him.”

Rowan beamed, wiping a dramatic fake tear from his cheek. “You’re the best homicidal frost wolf I’ve ever met.”

I grunted, which for me, meant thank you.

We spent the next hour helping the newly arrived wolves settle into the old packhouse. I lifted collapsed beams. Strengthened walls with frost magic. Pulled a child out of a stuck laundry chute, I still don’t know how he got in there, and earned three drawings of myself with horns “because you look cool.”

Their awe didn’t matter. Only Emara did.

And she glowed when she saw her people thriving. That alone made every bruise, every death, and every century of frozen silence worth it.

Until… something soured. A scent. A spike in the air. A wrongness slithering across the back of my mind like rot under fresh snow.

I followed it to the far corridor, and there she was.

Lyrina. Watching us through a window. Smile sweet as poison. Eyes sharp with obsession.

I stepped into her view. Slowly. Purposefully.

She startled, but quickly masked it with a flutter of lashes and a coy tilt of her head.

“Fenric,” she purred. “I’ve… heard a lot about you.”

“Unfortunate.”

She moved closer, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve. “You don’t have to stay glued to her, you know. Emara. She’s… sweet, I suppose, but she’s not...”

“Say one more word and I will remove your tongue.”

She froze. The smile cracked. Something underneath it shifted, a jagged madness simmering like boiling tar.

“You don’t understand,” she hissed softly. “Corvin was supposed to be my mate. I was supposed to be Luna. Not her. Not that weak, soft...”

I stepped forward so fast she slammed back against the wall. My hand locked around her throat, gentle enough to avoid bruising, but firm enough so she understood exactly how breakable she was.

My voice dropped to a growl colder than death.

“Listen well, little wolf. I have killed kings, witches, and monsters older than your bloodline. But I will end you faster than the moon blinks if you ever threaten my mate again.”

Her nails scraped my wrist. Her eyes burned with wild rage. “She stole everything from me.”

“She stole nothing. You were born empty.”

She flinched like I’d slapped her. I released her with a low rumble of warning.

“Give up your delusions,” I said. “Or I will bury you myself.”

She straightened her clothes, shaking, then stormed down the hall, her fury cracking off her like sparks from a wildfire.

I watched her go, shaking my head.

“That girl,” I muttered, “is a fucking psycho.”

Then Emara laughed from across the packhouse, and the madness of the world faded into nothing.

I turned toward her, my mate, my moon, and my reason, and felt peace settle in my bones again.

She met me halfway down the hallway, her braids swinging and shadowfire curling lazily around her fingers. She took one look at my expression and frowned.

“What happened?”

I wasn’t going to hide it. A mate deserved truth.

“Lyrina,” I said. “I confronted her.”

Her shoulders stiffened, but her chin lifted in that quiet, stubborn way I adored.

“What did she do?”

“She watched us from the window. Tried to charm me.”

I grimaced. “Poorly.”

Emara snorted. “Of course she did.”

“She also reeked of obsession.” My voice lowered, protective and cold. “I warned her to stop. To stay away from you. If she tries again… she won’t walk away.”

Emara sighed, rubbing her temples. “She really is a menace.”

“No,” I corrected softly, brushing my fingers along her cheek, “you are a miracle. And monsters always envy miracles.”

Her breath hitched.

The packhouse had gone quiet. Wolves all around us had paused mid job. Heads turned. Eyes widened. Some elbowed each other. Rowan was standing behind Emara mouthing kiss her, you frostbitten idiot.

So I did.

I slid a hand to her waist, tugged her gently toward me, and kissed her slowly and deeply, a kiss that tasted like warmth, like belonging, and like the only truth that had ever mattered in any of my lifetimes.

The entire packhouse erupted.

“Oooh!”

“Aww!”

“Luna’s got herself a man!”

Rowan whistled like a drunken fairy. “GET IT, QUEEN!”

Emara pulled back red-faced, hiding her smile behind her hands. I pressed my forehead to hers, murmuring low enough for her alone: “Let them look. You are mine, and I am yours.”

Her blush deepened. “Fenric…”

“Yes, little moon?”

“You’re going to make me combust in public.”

I grinned wickedly. “Good.”

She shoved my chest, laughing, and slipped out of my arms toward the kitchen as a group of Omegas waved her inside. And I… followed at a distance, because watching her was its own form of worship.

She tied on an apron. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Rolled her sleeves up. Then she began helping the cooks chop vegetables, stir pots, taste broths, correct seasoning, and smile warmly every time someone thanked her.

She was Luna by action, not title.

Soft but unyielding. Gentle but mighty. Warm but unstoppable. And my heart, a thing I thought was dead for centuries, felt full.

"You are lucky," Morana whispered from the shadows inside her soul, audible only to me.

"I know," I whispered back.

Because I was. A bone wolf born for war… and she was teaching me the meaning of home.

I leaned against the doorway, my arms crossed, watching Emara laugh with her people, and let the feeling settle deep in my bones:

For the first time in lifetimes, I was exactly where I belonged.

Right beside my Shadow Luna.