I Am Not Luna

Maddox's gaze wandered toward the distant packhouse, his expression changing incredibly tender. "That was one of your mother's favorite things to do, you know. To sit down with the three of us after a long day in the dirt, spread the lists out over the desk, and run everyone's crazy suggestions by the family." He looked back at Zyan, his eyes radiating with a quiet, healed strength. "We do it together, pup. Just like she would have wanted."

 

By the time the sun lowered below the tree line, casting shade over the newly churned obstacle course, the three men were exhausted, aching, and caked in dried mud. They went back up to the main packhouse, shedding their heavy work boots at the back door. The moment they walked in, they were hit by the overwhelming, mouth-watering fragrance of cinnamon, roasting meats, and warm sugar.

 

But Xander didn't care about his own exhaustion or the food. The moment he crossed the threshold, his eyes swept the kitchen, his wolf instinctively searching for his mate after hours apart. There she was: Reagan, standing at the center island, one arm tucked securely around a heavy mixing bowl while she whisked batter alongside Lettie, laughter and conversation fluttering between them.

 

He stopped dead, stunned by the transformation. Gone was the fragile, ghostly pallor that had haunted her for months. In its place was a warm, healthy flush, the result of both the kitchen’s heat and the steady rhythm of work. Even wrapped in her oversized sweater, she stood taller, her posture no longer brittle with tension but alive with focused, natural energy. For the first time in eight agonizing months, she wasn’t simply surviving—she was living. Xander felt a rush of relief so intense it nearly brought him to his knees.

 

Ignoring his own filthy state, Xander crossed the kitchen and immediately wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, letting out a long sigh of relief as he inhaled her sweet scent, the berries and clover, now mixed with vanilla and flour.

 

"You survived the town," Xander murmured against her skin, the lingering anxiety of the day finally bleeding out of his tense muscles. He pulled back just enough to turn her gently in his arms, his thumb brushing a smudge of flour from her cheek. He studied her face, absolute awe softening the dirt smudges on his features. "You look beautiful, Little Warrior. You actually have color in your cheeks again. Getting you out of that dark room, getting you back to being my Little Warrior again... I think this might just be the absolute best thing for you."

 

Reagan looked up into his eyes for a long moment. The dull, hollow shadows that had haunted her for the past eight months were finally receding, leaving behind a genuine, radiant affection. She tipped her chin up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips, then placed her flour-dusted hands on his chest and playfully pushed him back.

 

“We have official pack business to get to, Mr. Frost,” she said, a mischievous smile lighting her face.

She enjoyed the gentle reminder of their shared history. When Maddox had taken Xander in years ago and given him the Alpha family's surname, Xander had become a Frost long before he became her mate.

 

“You know, you took our last name before you even knew you’d be stuck with me,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “At least I didn’t have to worry about changing mine.”

 

She laughed, stepping forward to steal another quick kiss before brushing her hand affectionately along his cheek. “Now go on—let us handle things in here. We’ve got work to do.”

 

Before Xander could fire back a charming response, a loud, pathetic groan echoed from the end of the center island.

 

"But we're hungry," Zyan pleaded.

 

The fearsome, newly minted Alpha of the Frost pack was currently slumped over the counter, resting his chin on his crossed arms. He looked up at his twin sister with wide, utterly pitiful puppy-dog eyes, completely dropping his authoritative persona for the sake of a meal.

 

"Oh, good grief," Reagan sighed, rolling her eyes with a fond, exasperated smile.

 

She turned her back on her pouting brother and marched over to the refrigerator. A moment later, she emerged carrying a thick package of sliced ham and a fresh loaf of bread. Without warning, she tossed the bread straight at Zyan’s head.

 

He caught it with a werewolf’s lightning-fast reflexes, blinking in surprise as she slapped the package of ham down on the counter directly in front of him.

 

"Here. Sandwich," Reagan instructed briskly, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. She arched an eyebrow at the fearsome Alpha of the Frost pack, a wicked, teasing glint in her eye. "You can handle making that yourself, right?"

 

Zyan held the loaf of bread against his chest, looking tragically abused. He glanced over at Xander and Maddox, silently pleading for some backup. Finding absolutely no sympathy from either his Beta or his father—both of whom were already eyeing the ham with interest—Zyan let out a heavy, incredibly dramatic sigh.

 

"If we have to, I suppose," Zyan grumbled, tearing into the plastic of the bread bag like a thoroughly defeated man.

 

Maddox chuckled, reaching past his son to grab a slice of ham. "Better get used to it, Alpha," the older man teased around a mouthful of meat. "When the Luna of the kitchen speaks, the rest of us just fall in line."

 

“I am not the Luna of this house.” Reagan said with a smirk, “That is a position your son needs to fill.”