Chapter 23

At those cryptic words, Silas lifts his hand and snaps his fingers.

Instantly, the two men stationed beyond the glass balcony doors straighten, turn, and enter the room with near-military precision. The door opens without a sound, and they step inside in perfect sync.

They bow in unison, fluid and practiced.

“Rise,” Silas commands, his tone edged with quiet authority—so accustomed to being obeyed he barely needs to raise his voice.

Both men comply.

The first one is older—broad-shouldered and solid, with more grey than brown in his hair. His beard is neatly trimmed, but there’s something rugged about him that grooming can’t polish away. He wears a faded, greyish shirt that clings to a powerful frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal two thick, jagged scars—one running down each arm from under the sleeve to just above the elbow. They’re not clean slashes. Whatever tore into him left behind something ragged and cruel.

The other man is younger—by a lot. His wild ginger hair looks like it hasn’t been tamed in years. He’s lightly freckled, green-eyed, and sports an oversized shirt that’s clearly not his. It hangs off him like he borrowed it last minute, probably from the man beside him. Where the older man is brute strength, this one is lean muscle, shoulders wiry and compact. He moves like someone used to climbing things he shouldn’t be on.

“Your bodyguards,” Silas says simply, gesturing between them. “Nord is our beta’s mate and one of the oldest warriors in the pack. He’s experienced, loyal, and—fortunately for you—personally invested. His wife made it very clear he’ll be sleeping on the couch if anything happens to you.”

Nord chuckles at that, lifting a hand in a crisp military salute.

“Wouldn’t want to upset the wife,” he says with a wink.

I manage a polite nod in return, still processing the information. I’ve never had bodyguards before. It was unnecessary in the Moonlit pack. The Luna was sacred—untouchable. Here, I’m clearly neither.

Silas doesn’t give me time to dwell on it. He turns to the younger one.

“And this,” he continues, “is Hansel. The pack’s adopted weasel.”

The redhead rolls his eyes, but the faint grin says he’s used to the nickname.

“He’s been here since he was three. Grew up crawling through every tunnel, crevice, and rooftop we’ve got. I’ve never met someone who could go unseen—or be everywhere at once—the way he does. He’s a bit… unorthodox, but no one gets past him. No matter who your old pack might send.”

Hansel mock-salutes, sloppily imitating Nord’s formality. “At your service, Luna.”

There’s warmth in his smile, but not reverence. That’s fine. I’m not sure I want reverence right now anyway.

Again, I nod—measured, deliberate. I fold my hands in my lap to keep them still. My mind is racing.

Silas must sense it.

“Being rogues comes with certain disadvantages,” he explains, voice lower now, more serious. “Other rogue groups often see us as competition. Easy prey. And some of the more arrogant lower-tier packs think they can climb the ladder if they take us down. We’ve dealt with our share of attacks.”

He meets my eyes, gaze steady.

“That’s why I want you protected. And…” He hesitates—just for a second. “Well, I can barely sense your wolf.”

That stings more than I expect.

It’s not cruel. Just honest.

Still, the words sink in like a needle under the skin—not deep, not bloody, but enough to make me flinch. I lower my gaze for a moment. Corneille is still silent, hidden behind the mental walls I built to protect her. Or maybe to protect myself.

I’m afraid to let her out.

Afraid she’ll beg to go back.

Afraid the bond shattered something we can’t fix. That she's gone mad with grief. Or worse—gone entirely.

I can’t face that.

Not yet.

So I don’t answer Silas. Instead, I gather my composure, lift my chin, and shift into a graceful pose worthy of a Luna—legs tucked, hands folded, spine tall.

I turn to the two men and speak with calm authority.

“I thank you both for your consideration and your protection,” I say. “I’ll do my best to be a Luna worth guarding.”

Hansel smirks. Nord nods once, expression unreadable but approving.

Silas says nothing, but I feel his gaze settle on me like a shield.

The moment lingers for a breath longer than it should. Then Silas rises slowly, the legs of the chair scraping softly against the floor.

“I would’ve introduced you to my beta and omega,” he says as he straightens, smoothing a hand down his shirt, “but they’re both busy at the moment. I’ll make sure we set a proper time for introductions.”

I nod, understanding. “I can’t have everyone drop their schedules just to sit by my bedside for days on end.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, steps closer to the bed.

“Yes, that’s a privilege reserved for your husband.”

And with that, he leans down and presses a kiss to my lips.

It’s quick. Barely a peck. Gentle, unhurried. By the time I register what’s happened, he’s already moving, his back to me, crossing the room and slipping through the door without another word.

I stare after him, stunned, one hand instinctively rising to my lips. I didn’t expect him to touch me like that. Not here. Not now. Not in private.

Or maybe it wasn’t for me at all.

Maybe he’s trying to sell the fantasy to his pack, too. Maybe this whole “madly-in-love” narrative isn’t just for the outside world—it’s a performance he intends to keep airtight.

I clench my hand into a fist.

Fine. I can play my part. I can make them believe it. I can be the lovestruck Luna who left her past behind for a rogue alpha with a hidden heart of gold.

I force a breath out through my nose and throw off the covers. My legs tremble beneath me the moment they touch the floor, muscles weak from disuse. But I grit my teeth and push through it, swaying only slightly as I find my footing.

The two men posted at the balcony—Hansel and Nord—glance my way. They don’t move. They don’t comment. But they’re watching.

I turn toward them, speaking carefully, aware of the pride I’m trying to hold onto.

“Would you mind sending for Dorothee?” I ask, voice composed. “I’d like to get dressed before exploring the house.”

Hansel’s face immediately reddens. He gives a quick nod and rushes off, darting out the balcony with quiet efficiency. Nord, more composed, gives me a short, respectful nod and steps outside, resuming his post.

It doesn’t take long. Barely five minutes later, the door opens, and Dorothee steps through, alone. I blink in surprise. Behind me, I catch Hansel already back in place beside Nord.

Efficient, indeed. The nickname suits him.

Dorothee doesn’t waste a second. She crosses the room in a blur and wraps me up in a fierce, grounding hug.

“Nara! It’s so good to see you up!”

Her arms crush around me, her face buried in my hair like she’s anchoring herself to the fact that I’m real.

“These last few days were hell,” she breathes. “I kept thinking you were going to die, and that damn Silas refused to explain anything until you stabilized. Then he said the two of you had been in a relationship for weeks and—”

She stops herself mid-sentence, pulls back just enough to look me in the eye.

“Oh, Nara. I’m just so glad you’re okay. Really back. And better.”

I smile, a shaky, stunned kind of smile. There’s a strange lightness in my chest, like I might laugh or cry or both.

It worked.

I made it out of the Moonlit pack.

I’m free.

But the high barely lasts a heartbeat before Dorothee pulls me right back to the ground.

“We really should talk about the Moonlit pack.”