CASSIAN POV
The night felt wrong. Too quiet. Too heavy. Nights like that always dragged me back to the one when I walked away from my old pack and everything went straight to hell.
I'd been running the eastern border alone since dusk. The scouts wouldn't shut up earlier about Blue Moon wolves sniffing around the river again — no real proof, just that nagging itch we all get when trouble's close.
Demitri's council never liked how fast my territory kept growing. Three new stretches claimed in two years, no fancy alliances, no council stamps, just wolves tired of the old rules who decided to follow me instead.
Blue Moon wasn't the only pack grumbling about the black beast who kept taking land while theirs stayed the same. They all hated it. Fine by me.
So I kept running the line late, letting the cold keep me awake.
Then I heard a scream. Raw. Desperate. Female. Full of blood and rage.
I shifted mid-stride. Black fur ripped through, paws slammed the ground. Three miles. Two. One.
Her prayer hit me like a punch to the chest — clear, raw, right in my skull like she was whispering in my ear.
Hecate of the Moon… protector of crossroads… protector of women… please hear me.
I don't ask for mercy. I don't ask for escape. Give my child a chance to live.
It wasn't loud. It was private. Broken. And it yanked me forward faster than any scout warning ever could.
I burst into the clearing roaring. Three Blue Moon hunters froze. Heads snapped my way, eyes wide with pure terror. My wolf towered over them — bigger than any normal alpha, bigger than most rogues, shoulders wide enough to block half the clearing, black fur shining like oil in the moonlight, jaws dripping. They knew what they were looking at.
One with his boot raised over her stumbled back, claws pulling in on instinct. "Cassian…" he choked, voice cracking. "The black beast… it's him—"
The second one swallowed a whimper, shifting weight like he wanted to bolt. "He's… bigger… bigger than they said…"
Third — the one closest to her — backed up fast, eyes jumping between me and the woman curled on the ground. Fear rolled off him thick and sour. "We didn't know… she crossed into his land… Rose said she was weak—"
I went for them.
The first guy tried to shift but he was stupid slow. I clamped down on his throat, felt my fangs hit bone and heard it crunch. Blood sprayed hot across my face. I shook him like a rag doll and dropped him. Done.
The second one spun around like he had a chance, claws swinging wildly. He caught my side — barely a scratch. I reared up and slammed both paws into his chest. Ribs popped like twigs. He screamed once before my claws tore him open stomach to chest. Blood everywhere, dark and thick, pooling quick.
The last one was already crawling, knees shaking, his wolf basically bailed on him from fear. He whimpered, shifted back to human without even trying, hands up like that was gonna save him. Pathetic. I stalked over slowly, letting him see it coming. He pissed himself again.
Then one swipe to the throat. He Gurgle and went still.
Everything went quiet after that. Just the crack of branches settling somewhere far off, and her breathing — shallow, ragged, barely there.
I shifted back and my skin stung in the cold. She was still curled up tight, arms wrapped over her stomach like she was guarding it with her life, blood streaked across her face, her shoulder, her side. Her pulse was weak and she had lost way too much blood.
I dropped down beside her, checking her wounds quickly. Pressed my palm hard against the deepest gash on her side to slow it down.
Then her scent hit me — real this time, without blood and fear drowning it.
She smelled like sweet pineapple. Fresh-cut, sun-warm, like fruit on a hot day. It sliced through the copper stink of blood, bright and completely wrong in the middle of all this mess. Wrapped around me, tugged at something deep in my chest — made my wolf lift its head, ears up, tail still, just… breathing it in.
I froze.
The scent clung to her hair, her skin, sinking into my lungs every time I breathed. It didn't fade — it only got stronger the longer I stayed close. My wolf rumbled low — not angry, just restless, hungry in a way I didn't get.
I shook my head hard, forcing myself to focus. She was bleeding out. Scent didn't matter. Not right now. Not when her pulse was thready and her skin was ice-cold.
I lifted her carefully, one arm under her knees, the other cradling her back and head so nothing tore wider. She weighed almost nothing. Too light. Too cold.
That pineapple sweetness followed me the whole way back — clinging, insistent, confusing as hell.
As I carried her through the trees, fast but steady, I reached out through the pack mind link, sharp and urgent.
Elara. Healer's wing. Now.
Her response came back instantly, calm but edged with concern. Already here, Alpha. The door is open.
I carried her through the trees, my wolves shadowing us, silent, keeping the perimeter. No one followed. Whatever fear my roar had put in those hunters, it stuck.
The palace was quiet when I got there — the heart of my territory, stone-and-timber stronghold carved right into the hillside, ringed with wards and patrolled by my own. Torches burned low in the main hall. I carried her straight through the arched entry, past guards who snapped to attention without a word, and into the healer's wing.
Elara was already there — sharp-eyed woman, gray-streaked hair pulled back, hands steady as always, standing in the doorway with a satchel of supplies at her feet. She must have caught the urgency in my link or smelled the blood on the wind. Took one look at the woman in my arms and froze.
"Moon above," she breathed, voice low with shock. "She's still breathing? With wounds like that… she should be gone."
I lowered her onto the wide bed in the corner room. Elara moved in fast, peeling back the soaked clothes, inspecting the gashes, the bruises blooming purple across her ribs. Her hands paused over the deepest wound, then lower, over the protective curl of the woman's arms.
Elara's eyes went wide. "She's with child," she said softly, almost like she couldn't believe her own words. "Very early. How the hell could this happen? She should be dead. Both of them. The bleeding alone… the shock… she should have lost it. But the heartbeat's there — faint, but steady."
My chest seized up. The words with child hit like a brick. Something cold twisted in my gut — sharp, sudden, and I didn't even know why.
She belonged to someone else. She carried someone else's kid. The thought stung more than it had any right to. I didn't know her. Didn't owe her a damn thing. But it hurt anyway — quiet, deep, like a bruise I hadn't earned.
My hands clenched at my sides. My heart was pounding way too fast, too loud in my ears. I didn't get it. I didn't get any of it — the sudden tightness in my throat, the way my wolf went dead still and watchful, the stupid urge to stay close just to make sure she didn't stop breathing. What the hell was wrong with me?
Elara glanced at me. "You're shaking, Alpha."
I wasn't. I couldn't be.But I was.
"Fix her," I said. Voice rougher than I meant. "Now."
Elara didn't argue. She worked fast — salves, stitches, compresses, moon-blessed herbs crushed into paste. Her hands were steady. Mine weren't.
"She'll live," Elara said after what felt like hours. "The child too. Barely. She's stronger than she should be. Something… held her together."
I didn't ask what. I couldn't speak at that point. I couldn't trust myself.
Elara stepped back, wiping her hands. "Make sure she rests and is warm constantly. No moving for at least two days. I'll check her at dawn."
She left without another word. The door clicked shut.
I stayed.
She'd renounced her pack. I felt it snap like lightning across the border — three miles out, sharp and final. That takes steel. Most wolves break without it. She didn't. She was a Luna who walked away from her Alpha, from her title, from everything. I was curious what could make someone do that. What kind of pain would drive her to cut the bond clean and run straight into rogue land.Alone and hunted. Carrying life that still tied her to him — to whoever had let her bleed like this.
Seven years since I walked away from my own pack. Seven years since I learned what happens when you let fate decide who you belong to. Seven years building this palace, this territory, for the ones like me: the exiled, the betrayed, the ones who walk away.
And now her.
The woman who'd bled and prayed her way straight into my territory.
I tossed another log on the hearth. Pulled a second fur over her shoulders. Dropped into the chair beside the bed.
She stirred once — small flinch, hand sliding to her stomach, protective even while she was out cold.
That pineapple scent drifted up again, sweet and warm and impossible to ignore. My wolf rumbled low, insistent, like it was trying to tell me something I wasn't ready to hear.
My chest tightened. I looked away.
Dawn was still hours off.
Plenty of time to figure out what the hell I was going to do with the woman who'd just cut her own pack bond — and why thinking about her still tied to another Alpha felt like a fresh wound I didn't remember having.