Bolton turned to me, his eyes blazing, a profound tenderness softening their intensity. He reached for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine.
"Are you ready, Luna?” he murmured, his eyes holding a depth that both challenged and steadied me.
Imet his gaze, a fierce resolve hardening my jaw. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Alpha.”
I turned, presenting the back of my neck to him, pulling my hair aside. The same spot where his mark, the crescent moon, pulsed faintly beneath my skin.
He lowered his head, his breath warm against my skin. The pack hushed, watching, a collective intake of breath. I felt his lips over his mark. A surge of pure, electric energy that coursed through my veins, connecting us, intertwining our very souls. It was a joining, a binding, a completion.
When he pulled back, I shivered—not from cold, but from the sheer, overwhelming power of it. I turned to face him, my skin tingling, my body humming.
Bolton kneels in front of me. Tilting his head, he offers his neck, waiting for my mark.
“I guess this is it.” I whisper.
I partially shift, my senses sharpening, the world narrowing to the vulnerable curve of his neck. My human lips stretched, my canines elongating, a low growl gathering in my throat. It was an instinct, ancient and undeniable. I leaned in, inhaling the familiar, intoxicating scent of him – pine, earth, and the unique, potent musk of his wolf. With a deep breath, I bit down, not tearing, but sinking my newly lengthened fangs into the sensitive skin between his neck and shoulder, a primal claim, a sacred binding. Heat flared, a jolt of pure, raw energy passing between us, sealing the connection, intertwining our very essence.
He reached up, touching the mark I had just made. It pulsed with a soft, silver light beneath his fingers. My mark. On him.
“My Luna,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
He kissed me then. Not the gentle, questioning brush of our first kiss, but a deep, possessive kiss that claimed me, that consumed me, that promised forever. His lips were warm, sure, tasting of moonlight and wolf and home.
The pack erupted in howls, in cheers, their celebratory cries echoing through the night. I leaned into Bolton, feeling his strength, his steady presence, and knew that I had not just chosen duty. I had chosen love. I had chosen myself.
And in that moment, under the full moon, surrounded by my pack, next to my Alpha, I knew that for the first time in my life, I truly belonged. The weight of the world, the threats, the challenges—they were still there. But now, I had a place to stand. And I had him.
Chapter 24
Bolton
The scent of new beginnings is a potent thing. It’s in the air of the pack house, a blend of fresh-cut pine from the new additions to the council chambers, the lingering sweetness of the celebration feast from last night, and the ever-present, grounding scent of Maya. Weeks have passed since the full moon ceremony, since she marked me, since she unleashed a power the pack hadn’t seen in generations. Weeks since we graduated high school, a ceremony almost painfully mundane after what we’d endured.
Life has settled into a new equilibrium. A strong one. A united one. The whispers are gone, replaced by a quiet awe.
The pack, once fractured by tradition and fear, now moves with a renewed sense of purpose. And at the heart of it all, is Maya. My future Luna. My mate.
I watch her now, across the sprawling pack house hall. She’s not at the head of the council table, not yet. She’s in the main common area, orchestrating something that looks suspiciously like a communal art project. Younger wolves, even some of the older, more stoic members, are gathered around, laughing, painting. It’s chaotic, vibrant. It’s Maya.
She’s created a new tradition. “Hybrid Expressions,” she calls it. A weekly gathering where pack members are encouraged to explore their human talents, not just their wolf instincts. Last week, it was poetry.The week before, a cooking competition that nearly set the kitchen on fire but produced the best berry pie I’ve ever tasted. This week, it’s painting. A way for them to express the duality within them, to see their human and wolf sides as complementary, not contradictory. It’s brilliant. It’s revolutionary. It’s exactly what this pack needed.
“She’s good,” Dax says, appearing beside me, a mug of coffee in his hand. He’s back to his usual laid-back self, the tension of the past few weeks having finally bled out of him.
“She’s more than good,” I reply, my eyes still fixed on Maya. She’s got paint smudged on her cheek, her dark curls escaping her braid, and her laughter rings through the hall, clear and true.
“You know, I never thought I’d see the day old man Peterson picked up a paintbrush,” Dax muses, nodding towards the stoic elder who is, indeed, meticulously dabbing at a canvas with a tiny brush. “She really changed things.”
“She didn’t just change things,” I say, a warmth spreading through my chest. “She saved us. All of us.”
He nods. “Cassie’s still… quiet. Heard she’s planning to leave the territory. Head north, to a more traditional pack.”
A flicker of something—not triumph, not regret, but a quiet closing of a chapter—passes through me. “She needs to find her own way,” I say. “This wasn’t her place.”
“And this,” Dax gestures around the bustling hall, “is definitely Maya’s.”
I feel a surge of pride so potent it almost overwhelms me. He’s right. She belongs here, more than anyone else. She’s built a bridge between worlds, not just for herself, but for the entire pack. We're stronger now, more unified, because of her unique perspective, her ability to see beyond the rigid lines oftradition.
Later that afternoon, after the painting session has dissolved into cheerful chaos and the hall is being cleaned, I find Maya in the quiet solitude of the study. It’s a room my father always kept locked, filled with ancient texts and dusty relics. Now, it’s alive. Sunlight streams through the window, illuminating stacks of books on hybrid mythology, sketches of new pack symbols, and a half-finished map dotted with potential new territories.
