The Wolf King Who Outlawed His Perfect Luna

Chapter 16 – The Gift That Bites Back

By the time we got back to the cannery, my head felt like it had been used as a drum.

Maelin met us at the door, sleeves rolled, hair escaping her braid. She took one look at my face and didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Everyone else, inside,” she ordered. “Sylra, with me. Now.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“You’re grey,” Sable said helpfully. “Like week-old snow.”

Garric herded the others toward the main room with a look that said argue later. Riven hesitated, then followed us down the narrow corridor to the infirmary.

Maelin’s “clinic” was a curtained-off space stacked with shelves—herbs in jars, clean cloth, old medical gear stolen and repurposed. It smelled like sage and alcohol and the metallic echo of healed wounds.

“Sit,” she said.

I perched on the edge of the table. The wood creaked in protest.

Maelin set her palms lightly against my temples. Warmth seeped in, searching.

“Don’t,” I muttered. “You have others to—”

“Breathe, Sylra,” she said. “I was at Hollow Creek once, remember? I know what it feels like when the Howl drags its claws over your nerves. You did that twice today.”

Riven leaned against the doorway, arms folded. “What did you see?” he asked quietly.

I closed my eyes. Regret itched under my skin.

“More than I wanted,” I said. “Less than we need.”

“Poetic,” he said. “Unhelpful.”

“Village bonds.” The words came out flat. “The moment they snapped. It doesn’t rip them all at once. It…tastes. Chooses. Starts with the strongest ties. Mates. Cubs to parents. Pulls until something gives.”

Maelin’s fingers tightened. “And the Luna?”

“Held on until there was nothing left to hold.” My throat worked. “She’s still out there. Or she was, when it finished.”

Maelin’s hands slid down to my neck, checking pulse, tracing the faint shimmer where my own bond to Varick clung like a brand. It flared, as if aware of the attention.

“You’re running too much power through a bond that isn’t settled,” she said. “Your gift rides those lines. Every time you dive into someone else’s ruin, it scrapes your own.”

“Can you not talk about my…bond like it’s an overused wire?” I muttered.

Riven’s gaze sharpened. “You followed it again?”

I stiffened. “What?”

“That look,” he said. “Like you’re trying very hard not to think about something. Did you use it to get out of the road? Or to track Hollow Creek?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie,” he said gently. “Not to me. Not about this.”

Silence stretched.

Finally, I exhaled. “When he ordered the stand down,” I said, “I felt it through more than just the air. It rattled the bond. Tonight, in the village, when I pulled on the web, something else tugged back on the same thread.”

“You felt him,” Maelin said.

“Not him,” I said quickly. “Just…pressure. Like being yanked between two currents. Hollow Howl on one side, that damned crest on the other.”

Maelin’s expression went thoughtful. “The bond isn’t just between you and him, then. It’s plugged into the whole structure—packs, laws, oaths. When you use your gift near those cracks, you’re touching his network too.”

“Fantastic,” I said. “I always wanted to be a live wire in someone else’s palace.”

Riven pushed off the wall and came closer. “We need to use that.”

“Absolutely not,” Maelin said at the same time.

They glared at each other over my head.

“Explain,” I said wearily.

Riven jerked his chin toward my sternum. “If her gift can feel where bonds are failing, and that bond to the king is tied into his whole system, then in theory, Sylra could use it to—”

“—burn herself out in a week,” Maelin snapped. “She’s already flirting with collapse. You want to turn her into an early warning siren for every broken bond in the kingdom?”

Riven’s jaw tightened. “I want to stop walking into villages full of ghosts.”

“So do I,” Maelin said. “But not by making another one.”

Their scents spiked: ozone and storm for Riven, herbs and sharp worry for Maelin. My wolf paced, ragged, caught between the urge to bare teeth at both and curl up on the nearest flat surface.

“Everyone out,” I said.

They both stared.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Not permanently,” I corrected. “Just…two minutes. Before I say something we’ll all regret.”

Maelin muttered something in Old Tongue that was definitely not a blessing but stepped back. Riven followed, closing the curtain behind them.

The sudden quiet rang.

For a moment, I let myself feel it.

The faint hum of my own pack’s bonds. Children in the next room, laughing at something stupid. Garric’s solid presence, Sable’s restless prowl. Maelin’s worry like a warm cloak. Riven’s sharp focus.

And under it, farther away, like a tone I could only hear if I tilted my head just so—

Iron. Snow. A city full of frayed threads humming with suppressed fear.

Varick.

The bond stirred, curious.

“Don’t,” I whispered to it. “You stay on your side of this, king.”

It pulsed once, almost petulant.

I did the only thing that felt remotely under my control.

I reached out along that faint line and, instead of pushing my senses down it, I pinched.

A tiny, sharp jolt. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to say: I know you’re there. I’m not a passive wire.

Somewhere, miles away, the High Warden of the realm probably frowned for no apparent reason.

“Good,” I muttered. “Frown all you want.”

The curtain rustled. Riven’s voice, softer now: “Syl? Time’s up. We’ve got visitors.”

“Unless it’s the Moon herself coming to apologize,” I said, sliding off the table, “tell them to wait.”

“It’s worse,” he said. “It’s other Unlisted.”

I pushed the curtain aside.

Two strangers stood in the doorway of the infirmary: a wiry man with eyes like cracked glass and a woman with a chipped ear and the scent of roads long-traveled. Behind them, my pack held a careful not-quite-semicircle—welcoming, but ready.

“You Sylra Wolfsbane?” the man asked. His gaze flicked to my chest, to the place where the bond hummed invisible. “The one who walks in the places Hollow Howl leaves empty?”

“That depends,” I said. “You with the ones who make more empties, or the ones who try to fill them?”

His mouth twisted. “Used to be the first,” he said. “Got tired of watching packs vanish. We heard you’re collecting ghosts.”

“We brought you one,” the woman added quietly. “A Luna from a village that doesn’t exist anymore.”

My heart lurched.

“Then come in,” I said. “And close the door. Looks like the past two days weren’t enough punishment. The Moon wants to make sure I don’t sleep at all.”