She Rogue

9.The Moon Children

Atria’s POV

Aurelia ran for nearly two hours, her powerful strides cutting through the woods with relentless energy. I let her take control, both of us lost in thought, our emotions churning like a storm. She ran faster and longer than usual, as if trying to outrun her anger from the night before.

When we returned to the shack, the sun hung high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the overgrown grass around my small home.

Shifting back into my human form, I stretched, wincing slightly at the ache in my muscles, and headed straight for the shower.

The hot water soothed me, washing away the tension from my run and the lingering unease from last night’s conversation with Aurelia. When I stepped into the kitchen, the fridge and cupboards looked unusually full—a stark contrast to how they’d always been. Last night’s sorting had been strangely comforting, but the sight of all that food still felt surreal.

I opened the fridge and grabbed a container of soup, the neat rows of provisions reminding me again of the odd generosity Gabriel had extended. I sniffed the soup cautiously before setting it on the counter.

Lentil soup.

As the microwave hummed to life, the aroma filled the air, rich and comforting. I sliced a thick piece of fresh bread to go with it, marvelling at how soft and fragrant it was. It was almost laughable how much these small luxuries meant to me—things I hadn’t allowed myself to enjoy for so long.

I sat at my old, scratched-up table and dug into the meal, savouring each bite. For once, my thoughts didn’t spiral into survival strategies or where my next meal would come from.

For once in my lifetime, I allowed myself to wonder: What if things could actually change?

Gabriel’s POV

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows of my office, but my focus was elsewhere. My mind circled back to her.

Atria.

Her name stuck in my thoughts like a thorn, impossible to ignore. She’d walked into my club with the desperation of every rogue I’d ever seen, yet there was something different about her. Something I couldn’t place.

The pull I felt toward her was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It wasn’t just lust, though that was there, sharp and undeniable. It was something darker, deeper.

I told myself she was just another rogue, another potential plaything. I’d seen her type before—desperate, guarded, willing to do whatever it took to survive. They always came crawling back eventually, ready to submit for the right price. And yet, she hadn’t.

She was different.

Even when I’d pushed her boundaries, she hadn’t caved. Her refusal, her defiance, had stirred something primal in me. My wolf had wanted to dominate her, to claim her, but there was something else too. Respect.

She wasn’t my mate—if she were, our wolves would have gone wild by now. But there was still a pull, a gnawing curiosity that wouldn’t leave me alone. It wasn’t just her defiance, though that alone was enough to intrigue me. It was the way she carried herself, the sharpness in her gaze, the faint scent that lingered on her skin.

Even her scent didn’t make sense. Rogues always smelled like burnt wood, a treacherous sign of their exile from the packs. But hers was different. Beneath the smoky undertone was something else—something sweet and faintly floral, like honey and starflowers.

It didn’t make sense. How could she keep her original scent underneath the scent of a rogue? And why was it smoky rather than sharp burnt?

I couldn’t ignore the way my wolf reacted to her. He’d been restless since she arrived, pacing beneath the surface like a predator scenting prey. I didn’t like it. It made me feel out of control, and I hated feeling out of control.

She was a puzzle, and I didn’t like puzzles I couldn’t solve.

I called Mark into my office, needing answers.

“Do you have anything on Atria?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

Mark frowned, a rare expression for him. “Not much, boss.”

I clenched my jaw, irritation flaring. “Then why are you standing here empty-handed?”

Mark hesitated, then handed me a slim file. “I don’t have much yet, but I think this might be something.”

I snatched the file from his hand and opened it. My eyes scanned the sparse records, and for a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was reading.

The name "Atria" appeared in the kingdom's records only twice. Once over a thousand years ago and once thirty years ago. Both entries were tied to the same pack—the Moon Children. But Atria I've met couldn’t be more than twenty years old... And yet, here she was...

The Moon Children...

Even after all these years, their name carried a weight that made my wolf stir uneasily. They weren’t just a pack; they were a legend.

Known for their ties to the stars, their alliances with witches and other supernatural beings, the Moon Children were unlike any other wolves. They thrived on mysticism and unity, blending their bloodlines with other species—a practice that made them revered by some and hated by others. They were unlike any wolves before or since.

They had been powerful, enigmatic, and hated by many. Their open mingling with other species had made them enemies of several packs who saw such unions as a betrayal of wolfkind. But despite the hatred they faced, they had been untouchable—until twenty-four years ago.

Their m******e had been swift and brutal, wiping out an entire pack in a single night. It was too coordinated to be the work of rogues, despite the official story. No rogue faction could have overpowered a pack that strong, not with their alliances and resources.

Whoever was responsible had covered their tracks so thoroughly that no evidence remained. The case had been closed, the blame pinned on rogues as usual, and the pack had faded into history.

No survivors had ever been found.

Until now.

I stared at the file, my mind racing. If Atria was one of them, how had she survived? How had she lived as a rogue for twenty-four years without anyone knowing? And why did she look so young?

The Atria in front of me didn’t align with what I knew about rogue life...

Female rogues didn’t survive long—not without protection. The few who did were hardened, their bodies and spirits broken by the cruelty of rogue life. The strain of constant danger and lack of support usually broke them within a few years. Most either aged prematurely under the weight of their suffering or disappeared entirely.

But Atria… she was different. Her defiance, her sharpness, even her appearance—all of it defied the odds.

Atria was an anomaly.

“Are you sure this is all?” I asked, my voice low.

Mark hesitated. “It’s all I could find so far. The name is too rare for it to be a coincidence, but the timeline doesn’t make sense...”

No, it didn’t. But I was determined to make it make sense. My thoughts kept racing...

Mark cleared his throat, breaking my thoughts. “What do you want me to do, boss?”

“Keep digging,” I said, my voice low. “I want everything. Her history, her pack, where she’s been all these years. I don’t care how long it takes—find me answers.”

Mark nodded and left the room, but the unease in my chest didn’t dissipate.

My wolf growled softly, his agitation matching my own.

Who are you, Atria?