The Spirit Luna: Fragmented Soul

Research

Cadence POV

The week passed in a blur of research, quiet desperation, and careful avoidance.

I found myself actively steering clear of Regan, though every fibre of me wanted to see him.

The closeness we had shared — the innocent warmth of the sofa, the safety of his presence — had unsettled me more than I expected. Our lewd acts were more rational in my mind than the sudden realisation someone wanted to completely care gor mr. His kindness made me feel vulnerable. The more he treated me like glass the more I wanted to tear his clothes off and demand he f**k me hard to prove him wrong.

It made no sense and I needed space so as not to just act on instinct.

my wolf stirred every time I thought of him, impatient and insistent, brushing against the edges of my consciousness.

So I threw myself into work.

The university library became my second home. I traced patterns of animal attacks over the past two decades, comparing locations, ages, reports, and witness statements. Blood spatter analysis, predator behaviour studies, even folklore accounts — everything fell under my meticulous lens.

Three days in, I finally found it. A faded newspaper article tucked into a microfilm reel, yellowed with age. My birth parents. The location, the cause: “Tragic animal attack claims two in forested area outside town.” No mention of wolves, no hint of the supernatural, but the timing, the location, every detail fit perfectly.

My stomach twisted. My wolf hummed with recognition, low and insistent. I had been drawn to this unknowingly for weeks.

The next afternoon, I went to the site, heart hammering with both curiosity and dread. The forest was quiet, overgrown with scrub and moss, the remnants of a dirt road disappearing among towering trees. Twilight pressed down, the air thick with the smell of damp leaves and rich earth, every sound amplified in the hush.

And then I saw her.

A woman kneeling by the roadside, shoulders hunched, head bowed, sobs shaking her frame. Her hair, long and dark with streaks of silver catching the fading light, flowed around her like shadows. Her edges blurred, faintly luminous, as if she were made of smoke and sorrow.

I froze. My pulse hammered, and my wolf leaned forward, instincts sharp, sensing more than sight or sound could provide. And then I saw it — her features. The delicate arch of her brows, the curve of her cheekbones, the shape of her lips… the eyes. Deep, expressive, and impossibly familiar. My breath caught.

My mother.

“You… you are my daughter,” she whispered, voice like wind through autumn leaves. “Cadence…”

Shock tore through me. My chest tightened. My wolf whimpered softly, brushing against my consciousness, sensing the recognition before I could even form the words. I stepped closer instinctively.

Her gaze lifted, spectral eyes locking with mine, a sorrowful recognition passing between us. “The Goddess works in mysterious ways,” she said. “You were kept safe, hidden, but now it is time to reclaim what was always yours.”

I obeyed instinctively when she guided me to dig, hands trembling as I unearthed the amulet buried beneath roots and soil. Cold, intricate, and humming faintly with energy, it pulsed with a rhythm that resonated with my wolf.

“You must wear this when you shift,” she said softly, pride and sorrow in her ghostly expression. “It will guide you, protect you… and remind you of who you are.”

Tears stung my eyes as I clutched the amulet to my chest. “I… I will,” I whispered.

Her image lingered, glowing faintly in the twilight, before fading with a soft sigh like a breeze through the trees. Only the scent of pine and damp earth remained. I stood trembling, the amulet warm in my hand, my wolf vibrating beneath my skin, alive with recognition. My birthright, my legacy… my awakening had begun.

Regan POV

Watching her from afar, my frustration grew with each day she buried herself in research, avoiding me even though we were technically under the same roof.

I had thought last week — the way she had curled up next to me, innocent and trusting — meant something. That we were closer. That our connection, however subtle, was mutual and recognized.

But now? Avoidance. Distance. Sidestepping. She immersed herself in library archives, charts, and old crime reports, acting like a miniature analyst on a mission, and I could do nothing but watch.

I wanted to shake her. Wanted to tell her it was fine to let me in, that I could protect her, and that I could give her answers without fear. That I wanted to be her mate. But not yet. Not until she was ready. Not until she could breathe under her own power, under the pull of her own awakening.

Patience was a wolf’s curse. I wanted her close. Wanted her in my bed, in my home, in my arms. Wanted to hear her laugh, feel her warmth, sense her pulse next to mine. Instead, I was forced to observe, to restrain, to withhold. My wolf growled low in protest, aching at the injustice of it all. She was mine to protect, mine to claim, yet I had to wait.

And so I waited.