Bound to the Silvermoon Goddess

Chapter 4

A surprise from Garrick could mean anything from a new training routine to a rebuilt engine. Either way, it usually involves bruises or grease. Sometimes both.

I leave the office with a strange, fizzy feeling in my chest. I know I'm a good fighter, people have been putting weapons in my hands since before I could properly pronounce half their names, but to be recognized for it? To be singled out?

That does something funny to my insides.

Maybe this is what it feels like when your parents praise you. I wouldn't really know.

The pack house corridors are quieter now, the late afternoon light slanting through the windows and painting long stripes across the floor. By the time I reach the ground level and push through the side door that leads to the garages, my pulse has mostly settled.

Mostly.

I spot Beta Garrick outside the garage before he even spots me. He's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, big shoulders loose with contained excitement. It makes him look younger than he is, like a kid waiting to open a present instead of the pack's second, in, command.

He's probably the closest thing I have to a parent. After all, he's the one who found me and convinced Alpha

Darius to let the warriors keep and raise me instead of sending me to some distant foster arrangement.

"Hello, little warrior!" he booms when he sees me, grin stretching wide across his face.

"Beta Garrick," I say, unable to stop my answering smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You know that bike we've been working on?" His eyes practically sparkle as he jerks his thumb towards the adjoining door between the pack house and the garage.

My stomach does a little flip. "Yeah..."

"Well," he says, drawing the word out as he swings the door open, "I've finished it."

The smell hits me first, oil, metal, rubber, the faint tang of fuel and the sharp cleanliness of fresh paint. Then I see her.

There, in all her glory, is the pet project Garrick and I have been tinkering with for over a year. We bought her piece by piece, scavenging, saving, swapping, building her from nothing more than a frame and a dream. Our very own custom, made GSX-1000.

She's black as night, every curve sleek and predatory, the kind of bike that looks fast even when she's standing still. The matte and gloss finish catch the light in all the right places. She looks like she was built to outrun trouble and race straight into it at the same time.

"Wow," I breathe, stepping closer. "She's beautiful..."

I run my hand down her shiny exterior, fingers tracing the line of the tank, the smooth curve of the fairing. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the temperature.

This is the third bike we've built together. Garrick started teaching me how to tinker with engines when I was little, propping me up on crates so I could see into the open guts of whatever machine he was currently giving life

to. Eventually, we started building our own.

The first was a GSX-600 he taught me to ride on, temperamental, stubborn, and perfect. The second was a 1000, painted lime green and sexy as hell, that Garrick claimed as his own the second we rolled it out into the sun.

But this one... this one feels different.

"You've earned this one." He grins and tosses something at me.

The keys arc through the air, flashing once in the fluorescent light.

I snatch them out of the air on reflex, then stare down at them like they might evaporate. "No f*****g way," I whisper. "Really?"

"Really, really," he says, laughter in his voice. "She's yours, little warrior. Go grab your gear and wipe your face. We're taking this baby out for a ride!"

For a second I can't speak. Alpha Darius choosing me to train Lila. Garrick handing me the keys to something we built with our own hands.

Recognition. Trust. A future that looks like more than just patrols and shifts and waiting for a wolf that might

never come.

I look up at Garrick, throat tight, and manage a grin that feels too big for my face.

"Yes, Beta," I say, backing towards the door. "I'll be back in five."

"Make its three," he calls after me. "She's been waiting long enough."

So have I, I think, fingers closing around the keys.

Maybe this really is my year.