Too late,may luna

Chapter 4: The Wandering Wolf

I did not linger to discover who the hunters were.

I spun sharply on my heel and sprinted toward the temple exit, my boots crunching rapidly over loose stone and thick damp moss. My newly awakened lunar magic sharpened every single one of my senses to an impossible degree. I could smell every scent in the wind: damp soil, pine resin, fresh woodland foliage—and beneath it all, a sharp, overwhelming metallic tang of fresh spilled blood.

A lot of blood.

I skidded to a rapid halt at the edge of a small moonlit clearing, pressing my back tight against the thick trunk of an ancient oak tree to hide my presence.

In the exact center of the open clearing, a lone man slumped heavily against a fallen log. His dark hair was matted with sweat and thick crimson blood, his leather traveling tunic torn wide open at the side. A deep, ragged gash sliced across his torso, oozing dark red blood that soaked rapidly into the mossy ground beneath him.

His breathing was shallow, ragged, labored. One trembling hand pressed hard against his wound in a desperate attempt to stem the bleeding, while his other fingers curled tightly around a dented silver dagger, his last line of defense.

He was a wolf—I could scent it instantly on his skin: wild storm and untamed pine, a scent completely foreign to Damien’s smoky, heavy Alpha aura. This man was a total stranger, not part of my pack.

The feral hunting howl rang out again, much closer this time, echoing through the trees. It came directly from the direction this wounded man had fled. Whoever had attacked him was still nearby, still searching for their prey.

Every logical instinct screamed at me to run. Flee deeper into the safety of the dark woods before the shadowy hunters found me too. I was still technically an Omega, untrained in combat, unfamiliar with my own newly awakened powers. I had no weapons, no allies, no way to fight off trained enemy wolves.

The wounded man let out a low, pained groan, his head lolling weakly to one side.

Moonlight spilled over his face, illuminating his features clearly. He appeared a few years older than me, with a sharp, determined jawline, full lips, and long dark lashes fanned across his blood‑streaked cheeks. Even half‑conscious and gravely injured, there was a stubborn, unbroken resilience etched into every line of his face. He did not look dangerous or cruel. He looked utterly alone and dying.

Memories of my old pack crashed over me in brutal waves. I thought of every time I’d fallen during training, scraped my skin raw, or collapsed from exhaustion, only to be met with laughter and mockery instead of help. I thought of the night my mother died, when no one had bothered to check if I was okay or offer me comfort. I thought of the entire pack standing silent and watching while Damien publicly destroyed my fated bond and shattered my dignity.

I refused to become the kind of person who abandoned the helpless.

I stepped quietly out from behind the oak tree, revealing myself fully.

The man tensed instantly, despite his critical injuries. His fingers tightened fiercely around his dagger, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal deep, warm amber eyes—rich and bright like honey held up to sunlight. His gaze locked sharply onto mine, wary and alert, the gaze of a wolf who had spent his entire life watching his back, fighting to survive.

“Who are you?” he rasped, his voice rough and hoarse from pain and exhaustion.

“Someone who will not stand by and watch you die,” I replied steadily, stopping several feet away and raising my empty hands to signal I meant no harm. “Who did this to you?”

“Shadow Fang Pack,” he gritted out before a violent cough wracked his body, flecks of bright red blood staining his lower lip. “Viktor’s soldiers. They hunt—”

A sharp gasp of agony cut his sentence short.

Viktor Ashford. The ruthless, power‑hungry Alpha of the Shadow Fang Pack. A name always spoken in terrified, hushed whispers around my pack’s bonfires. For months, his brutal warriors had raided smaller wolf territories, seizing land, killing innocent wolves, and expanding his power without mercy. The elders used his name to frighten misbehaving pups into obedience.

If his men patrolled these woods, danger was imminent.

I knelt carefully beside him, fear hammering wildly against my ribs. His wound was dangerously deep—I could see pale rib bone peeking through the torn, bleeding flesh. Without immediate healing, he would bleed out completely before sunrise.

My dormant lunar magic stirred warm and alive inside my chest. The Moon Queen’s memories had shown me I possessed the gift of healing—but I had no idea how to wield it intentionally.

I lifted a trembling hand, watching as my crescent moon wrist mark glowed soft silver, casting faint starlight over his ruined flesh. I visualized the temple murals, the ancient Queen healing wounded warriors with nothing but her sacred light.

Please. Work.

I pressed my palm gently just above the edge of his laceration.

A powerful surge of warm energy rushed from my chest, racing down my arm and pouring steadily through my fingertips. Silver lunar light seeped out of my skin, coiling gently around his brutal wound like liquid starlight. The man gasped loudly, his back arching off the log from the sudden rush of magical healing.

I could physically feel the torn flesh knitting back together, the broken vessels mending, the bleeding slowing until it stopped entirely. The jagged, ruined skin smoothed over gradually, leaving behind only a faint silvery scar to mark the near‑death injury.

It worked. I had healed him.

I pulled my hand away quickly, lightheaded and breathless. Channeling my ancient magic had drained my energy drastically, leaving my limbs heavy and weak. But the lethal wound was completely closed. He was alive.

The man stared at me in utter, stunned disbelief, as if he had just witnessed a genuine miracle. His shaking fingers brushed lightly over the fresh silver scar across his side.

“That’s impossible,” he whispered in pure awe. “Lunar healing magic vanished from our kind generations ago. Only the direct bloodline of the Moon Queen could possibly wield this power—”

He cut himself off abruptly. His amber eyes snapped downward, locking onto my glowing crescent moon mark peeking out from beneath my torn sleeve. He drew in a sharp, shocked breath, his entire body freezing up.

“The Moon Queen’s sigil,” he breathed, barely audible. “You are her descendant.”

I tugged my sleeve down sharply, suddenly defensive and uncertain of my own legacy. “I still do not fully understand what I am.”

He pushed himself slowly upright, wincing slightly with movement, yet far steadier and stronger than a man minutes away from death. He studied me carefully, his gaze sharp and assessing, yet entirely free of fear. Instead, there was a fragile, desperate hope flickering bright in his amber eyes.

“My name is Kai Voss,” he said, holding out a calloused, scar‑covered hand in greeting. “I’m a wanderer. A mercenary, when the cause is just and the pay is fair.”

I hesitated for only a split second before accepting his hand, his skin warm and rough beneath mine. “Sera.”

“Sera of which pack?”

“Crimson Moon,” I answered, the name tasting bitter and toxic on my tongue. “Formerly.”

Kai lifted a curious eyebrow. “Formerly?”

“I left,” I said flatly, unwilling to unpack the humiliation and heartbreak of my public rejection. “What are Viktor’s Shadow Fang soldiers doing deep inside the Forbidden Forest? Why were they hunting you?”

Kai’s jaw tightened visibly, his gaze darting warily toward the shadowed treeline surrounding the clearing.

“They weren’t only hunting me,” he said slowly, his voice sharp with urgency. “I overheard their camp conversations last night. They’re searching for someone—a lost bloody hair. Viktor has spent years hunting for the Moon Queen’s last descendant. He intends to capture you, drain every drop of your lunar magic, and steal your ancient power for himself. He wants to become unstoppable, ruler of all wolf packs.”

Cold, crippling dread washed over me, leaving me shivering despite the warm magic still thrumming beneath my skin. The Moon Queen’s warning echoed fresh and terrifying in my mind: They will hunt you.

I had thought the words metaphorical. Now it was horribly, terrifyingly real.

“Do they know I’m here, in this forest?” I asked, my voice smaller and more vulnerable than I wanted it to be.

“Ancient legends tell us the Moon Queen’s hidden temple lies within these woods,” Kai replied grimly. “They’re searching every inch of the forest right now. They’re getting closer by the second. If they find you—”