Perfect Luna, Double Crowned

Chapter 4 – Crown and Questions

By the time we got Rylan clear of the road, my legs felt like wet rope.

We didn’t stop until the human voices faded to muffled curses and the glow of headlights was nothing but a sour smear through the trees. Taryn finally called a halt beneath a stand of pines, her sides heaving.

“Here,” she rasped. “Stormclaw scouts will pick us up.”

I eased Rylan down against a tree. His face was pale under the grime, jaw clenched, breath shallow. The bandages on his leg were dark and wet again.

“Of course,” I muttered, dropping to my knees. “Why let my nice careful stitching enjoy a single peaceful hour.”

“Wanted to give you something to complain about,” he said hoarsely.

“Congratulations. It’s working.”

I tore open my pack, hands moving before my brain caught up: scissors, fresh gauze, another shot to dull the edge of the pain. My magic pulsed under my skin, eager and tired.

“Hold still,” I warned.

He snorted, but didn’t fight me when I cut away the soaked bandage. The wound wept sluggishly, angry red around the edges from too much strain too soon.

“You tried to shift,” I said.

“I tried to drag Taryn out of a bullet,” he corrected. “The shift tried itself.”

“Semantics.” I pressed clean gauze to the wound. Heat flashed into my palms, magic sliding into torn flesh. My vision fuzzed for a second, then sharpened. “Next time, drag with the leg that isn’t half silver‑poisoned.”

Taryn snorted from where she’d slumped onto a fallen log. “He doesn’t listen when I say that either.”

Rylan’s mouth twitched. “Traitor.”

“Alive traitor,” she shot back. Then, to me, quieter: “Thanks. Again.”

I didn’t look up. “Don’t make a habit of dodging trucks. I already have one king who thinks I belong permanently in his camp. I don’t need a second staking my schedule.”

Silence dropped like a stone.

The air tightened.

Idiot.

I focused on the wound, on the way muscle tried to knit under my hands. The bond between us simmered, hot and insistent—Rylan’s presence crowding my senses, familiar as my own heartbeat now. Underneath it, faint but there, another hum: Moonfang. Caelan. The echo of the camp I’d left behind.

“Kaela,” Rylan said, voice low.

“Don’t,” I warned.

“You smell like smoke and pine,” he went on anyway. “Not ours.”

I taped the new bandage down harder than strictly necessary. “You’re welcome for the rescue, by the way.”

He caught my wrist before I could pull back. His grip was weaker than it should’ve been, but his eyes were clear.

“I felt it,” he said. “In the trap. Tonight. When you… claimed him.”

My stomach dropped. “Rylan—”

“You don’t have to lie,” he said, almost gentle. “I might not have seen the ritual, but my wolf felt it. Something snapped tight across the forest. Moonfang howled like they’d been given the sun.”

Taryn’s gaze flicked between us, jaw tightening. She looked away, giving us the illusion of privacy she absolutely did not have.

I swallowed. Words lodged in my throat like stones.

“Yes,” I forced out finally. “They crowned me. Perfect Luna. Officially.”

The title tasted different in this forest.

Rylan’s fingers tightened on my wrist, just once. Then he let go.

“And you came anyway,” he said.

“That’s what I do.”

“For them.” His mouth quirked, not quite a smile. “And for us.”

I stared at the bandage instead of his face. “You’re my patient.”

“You’re my Luna.” No hesitation. No doubt. Just truth, dropped like a weight between us. “Unless the Moon changed her mind while I was bleeding on the ground.”

The bond flared, white‑hot, answering him. My heart tripped over itself.

“It’s not that simple,” I said.

“Nothing worth keeping ever is.”

His wolf was closer to the surface now, eyes gone a little too bright, teeth a little too sharp. But his voice stayed steady.

“You’re wearing my fang,” he added quietly. “Even under their mark.”

I yanked my collar up, too late. The leather cord had slipped out again during the scramble. The little tooth lay warm against my skin, traitorously obvious.

“I forgot it was there,” I lied.

He huffed. “Liar. You never forget weight like that.”

He shifted, grimacing as his leg protested. “I don’t want to drag you out of Moonfang by your hair,” he said. “I don’t want you caged here either. I just… need you to stop pretending you’re not standing on two crowns.”

My laugh came out thin. “And what do you suggest I do about that, exactly?”

“Live long enough to decide,” he said simply. “Let me keep you breathing tonight. We’ll start there.”

Branches cracked deeper in the forest. Stormclaw scents washed over us—warriors, worried and angry, moving fast.

Taryn stood, rolling her shoulders. “Scouts,” she said. “About time.”

I finished tying off the bandage and sat back on my heels. My head swam. Two packs tugged at me through the bonds, a constant, invisible pull.

“Stormclaw will want you to stay,” Rylan said as footsteps pounded closer. “Moonfang will want you back before dawn. You’ll try to give both everything until there’s nothing left of you.”

He caught my gaze, pinning me there.

“Next time you come,” he said softly, “don’t come as a ghost. Come as mine.”

The words settled under my skin like a second heartbeat.

Before I could answer, the first of his warriors burst through the trees, voices rising, hands reaching to lift their Alpha.

I stepped back, letting them take his weight, my own legs suddenly untrustworthy.

Two kings. Two packs.

And me, stupid enough to love them both.