I Never Meant to Be His Luna

Chapter 2

Lyra hated pack houses.

Too many walls. Too many eyes. Too much history pressed into the wood.

Hollow Ridge’s place rose out of the trees like it had grown there, all dark timber and big windows, warm light spilling onto the wet gravel drive. It smelled like coffee, wet pine and wolves.

Her wolf leaned toward it.

Lyra told her to sit down and behave.

Cassian killed the engine of his SUV. Rain had thinned to a mist, beading on the windshield.

“You can still dump me at the side of the road,” Lyra said. “Truck’s not that dead. I’ve slept in worse.”

“Road’s a sheet of oil,” he said, unbuckling. “Atlas will have my head if I let you freeze in a dead vehicle on our border.”

“You always this protective with women who knock you flat on asphalt?” she asked.

“Only the ones my brother keeps hiring.” His mouth twitched. “Come on, Quinn.”

The front door opened as they hit the porch.

Atlas Reid filled the frame, broad shoulders, dark hair threaded with silver, bare feet on gleaming wood. Power rolled off him in an easy, settled wave.

Beside him stood a woman in leggings and an oversized sweater, blonde hair in a thick braid. Her gaze swept Lyra from damp boots to tangled hair, not unkind, not naive.

“Elara,” Cassian murmured to Lyra, like a quiet aside. “Luna.”

Lyra kept her chin level. “Didn’t know this place offered roadside assistance.”

“Only for repeat offenders,” Atlas said. His voice was rough, like gravel under boots. “Lyra Quinn. I thought you were allergic to front doors.”

“I am,” she said. “The truck gave out before I could wave from a safe, illegal distance.”

Elara stepped back. “You’re soaked. Come in before you catch pneumonia. We don’t have a healer who likes being woken twice in one night.”

Crossing a pack threshold was always a choice.

Border-buzz brushed her skin, hot and cold all at once. Her wolf leaned into it, hungry for the hum of many hearts. Lyra pushed through anyway, jaw tight, like walking into someone else’s dream.

Inside smelled like stew, coffee, soap, sleepy wolves. Somewhere deeper, a child laughed, then was shushed.

Atlas shut the door. The storm dropped to a muffled hiss.

“What happened?” he asked Cassian.

“Her truck died on the cliff road,” Cassian said. “Total electrical failure right at our perimeter. I shifted to check it, almost ate her bumper.”

Atlas’s gaze snapped to Lyra. “Anyone else out there? Scent, movement, headlights?”

“Just me and your suicide patrol,” Lyra said. “Felt like hardware, not sabotage. I’ll know more when I get it on a line.”

Elara had already vanished into a side closet. She came back with two towels, holding one out.

Lyra’s instinct was to refuse. Her fingers, prickling from the cold, overruled her.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“You’re shivering,” Elara said. “There’s soup on the stove. Guest cabin’s made. Hot water’s decent.”

“I’m not staying,” Lyra said automatically. “I’ll patch the truck enough to limp to the next town.”

“Road’s not safe,” Cassian cut in. “And the last rockslide took out your favorite illegal pullout. You’re not sleeping in a dead tin can on that curve.”

“I’ve slept in worse,” she repeated.

Atlas folded his arms. “Maybe. But not on my land, you haven’t. One night in the guest cabin, Quinn. Then you fix my broken cameras, and you and your truck disappear as dramatically as you like.”

There it was. The ask underneath the courtesy.

“You want your border eyes back,” Lyra said.

He didn’t deny it. “We pay well. We don’t chain people to the porch.”

“You know my rule,” she said. “No initiation circles. No sweet-talk into staying. No waking up stamped with your crest.”

“We’re not talking about that,” Atlas said, jaw ticking. “We’re talking about you not ending up at the bottom of a ravine.”

Elara’s eyes met Lyra’s, steady. “We don’t trick people into packs here. You walk out at dawn if you want. No one will stop you.”

Her scent was tired, honest. No sticky dominance under it, no push.

Lyra’s wolf eased a notch. Lyra scowled anyway.

“What’s the catch?” she asked.

Cassian leaned on the wall, ankle crossed over the other. “Catch is, you let us keep you in one piece tonight, and tomorrow you let Theo and me hand you tools and coffee while you swear at our system.”

“And then I leave.”

“And then you leave,” he agreed.

She let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Fine. One night. No tours. No elders with incense. No surprise ceremonies.”

Atlas’s mouth almost curved. “You have my word.”

Elara nodded toward the back. “Come on. I’ll show you the cabin.”

Outside again, the air felt colder after the house’s warmth. A smaller cabin waited under two pines, its porch light glowing soft yellow.

Cassian stopped at the steps. “Lock’s on the inside. If you need anything, main house is right there.” He jerked his chin toward the bigger building. “If you don’t, we’ll pretend this was just a weird storm and a bad dream.”

Lyra put a hand on the railing, towel slipping off one shoulder. “Careful,” she said. “Keep this up and I might start thinking Hollow Ridge isn’t a complete nightmare.”

“Don’t ruin my reputation, Quinn.”

The porch light threw gold into his eyes. For a heartbeat, warmth slid between them, easy and dangerous.

“I’m not staying,” she said, quieter than she meant to.

“We’ll see,” Cassian replied.

Her wolf twitched toward him like a compass needle.

Lyra shut the cabin door before that pull could turn into anything like roots.