I Never Meant to Be His Luna

Chapter 3

The coffee shop smelled like burnt beans and wet wool.

Neutral ground. Half a mile off Hollow Ridge’s border, just close enough for pack wolves to wander in, far enough no one could throw rank around. At this hour the place was almost empty: one bored barista, chairs stacked on tables, rain streaking the front window.

Lyra took the back booth with her spine to the wall. Her wolf approved.

She hadn’t really slept. The guest cabin’s bed had been too soft, the quiet too full of other people’s heartbeats at the edge of her senses. She’d left before dawn, bed made, key on the table, the place smelling like she’d never been there.

The bell over the door chimed.

Her wolf lifted its head before she did.

Cassian Reid walked in wearing a dark Henley and jeans, hair still damp from a shower. The room tilted around his scent—pine, steel, Hollow Ridge. He scanned the shop, saw her, and came over like this was just another Tuesday.

“Quinn,” he said.

“Reid,” she answered.

He dropped into the seat opposite without asking. The tiny table between them suddenly felt very flimsy.

“You left early,” he said.

“I said dawn,” she replied. “I just happened to mean the ugly part of it.”

The barista shuffled over; Cassian ordered black coffee, nothing else. Lyra wrapped her hands around her mug, letting the heat soak into fingers still stiff from the night.

“Atlas thought you might bolt,” Cassian said.

“I considered it.” She took a sip. “But your cameras won’t fix themselves. And he still owes me for that generator fiasco.”

“You invoiced him for that.”

“Emotionally,” Lyra said. “He owes me emotionally.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Her wolf liked that more than it should.

He sobered. “We’ve had three ‘random’ malfunctions on different parts of the border this month. Your truck dying right on the line is a little too on theme.”

“Could be age,” she said. “Could be weather.”

“Could be someone testing how blind they can make us,” he countered.

She didn’t argue. The prickle along her spine agreed with him.

“So what do you want?” she asked. “Exactly. No vague ‘help out, Lyra’ shit.”

He pulled a folded sheet from his jacket and slid it over. Official letterhead. Hollow Ridge crest.

“Temporary contract,” Cassian said. “You work with our tech lead, Theo, and with Sienna in the garage. Full diagnostic of border systems, patch and redesign where you think it’s needed. Standard rate plus hazard bonus.”

Lyra skimmed the terms. Clear. No hidden “in exchange for your eternal loyalty” clause.

“And?” she said, not looking up.

“And you stay in the guest cabin while you’re on-site,” he said. “You eat, you sleep under a solid roof, you don’t curl up in a dead truck on a cliff.”

Her wolf perked at stay. Lyra ignored it.

“I don’t join packs,” she said quietly. “I don’t sit in your circles. I don’t wake up tagged as Hollow Ridge property.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Cassian said. “Contract lists you as independent. You can walk any time you decide we’re too annoying.”

She glanced up. “You’ve met your brother, right?”

His eyes warmed. “Atlas is…persistent. I’m not here to recruit you. I’m here because your name has been on every one of his ‘call if s**t breaks’ lists for five years, and now s**t is breaking a lot.”

“Flattery,” she said. “Dangerous move.”

He snorted. “You slammed me into asphalt last night. I think we’re past the flattery stage.”

The barista dropped his coffee and wandered off. Silence settled between them, thick with steam and unspoken things.

“You’re not Alpha,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Atlas is,” Cassian said. His jaw tightened. “That’s enough for me.”

Her wolf hummed at the undertone in his voice. Yet.

Lyra folded the sheet again, buying herself a second.

“How long?” she asked.

“A week, at least,” he said. “Maybe two, if the system’s as bad as Theo swears it isn’t.”

Too long. Long enough for routines. For familiarity. For stupid things like remembering where the coffee mugs went.

Lyra’s pulse kicked. She took another swallow of coffee to hide it.

“Guest cabin only,” she said. “No moving me closer. No surprise roommates. No elders with incense. No ‘since you’re here, why don’t you sit in on a little ceremony’ garbage.”

“Guest cabin only,” he agreed. “No ceremonies. No incense. Theo might cry if you insult his code, but that’s on him.”

Her mouth twitched, almost a smile. “He writes bad code, I insult bad code. Fair warning.”

Cassian held out his hand. “So? Deal?”

Her wolf pushed toward his palm like a magnet.

Lyra slid her fingers into his. Warm. Calloused. A brief electric snap skated over her skin and down her spine—her wolf’s sharp, startled oh.

She let go first.

“I’ll need access to your logs for the last three months,” she said. “Full schematics, and a list of every ‘small thing’ that went wrong before you decided to call it big.”

“I’ll have Theo meet us at the garage,” Cassian said, standing. “He’s been dying to hate you in person.”

“Most people do,” she said, sliding out of the booth. “They get over it.”

Cassian opened the door for her. Cool morning air rushed in, smelling like wet trees and distant, humming pack.

“Just so we’re clear,” Lyra said as they stepped outside, “I’m fixing your border. I’m not looking for a home.”

He didn’t argue, didn’t smile. Just met her eyes, steady.

“Then we’ll give you a job,” Cassian said. “What you call us after that is up to you.”

Her wolf stirred at the words, restless and curious.

Lyra headed for his truck anyway, fingers tightening around the contract in her pocket like it was just paper—not the first thread of something that could, if she wasn’t careful, start to feel a lot like roots.