I Never Meant to Be His Luna

Chapter 5

By the time they rolled back through the Hollow Ridge gates, the sky had gone from gray to bruise-purple.

Wind shoved at the trees, bending pines in restless waves. The first heavy drops hit the windshield as Cassian parked near the garage.

“You weren’t kidding about bad weather,” Lyra said, unbuckling. “You people piss off a weather witch recently?”

“Just coastal spring,” he said. “And maybe a little bad karma.”

They jogged through the rising rain, ducking under the overhang. Thunder grumbled somewhere out over the ocean.

Inside the garage, Sienna was elbow-deep in an engine block. She glanced up, face streaked with grease, dark hair in a messy knot.

“You’re back,” she said to Cassian. Her gaze cut to Lyra. “And you brought the myth.”

“Hi,” Lyra said. “Your system’s a mess.”

Sienna snorted. “You get used to the insults. Hey, Theo! Your code’s under attack.”

Theo popped up from behind a monitor stack, eyes wide. “Mine specifically?”

“Congratulations,” Lyra said. “You’re interesting enough to hack.”

The power flickered.

All three of them looked up.

“Please tell me that was just the lights,” Theo whispered.

Another roll of thunder, closer, like something heavy dragging across the sky. Outside, the rain turned from steady to sheet, slamming against the garage doors. The overhead bulbs blinked twice, then steadied on a sickly dim.

Cassian’s phone buzzed. He checked it, jaw tightening.

“Atlas says the main road’s flooding already,” he said. “Rockslide near the western bend. No one’s going in or out until this lets up.”

Lyra wiped a hand over her face. “Of course.”

Her truck was still half on a lift, guts exposed. Even if the road were clear, she wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

The old itch under her skin—the one that lit up whenever roots tried to form—scratched against her ribs.

One night, she’d told herself. Fix their toys, get back on the road.

Apparently the weather hadn’t read the contract.

Elara appeared in the doorway, sleeves pushed up, hair escaping her braid.

“Storm’s worse than we thought,” she said, voice raised over the roar outside. “We’re bringing everyone in off the fringes. Lyra—”

“I know,” Lyra cut in. “Road’s a death wish. I can bunk in the garage.”

Elara’s brows lifted. “On an oil-stained cot under a truck, when we have empty beds?”

“I’m not picky,” Lyra said. “And I don’t do well the closer I get to your…heart of the beast.”

Cassian’s mouth twitched. “That’s one way to describe the dining room.”

Another crack of thunder shook the walls. For a second, the lights died entirely. In the dim emergency glow, the garage felt smaller, the world outside huge and wild.

Elara stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough that it was almost private.

“Guest cabin’s already stocked,” she said. “You know where it is. If you want food first, the kitchen’s open. If you want to sit alone and glower at the rain, we can accommodate that too.”

“No initiation ceremonies?” Lyra said. “No elders hiding behind the pantry door?”

“We don’t drag half the pack out in this weather unless the roof’s on fire,” Elara said dryly. “And even then, I’d argue for buckets first.”

The corners of Lyra’s mouth tugged upward before she could stop them.

Thunder boomed again, rattling tools on their hooks. Theo flinched; Sienna swore as a drip started from the far corner.

Cassian glanced at Lyra. “You can camp on a workbench if you really want,” he said. “But the cabin roof doesn’t leak. And there’s a heater that actually works.”

Her wolf leaned toward that. Warmth. Dry air. A bed that didn’t smell like engine oil and rust.

Lyra’s human side hissed at the idea of stepping any deeper into this place. Every extra hour here felt like a thread winding around her ribs.

She blew out a breath. “Fine,” she said. “One more night. But if any of your relatives try to read my aura over soup, I’m leaving in the storm.”

Elara’s eyes warmed. “Noted. Come on. Before we all get electrocuted.”

They crossed the courtyard at a run, rain slapping their faces, gravel turning to slick mud underfoot. The wind howled around the eaves, carrying the distant, answering howl of a few restless wolves on inner patrols.

Lyra’s wolf wanted to tip her head back and answer, to let her voice braid with theirs under the storm.

She kept her teeth clenched and her hood up.

Inside the main house, it was chaos in a soft-edged way: wet jackets on hooks, towels in a basket by the door, someone ladling stew into bowls in the kitchen. A little boy darted past, feet bare, hair damp, smelling of soap and pack and uncomplicated joy.

He skidded to a stop when he saw Lyra, eyes going round.

“You’re the rogue,” he whispered, awed.

Lyra opened her mouth, not sure what was going to come out.

Cassian’s hand brushed, barely, against her elbow. Grounding. Not pushing.

“Guest cabin?” he asked quietly.

“Guest cabin,” she agreed, voice steady.

As they stepped back into the rain, Lyra cast one look over her shoulder at the crowded, noisy warmth behind her.

Her wolf pressed, hopeful.

Lyra turned away, toward the smaller pool of light under the pines, and told herself that in the morning, storm or not, she’d remember how to keep walking.