I Never Meant to Be His Luna

Chapter 7

By late afternoon, the garage smelled like solder and frustration.

“Your north ridge array is held together with hope and rust,” Lyra said, crouched under a rack of equipment. “Who installed this?”

Theo made a wounded sound from behind his monitors. “It was cutting edge five years ago.”

“Five years ago dinosaurs roamed these hills,” she muttered, tightening a connector. “There. Try it now.”

He tapped rapidly. A grainy image of trees and rocks flickered to life on one of the big screens, then stabilized.

“Yes,” he breathed. “I could kiss you.”

“Please don’t,” Lyra said. “I charge extra for that.”

Cassian, leaning against the counter with a mug, huffed a laugh. “North ridge, sector three, back online?”

“Mostly,” Lyra said, standing and wiping her hands on a rag. “You’ve got a couple blind spots, but if anything bigger than a squirrel breathes funny, we’ll see it.”

“Good.” Cassian’s eyes softened for a second, then refocused on the screen. “Patrol’s heading toward the coast next hour. I want a live feed when they do.”

“Which patrol?” Lyra asked.

“Sienna, Luka, two juniors,” he said. “If you feel like stretching your legs…”

Theo swiveled in his chair. “You’re inviting her on patrol?”

“I’m inviting her to sit in a truck again,” Cassian said dryly. “She likes judging from vehicles.”

Lyra opened her mouth to say no.

Her wolf leaned forward, ears pricked at the word coast. Salt, cliffs, the open line where land met sea. Space.

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not doing laps in the rain for fun.”

The coastal track was still damp from the storm, ruts full of brown water. Cassian drove the lead truck; Sienna followed behind with the two younger wolves, her music a faint thump through their closed windows.

They parked near a bluff where the pines thinned to scrub. Below, the ocean threw itself against black rock, white spray dissolving into the wind.

Lyra stepped out, inhaling. Salt hit first, sharp and clean, cutting through engine fumes and pack-scent. The horizon was a hard, perfect line.

Her wolf stretched, pressing tight against her bones, wanting to run, to leap, to feel the spray on fur instead of skin.

“Stay close to the vehicles,” Cassian said, shutting his door. “We’re just sweeping the overlook. No heroics.”

“That’s your line, Reid,” Sienna called, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. “I prefer survival.”

The juniors trotted ahead, laughing too loud, still buzzing from being allowed on a “real” patrol. Sienna whistled them back sharper.

Lyra fell into step beside Cassian, boots crunching on gravel.

“You bring all your contractors to scenic viewpoints?” she asked.

“Only the ones who threaten to leave every day,” he said. “Bribery.”

“Pathetic.”

“Working, though?”

She didn’t dignify that with an answer.

They walked the cliff path in a slow arc, eyes and noses working. The cameras up here had been glitching too—little dropouts, like someone stepping just out of frame.

Now, with the wind in her face and the pack at her back, Lyra could feel it: a wrongness under the beauty. Not danger exactly. Attention.

“Smell that?” she murmured.

Cassian’s nostrils flared. “Old storm. Salt. Our patrol from yesterday. What else?”

“Under it,” she said. “Wolf, but…off. Not yours. Not mine.”

He grunted. “Rogues pass along the coast sometimes.”

“This one’s lingered,” Lyra said. “Long enough to find the gaps.”

She crouched near a rock where the path narrowed. A scrape marred the stone—claw, not boot. The wind caught the scent and threw it in her face.

Familiar and wrong at once. Her stomach dipped.

“Lyra?” Cassian said.

She swallowed. “Old pack region used to border cliffs like these. We trained on terrain like this. Whoever’s testing you knows what they’re doing.”

“From your side of the world,” he translated quietly.

“Looks like.” Her voice came out flatter than she liked.

A junior whistled from ahead. “Hey! There’s a view up here!”

“Stay where I can see you,” Sienna snapped, moving to catch up.

Cassian’s radio crackled. “North camera’s clean,” Theo said in his ear. “You’re clear. For now.”

Wind gusted hard enough to stagger them. Far below, waves crashed, white and furious.

Without thinking, Lyra tipped her head back and let her wolf push a sound up through her throat—a low, contained note, almost a hum.

The response from the pack was instant.

Somewhere behind them, deeper in Hollow Ridge, a long, rich howl rose, caught the wind, rolled over the trees. Others joined it, weaving around each other, a living chord under the sky.

The sound hit her like a wave, every hair on her arms lifting. Her wolf surged, aching to answer.

Cassian watched her, eyes dark.

“You can,” he said quietly, barely audible over the surf. “If you want.”

Lyra’s throat worked. Old memories flashed—howling in circles where no one listened to her voice, just to the Alpha’s command.

This was different. No order. No demand. Just…invitation.

Her wolf clawed at her ribs.

Lyra dug her nails into her palms and kept her mouth shut.

“Not yet,” she said, more to herself than to him.

Cassian nodded once, not pushing.

“Then we’ll keep watch,” he said. “You and me. Until you decide what to answer.”