I Never Meant to Be His Luna

Chapter 28 – things we don’t say

By the time they got Kian’s friend back to Ivy, the sky had gone from gold to blue‑gray.

“Absolutely not,” Ivy said, hands on hips, curls half out of her bun. “We do not follow squirrels away from supervision, we do not sneak onto patrol paths, and we definitely do not ‘infiltrate Alpha meetings’ without clearance.”

The pup shot Cassian a betrayed look. “You said—”

“I said you could tell her that,” Cassian corrected. “Not that it was a good idea.”

Ivy tried very hard not to laugh. Lyra saw the twitch at the corner of her mouth and the way her eyes softened when she looked at the pup.

“Inside,” Ivy said, pointing. “Homework, then kitchen duty. You can peel potatoes and think about your life choices.”

He slunk past her, muttering. Ivy watched him disappear, then blew out a breath and rubbed her forehead.

“Thank you,” she said. “Next time, leash him to Jace.”

“Too heavy,” Lyra said. “He’d just drag Jace along.”

Ivy snorted. “Don’t tempt him.”

Cassian checked his watch. “I’ve got to meet Atlas and Darius,” he said. “Go over the new commission letters.”

“Enjoy that,” Lyra said. “I’m going to do something less painful. Like rewire the whole south grid with my teeth.”

“Romantic,” he said dryly. “Don’t wait up.”

He squeezed her shoulder once as he passed, fingers warm for half a second. Her wolf leaned into the touch like it was gravity.

When he was gone, the yard felt bigger and emptier at the same time.

Lyra turned toward the cabin, then hesitated.

The weight of the day—the walk, the talk, the commission hanging in the near future—sat low in her chest. Not crushing, but heavy enough that the idea of going back to four wooden walls made her skin itch.

Her feet took her sideways instead, toward the low building by the trees where music thumped faintly under the walls.

The training hall.

Inside, the air was sweat and wood polish, punching bag rubber and wolf. Nia was finishing a set of combinations on the heavy bag, fists snapping out in sharp, precise lines. Sweat darkened her tank top; a bruise bloomed yellow‑green on her shoulder.

“Door,” Nia called without turning. “Either come in or stop hovering like a stalker.”

Lyra rolled her eyes and stepped fully inside, letting the door swing shut behind her.

“Didn’t know this was your lair,” she said.

“Everyone needs one,” Nia replied, landing a last kick, then catching the bag to still it. “You coming to criticize my form, or are you avoiding talking to your almost‑Alpha about your feelings?”

“I don’t have feelings,” Lyra said. “I have…malfunctioning sarcasm.”

Nia barked a laugh, grabbed a towel, and wiped her face. “You’ve been buzzing since you got back,” she said. “Figured you’d either hit something or break something. Thought I’d invite you to pick the first.”

She jerked her chin at the adjacent bag. “Gloves are there. Show me what Thornridge taught you.”

Old muscle memory rose before the thought could bite. Lyra strapped her hands, relishing the drag of tape over skin. The bag loomed, heavy and patient.

“Last time I did this,” she said, lining up, “Silas stood behind us and yelled corrections.”

“Replace that voice with mine,” Nia said. “And only half the yelling.”

Lyra threw the first punch.

It felt…rough. Rusty. Her body still knew the distance, the torque, but there was a stiffness in her shoulders that had nothing to do with technique.

“Looser,” Nia said. “You’re punching like you’re waiting to be judged.”

“Old habits,” Lyra grunted.

“New pack,” Nia said. “We judge results, not posture.”

Something in that stung and soothed at the same time.

Lyra adjusted. Let her hips drive more, shoulders follow. удар‑выдох, удар‑выдох. Sweat prickled at her spine. Her wolf paced along the edge of her skin, not in panic, but in rhythm.

“Better,” Nia said after a minute. “Where’d you fight most? Circles? Borders?”

“Training fields, then borders,” Lyra said between combinations. “They wanted us sharp. Just…never sharper than them.”

Nia grunted. “Of course.”

They moved into drills—blocks, counters, the kind of flow that left no room for spinning thoughts. For a while Lyra’s world narrowed to fists, feet, the slap of canvas, Nia’s low corrections.

When they finally broke, both breathing hard, Nia tossed her a water bottle.

“You’re still too polite,” Nia said. “You pull right before impact.”

“I’m hitting a bag, not Silas’s face,” Lyra said. “Give me a break.”

“You think you’ll get a bag if someone comes for you next time?” Nia arched a brow. “Or for Cassian?”

Lyra’s fingers tightened on the bottle.

“That’s why you’re buzzed,” Nia said more quietly. “Not because of what you said. Because of what you might have to do if words stop working.”

Lyra stared at the scuffed floor. “I keep thinking about the last time I stood in a circle and didn’t punch someone,” she admitted. “About all the ways I didn’t fight back.”

“You walked out,” Nia said. “Sometimes that’s the only hit you can land.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough now,” Lyra said. “If he tries the same tricks on someone else, if the Council drags their paws…” She swallowed. “I don’t know if I can watch that again.”

“You won’t,” Nia said flatly. “Not without a lot more of us between them and the target.”

Lyra looked up. Nia’s gaze held steady, unwavering.

“You know,” Nia said, “when Atlas started talking about refuge and reform, I thought he’d lost it. Too soft. Too slow. Then you started showing up. Fixing things. Saying no to him and living. I thought you’d get us all killed.”

“Comforting,” Lyra said dryly.

“Shut up, I’m not done,” Nia said. “Then I watched you at the ravine. And at breakfast. And heard what you told the Council, even if Isolde had to smuggle it to us through a very illegal feed. And I realized something.”

Lyra waited, muscles still buzzing, heart doing something strange and off‑beat.

“You’re not soft,” Nia said. “You’re just done pretending that being hard means hurting the wrong people.”

It landed like a punch and a balm.

Lyra’s throat felt thick. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“Nothing easy about it,” Nia said. “That’s why we need more than one of you.”

“One of me is already a lot,” Lyra muttered.

“No argument,” Nia said, smirking. “Good thing we’ve got an Alpha who’s stubborn enough to stand next to you instead of in front of you.”

Lyra thought of Cassian on the trail, in the hall, at the ravine. Of the way he’d said ours without flinching.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Good thing.”

Nia tossed the towel into a bin. “Come on. Shower before dinner. If you track this much sweat into the main house, Ivy will murder us both.”

Lyra unwrapped her hands, flexing her fingers.

Things weren’t fixed. Silas still seethed out there. The Council’s commission loomed.

But here, in this hall, with her muscles burning and her lungs full of air she’d chosen to fight for, Lyra felt something new weaving itself into the cracks.

Not just anger. Not just survival.

Something that tasted suspiciously like belonging.