I Never Meant to Be His Luna

Chapter 11

Lyra told herself she was only going in for coffee and a meeting.

The rest of Hollow Ridge had other ideas.

Morning light spilled through the big windows when she pushed open the main-house door. The place was already loud: clatter of dishes, overlapping voices, the warm hum of too many bodies in one room.

The big table in the main room was a battlefield of plates. Wolves in various states of dress were wedged shoulder to shoulder, passing bowls, stealing toast, arguing about patrol rotations.

Every head turned for a beat when Lyra stepped in.

Her wolf flinched, wanting to duck back out. Lyra kept her shoulders loose and her chin level.

“Lyra,” Elara called from near the far end. “Coffee’s on. Sit, before Kian tries to live on syrup alone.”

“I can hear you,” Kian complained, perched on his knees on a chair, cheeks sticky.

Atlas sat at the head of the table, mug in hand, eyes already on Lyra. Cassian occupied the space to his right, chair pushed back just enough to make a gap at his side.

Of course.

“You don’t have to hover there like a stray,” Cassian said quietly as she stalled by the doorway. “We took you off the ‘do not feed’ list.”

“Temporarily,” she muttered.

He tipped his head toward the empty chair. “Come on. Before Sienna steals the last of the bacon.”

“That’s slander,” Sienna called, already spearing another strip.

Lyra rolled her eyes and crossed the room, hyper-aware of every glance she passed. Not hostile, mostly. Curious. Measuring.

Elara pressed a full plate into her hands as she went by. “Eat,” the Luna said. “You’ll bleed sugar and caffeine if we don’t add something solid.”

The plate smelled like heaven: eggs, toast, bacon, something cheesy. Lyra’s wolf made an embarrassingly pleased noise inside her chest.

She slid into the chair beside Cassian. Heat rolled off him, pine and sleep and patrol-sweat. He nudged the sugar toward her, like this was normal.

“Morning,” he murmured.

“Debatable,” she said, but her voice came out softer than she meant.

Kian leaned across the table, eyes wide. “Is it true Silas tried to steal you last night?”

“Kian,” Elara warned.

“It’s fine,” Lyra said. The whole pack would know soon enough anyway. “He tried to tug. He failed. End of story.”

“That’s not the end,” Atlas said. He stood, and the room quieted without him raising his voice.

“Short version,” he said, scanning the faces. “Old enemies poked our wards. They used Lyra as a handle. It didn’t work. We are tightening defenses and preparing for whatever they try next.”

Murmurs rolled around the table. Someone swore softly. Nia’s hand tightened on her mug.

Atlas’s gaze rested on Lyra for a breath. “She stood her ground,” he said simply. “And she’s staying. At least long enough to help Isolde fix what they tried to break. Questions later. Food now.”

The tension broke like a string snapping. Conversation surged back, louder.

Maeve, across from Lyra, studied her over her mug. “So you’re not leaving yet,” she said, half statement, half question.

“Road’s closed,” Lyra said. “Wards need work. Your tech’s a disaster. I’m trapped by incompetence.”

Theo, two seats down, made an offended noise. “Hey.”

“She’s right,” Sienna muttered around her fork.

Cassian’s shoulder brushed hers as he reached for the salt. “There are worse prisons than working plumbing and decent coffee.”

Lyra risked a glance at him. His eyes were tired but clear, the bruised edge from last night’s battle with Silas’s magic gone from his face.

“You good?” she asked under the cover of clanking cutlery.

“Tired,” he admitted. “Better now that no one’s trying to yank you through a hole in my border.”

“Your border,” she repeated, amused. “Possessive.”

“Professional,” he said. “You fall through, I have to fill out so much paperwork.”

Something in her chest loosened. She focused on her plate, letting the noise around her wash in: Luka arguing with Jace about patrol routes, Sienna threatening Theo with a wrench if he fried another sensor, Kian humming under his breath as he speared fruit.

It felt…dangerously good.

Atlas tapped his mug with a spoon. “Tonight,” he said, and the room shifted again. “Full moon. After patrols, we’ll hold a warding circle at the ravine. Isolde leads. I want Elara, Cassian, Lyra and anyone on outer patrol there. You’ll get more details this afternoon.”

Lyra’s fork paused halfway to her mouth.

Dozens of eyes slid to her, then away again, polite. No open judgment. Just awareness.

Cassian’s knee brushed hers under the table, a quiet question.

“You’re really doing this?” he murmured.

Lyra swallowed her bite, throat tight. “Apparently,” she said. “Figured if my past is going to keep banging on your door, I might as well help reinforce the lock.”

His lips curved, proud and a little pained. “We’ll stand with you.”

We.

Her wolf tucked that away, warm.

Lyra took another bite of bacon she barely tasted, pulse beating loud in her ears.

Full moon. Warding circle. An entire pack watching as she braided part of herself into their outer shell.

Not a bond. Not a vow.

But close enough that every instinct she had screamed to run.

Instead, she reached for her coffee and told herself she’d survived worse circles, with fewer people on her side.

This time, if she fell, she wouldn’t fall alone.