THE LAST SHADOW LUNA

The Underground

Catherine’s POV

My heart slammed against my ribs as I clung to the fire escape, staring down at the stranger in the alley. He was younger than I expected—early twenties maybe—with a lean, wiry build and tired eyes that had clearly seen too much.

He slowly raised both empty hands, palms out. “Easy. I’m not here to hurt you.” His voice was low and steady. “Name’s Soren. I serve the Northern Citadel.”

A northern spy. Of course. I nearly laughed at how perfectly terrible this night had become.

Soren kept his hands visible and took one careful step back. “I’ve been tracking you for three days under strict orders from King Gerald. Do not touch her. Do not approach her. Do not even speak to her. Those were my orders.”

“Then why the hell are you talking to me?” I hissed, glancing nervously up and down the alley.

“Because another group is watching your building right now,” he said grimly, “and the King didn’t send them. Two southern pack wolves have been guarding both ends of your street since dark. They know who you are, Clara—or whatever your real name is. They know you’re carrying secrets. And they’re not the type to ask nicely.”

Secrets. The word landed like a stone in my stomach. I didn’t ask what he thought I was hiding. I didn’t want to know.

Soren pulled a thick envelope sealed with black wax from his jacket and held it out. “You have maybe six minutes before the trackers change positions. Take this and run. I’ll cover your exit if you want.”

I hesitated for half a second, then snatched the letter and shoved it deep into my pocket without opening it. Later. Deal with survival first.

“Fine,” I muttered, climbing down the rest of the way. “But if you try anything—”

“I won’t.” He fell into step beside me, moving like someone who knew how to stay invisible. I hated how grateful I felt. I had no other choice.

We slipped through the back door of the laundromat, weaving between rumbling machines and piles of forgotten laundry. My new wolf senses flared to life whether I wanted them to or not. I could smell the southern trackers now—damp earth, cold iron, and the sharp chemical bite of wolf-suppression drugs. They were close. And they were hunting me. The scent made my stomach twist with nausea and rage.

They’re here for me. Because of him. Because of what he did to me that night.

There couldn’t be any other reason why they would be coming for me.

Soren led us across a dark backyard and into a narrow alley behind the buildings. My legs burned as we ran, but the mark on my shoulder pulsed with urgent heat, almost like it was trying to guide me. North. Always f*****g north. I ignored it.

The address on Darius’s card burned in my memory. I didn’t know if I could trust him, but right now he was my only option that wasn’t capture or death.

The old textile factory looked abandoned from the outside—boarded windows, rusted chains on the doors, weeds growing through cracks in the pavement. I hesitated at the entrance.

“Trust me,” Soren whispered behind me. “Or don’t. But decide fast.”

I pushed the door open.

The interior hit me like stepping into another world. Warm light glowed from hanging lanterns. The air smelled of fresh bread and herbs instead of dust and decay. Rows of neatly made beds lined one wall. A small medical area with bandages and supplies sat in the corner. A communal kitchen bustled quietly where a few people stirred pots. At least thirty wolves—mostly omegas with haunted eyes, runaways, and half-bloods who looked like they’d been kicked out of every pack—moved around the space with careful, practiced silence.

Darius stood just inside the door like he’d been expecting me all along. His long dark hair was tied back, gray eyes calm.

“You came,” he said simply.

“I didn’t have a choice.” My voice cracked.

He didn’t ask questions. Not about the glowing mark I was trying to hide beneath my collar. Not about the northern spy at my back. Not about the trackers circling outside. He simply led me to a small private room in the back.

It had a proper bed, a locking door, and a narrow window overlooking the alley so I could watch for danger. Darius set a mug of hot tea on the small table.

“Rest,” he said quietly. “You’re safe here for tonight. No one will bother you.”

The simple kindness nearly broke me. I blinked back tears as he closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

Why is he helping me? What does he want? Everyone wants something.

My hands shook as I pulled out Gerald’s letter. The black wax seal felt heavy. I broke it and unfolded the paper.

Four words in bold, heavy handwriting stared back at me:

I know what you are.

Inside the envelope, nestled against the paper, was a single dried moonflower—its petals still faintly luminescent.

The universal symbol for a lycan claiming its fated mate.

I dropped the flower like it had burned my fingers. It fluttered to the floor as my legs gave out and I sank onto the edge of the bed.

No. No, this can’t be real.

My mark flared hot and golden under my shirt, pulsing in time with my frantic heartbeat. The pull northward surged so strongly it stole my breath. Somewhere far away, the Lycan King wasn’t just looking for me anymore.

He wanted me.

And he was coming.