THE LAST SHADOW LUNA

Nowhere Safe

Catherine’s POV

Three weeks. That’s how long I’d been running, and it still didn’t feel nearly over.

I stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror of my tiny rented room above the laundromat. The constant rumble of dryers vibrated through the floorboards, but I’d grown used to it in these three weeks. Clara Reed. That was the name I whispered to myself every morning like a prayer. Clara Reed, who had no past, no pack, and definitely no connection to a certain Lycan King.

My hair now brushed my shoulders in a choppy dark brown that I’d paid way too much for in a back-alley salon. The silver undertones that used to shimmer under moonlight were gone—for now. I missed my longer hair, but long black hair made me recognizable. Everything about this new life was a calculated step backward. The cheap polyester diner uniform scratched my skin. The room smelled of detergent and old grease. And still, every single day, I told myself the same lie: I’m doing fine. I can handle this. Just keep moving.

I almost believed it sometimes.

The biggest problem wasn’t the exhaustion from double shifts at the greasy diner on Maple Street. It wasn’t even the thin walls or the leering customers who thought a tired waitress was fair game. No. The real problem was the mark on my shoulder.

Three days ago it started glowing.

At first it was just a faint pulse of gold when I was dead on my feet after a twelve-hour shift. Now it flared whenever I felt stressed, like when I caught a customer staring too long or heard sirens in the distance. I wore high-necked shirts under my uniform, buttoned all the way to my throat despite the summer heat. My coworkers thought I was some kind of prude or hiding a hickey from a bad ex.

If only they knew.

“Clara, table six is asking for more coffee,” Jenny called from the kitchen, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“On it,” I replied, forcing a smile as I grabbed the pot. Keep it together, Catherine. Clara. Whatever.

The worst part wasn’t even the glowing. It was the fact that the mark felt like it was pulling me. A constant, invisible tug northward, like an internal compass I couldn’t turn off. Every time my mind wandered, it dragged my thoughts back to him—Gerald Draven. The weight of his body, the rasp of his voice, the way he’d looked at me like I was something precious right before he bit me. I hated how much I remembered. I hated how my wolf purred at the memory.

Stop it. You’re supposed to be suppressed. You’re supposed to be safe.

But my wolf wasn’t listening anymore. That single night with the King had shattered four years of careful silence. My senses were sharpening dangerously. Yesterday I smelled burning toast from three blocks away. Last night I overheard two cooks arguing about stealing tips through a thick brick wall like they were standing right beside me. And just this morning, while wiping down the counter, I caught my reflection in the window—my eyes flashing pure silver for three terrifying seconds before I forced them back to plain brown.

This power isn’t coming from rituals or herbs anymore. It’s coming from inside me. From him. And I’m losing control.

I swallowed hard and kept working, pretending everything was normal.

---

For three nights in a row, he sat at my station near closing.

The first time I noticed him, he ordered black coffee and a slice of apple pie. Bronze skin, long dark hair tied back loosely, stormy gray eyes, and tattoos peeking from beneath the sleeves of his worn leather jacket. Darius, he’d said when I asked for a name. He tipped well and didn’t stare at my chest or make crude comments like the others. He just ate quietly, watching the street outside with calm intensity.

He came back the next night. Same order.

By the third night, I was tense every time the bell above the door rang.

“You’re not from around here,” I said on the fourth night as I refilled his coffee, trying to sound casual. My mark was pulsing faintly under my collar.

Darius looked up, his gray eyes steady. “Neither are you, Clara Reed.”

My stomach dropped. I forced a laugh. “Small talk isn’t usually this direct.”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. When he stood to leave, he placed a small black card on the counter. Elegant script read an address two towns over, followed by the words: When you’re ready to stop running.

I froze, heart hammering.

“You’re not the first rejected wolf I’ve found hiding in a diner uniform,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only I could hear. “And you won’t be the last. Think about it. You don’t have to keep doing this alone.”

He left before I could respond.

That night I stayed in my room, sitting on the edge of my sagging mattress and staring at the card like it might bite me. The laundromat machines rumbled below, but all I could focus on was the steady golden glow of the mark on my shoulder lighting up the dark room like a traitor’s beacon.

Why now? Why can’t you just leave me alone? I thought bitterly at the mark, pressing my palm over it. I don’t want him. I don’t want any of this.

My burner phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I picked it up with shaking fingers. A single photo attachment of me.

It looked like it was taken by a security camera. The one at Oakhaven hotel to be precise. My face—clear as day—captured mid-stride as I fled into the grey morning three weeks ago.

The phone slipped from my hand.

They found me.

Panic clawed up my throat. I didn’t think so. I just moved. Clothes, cash, the few toiletries I owned—everything went into my battered backpack in under four minutes. I didn’t even bother with the lights.

I climbed out the window onto the fire escape, the metal cool against my sweaty palms. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure the whole neighborhood could hear it. Halfway down, a large shadow detached itself from the darkness of the alley below.

I froze on the ladder.

“Miss Clara,” a deep, rumbling voice said. “The King sends his regards.”

The man was massive—broad shoulders, dark clothing blending into the night. He stood there calmly, hands at his sides, making no move to grab me. That stillness was somehow more terrifying than if he had lunged.

I gripped the rungs tighter, breath coming in short gasps. The mark on my shoulder burned hot and bright, the pull northward stronger than ever.

Gerald.

My wolf stirred inside me, half excited, half furious.

I was out of time. Nowhere was safe anymore.