The Bite That Saved Me: I'm His Lost Luna

Chapter VI: The Hidden Village

Wyatt's POV

After the chaos of the banquet, I stormed out, leaving everything behind. There was nothing left worth staying for—not even a minute more.

Why doesn't Alpha Henry know about the necklace?

It didn't make sense. The blood letter had been sealed fifteen years ago, on Amira's fifth birthday. Fifteen years wasn't long enough to forget something so significant—not for a man who'd built his entire status on that covenant.

And why didn't Amira seem surprised at all? She looked just as lost as everyone else in that room.

I never had the chance to meet Amira fifteen years ago—not with the accident that kept me from that banquet. But my mother used to speak of her sometimes. A strong little girl, she'd said. Bubbly. Always singing. She had golden, fiery eyes and long, wavy golden hair.

Golden, wavy hair.

The words echoed strangely in my mind. I paused. Wait.

Have I seen that before?

Fragments surfaced—half-formed, flickering at the edges of memory, like something I'd almost caught before it slipped away again.

That little girl. Those fiery golden eyes. I've seen them somewhere.

Then it hit me.

Those eyes—the ones that burned when—

Yes. When she saved me.

The girl who saved me ten years ago had those same eyes. I remembered it now, in fragments—her eyes blazing gold as she stood between me and the black wolves closing in, fighting to keep them back.

I remembered.

But that only raised more questions than it answered.

Who is she, really? Who is my true fated Luna?

And if she has Amira's eyes, Amira's hair...

Then who—who is Amira?

Amira's eyes were a dazzling hazelnut, smaller and softer than the fierce golden ones burned into my memory. Her hair wasn't golden at all—it was a deep, stunning burgundy, long and wavy, nothing like what my mother had described.

Was my mother wrong?

Amira was timid. Prim. Proper, in the way she always presented herself in public. She barely spoke; she only smiled, quiet and composed. Had she really changed that much over the years? Or had my mother simply gotten it wrong from the start? My mother had also told me Amira had porcelain-white skin, just like her own mother's—but the Amira standing in that banquet hall tonight had a warm, sun-touched complexion, nothing porcelain about it.

All of it churned together in my mind, question after question with no answers, until I realized where my feet had carried me.

The old oak tree. Again.

I'd been sitting there, lost in thought, when a flicker of light caught my eye—firelight, maybe two kilometers out. Curiosity pulled at me. I considered taking the car, but when I examined the path, I found it too narrow, too uneven—built for walking, not driving. So I left the car behind and followed the trail on foot.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, I heard it: music. A tambourine's rhythm, the strum of guitars, voices raised together in song. Then I saw the fire—a bonfire, tall and bright, with people gathered close around it. Some sang. Some danced.

And there, at the center of it all, dancing among the flames—

A woman.

Her form blurred where the firelight met her, as though her aura and the blaze had become one and the same. Her silhouette moved like fire given shape, like flame learning to dance.

Everyone around her was laughing, dancing, alive with celebration.

Who are these people? Is there truly a village hidden out here?

I've never set foot in this part of the territory before.

Are they wolves? Or human?

And what are they celebrating?

I stayed hidden in the bushes, watching quietly, admiring the simple, genuine joy radiating from the people below. They were happy—truly happy. Laughter, dancing, music drifting up into the night.

Then a woman screamed.

The sound tore through the celebration like a blade, and the crowd scattered in an instant. Screams for help rose from every direction as people scrambled, running with no clear path, only away. And there—wolves. Black wolves, tearing through the crowd, attacking anyone in their path.

One of them had a child clamped in its jaws. The mother stood in front of it, screaming, her voice raw with desperation.

"No! Please—my child!"

The wolf tensed, ready to hurt the child, and that was the moment I moved.

My aura ignited—blue flame, blazing bright enough to split the darkness in two. I lunged, snatching the child free, fast but careful, cradling her safely against me.

Rage flooded through me. The Dark Pack. I knew them. I'd met their kind before, ten years ago, in this very place—and they'd come back.

I'll tear them all apart.

I returned the child to her mother's arms. "Run," I told her. "Now."

My flame surged higher, my whole body sharpening into something built only for the fight ahead.

I'd assumed there were only three or four of them, like before. I was wrong. There were dozens—two dozen, maybe more.

I threw everything I had into the fight, refusing to let a single one of them touch these people. They were human—I could see that now, in the way none of them fought back, none of them had any way to defend themselves against wolves at all.

I fought past a dozen. Past two. My body ached with bruises and wounds I didn't have time to feel yet, but I forced myself to keep standing. Keep fighting.

For them. For these people who did nothing to deserve this.

I fought until there was nothing left in me to give. The Dark Pack finally broke and scattered, fleeing into the dark—and only then did my body finally give out beneath me.

The last thing I saw, before the light was stolen from my eyes, was a gaze.

Golden. Fiery. Fixed on me, worry etched into every line of it.

Then darkness swallowed everything, and the world went silent.