Stay With Me, Luna

Four: Irish Soup And Folders

Pan POV

A rhythmic, heavy thumping woke me up, vibrating straight into my aching skull. I groaned, burying my face into my pillow as a wave of nausea hit me. Note to self: neon-green drinks from O’Malley’s were actually weaponized sugar.

Then, the smell hit me. It wasn’t the stale beer or sweat of the bar, but the rich, savory aroma of garlic, onions, and beef broth.

Mrs. O’Connor’s famous Irish Soup.

I blinked my blurry eyes open, forcing myself to sit up. My head throbbed in protest, but the sound of tiny, familiar giggles coming from the kitchen pulled me out of bed. I threw on a pair of sweatpants, my limbs feeling heavy, and shuffled down the hallway.

The sight in the kitchen instantly melted the hangover freeze in my chest. Mrs. O’Connor stood at the stove, her silver curls pinned back neatly, stirring a massive pot with a wooden spoon. Sat on the kitchen counter next to her was Lora, her wild chocolate-brown curls bouncing as she clapped her chubby hands.

“Mama! Mama, wake!” Lora squealed the moment she saw me, her bright green eyes lighting up. She immediately reached her little arms out toward me, wiggling her fingers. “Uppies, Mama! Uppies!”

A warmth blossomed in my chest, fierce and protective. When Lora had first started talking a year ago, "Mama" was the word she latched onto. I had never corrected her. I couldn’t. I was the one who woke up with her in the night, the one who bought her diapers, the one who loved her unconditionally. To her, I was Mama, and I wore the title like a badge of honor.

“Hey, my sweet girl,” I croaked, my voice rough from a night of shouting over a cover band. I lifted her off the counter, holding her tight against my hip. She buried her face into my neck, smelling like baby lotion and fresh rain.

“Ah, the sleeping beauty arises,” Mrs. O’Connor chuckled, turning around and pressing a warm mug of the steaming soup into my free hand. “Drink up, Pan. This’ll cure anything from a broken heart to a cheap whiskey hangover. Though from what Kita’s texts told me, it was more of a sugar hangover.”

I blushed, taking a grateful sip of the broth. It instantly settled my stomach. “Mrs. O’Connor, you didn’t have to do this. You’ve already done so much.”

“Hush now,” the elderly woman scolded gently, swatting the air. “Kita’s sister is a sweetheart, but she had school prep this morning. I told her I’d take over. You’ve got the sweet two-year-old taken care of today, Pan. She’s staying with me while you go conquer that double shift.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and for once, it wasn’t from exhaustion. It was overwhelming feeling of gratitude. Between Kita, her sister, and Mrs. O’Connor, I had a support system. It was small, it was unconventional, but it was ours.

“Thank you,” I whispered, kissing the top of Lora’s head before setting her down to play with some plastic tupperware on the floor. “I’m going to go jump in the shower. I have to be at Daniella’s Diner in an hour.”

The hot water did wonders for my aching muscles, washing away the lingering scent of stale bar air and the sweet, neon-green residue of last night. By the time I stepped out and wrapped a fluffy towel around myself, my head was feeling a little clearer.

As I began vigorously towel-drying my hair, my mind started drifting back to the blur of the dance floor at O’Malley’s. A small, genuine smile tugged at my lips. Kita and I really had a good time. It felt amazing to just move, to laugh until my ribs hurt, and to completely forget about bills and shift schedules for a few hours. I closed my eyes, trying to piece together the later parts of the night. It was all a hazy, warm rush of music and laughter. I had a vague, blurry memory of locking lips with someone on the dance floor—a faceless, fleeting moment of fun—but honestly, between the sugar rush and the cover band, I couldn't even be completely sure it actually happened.

But then, my thoughts drifted back to earlier in the night. To the Midnight Lady. To him.

Dorian.

An involuntary shiver ran down my spine, independent of the chilly bathroom air. It was so incredibly creepy how he had just stepped into my space and looked right through me. How could a total stranger know I was anxious? How could he tell I was worried about someone? It felt violating, like he had read my mind. But beneath the creep-factor, there was that tiny, stubborn voice in my head that kept looping back to his face. I let out a frustrated breath, dropping the towel to stare at myself in the fogged-up mirror. I swore his eyes had really been glowing. It wasn’t a trick of the contacts, and it wasn’t the lighting. For a split second, it looked like literal, molten gold.

“Get a grip, Pan,” I muttered to my reflection, shaking my head. “You were tired, stressed, and probably hallucinating from a lack of sleep.”

Deciding it was best to just forget about the golden-eyed weirdo entirely, I picked up a wide-tooth comb to tackle my hair. As the towel came off completely, I groaned. My dark curls had exploded into a massive halo of frizzy chaos. I ran a hand through the wild, tangled mess, sighing at the sight. I really, really needed to invest in some proper curly hair care products instead of using whatever cheap, two-in-one bottle was on sale at the grocery store. Lora was inheriting the exact same texture, which meant I was going to have to figure out a real routine sooner rather than later.

Twisting the damp, unruly curls into a tight braid to keep them under control, I threw on my uniform—black jeans and a branded Daniella’s Diner t-shirt. I took one last deep breath, gathered my things, and walked out to face the day, completely unaware of the storm that was about to walk into my diner.

Dorian POV

The leather of my new high-backed chair creaked as I stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Alpha’s office. The morning sun was just hitting the treeline, bathing the pack lands in a crisp, golden light. Last night, the mantle of leadership had officially been passed to me. The pack bond now thrummed in my veins, a heavy, living network of mind-links and responsibilities.

But my wolf didn’t care about the territory lines. He was pacing the cage of my ribs, his nose practically glued to the window, demanding we track the wild honey scent that had altered our universe.

The heavy oak door opened, and Henry walked in, shutting it quietly behind him. He looked exhausted, the faint dark circles under his eyes proof that he hadn't slept since we left the clubs. He carried a thick folder under his arm.

“Tell me you have something,” I urged, not turning around. My voice was a low rumble.

“Good morning to you too, Alpha,” Henry said dryly, tossing the folder onto my heavy mahogany desk. “And yes, I have everything. Turns out, your mate is a lot easier to find when she actually works at the bar we started the night at.”

I turned around instantly, my hands flattening against the desk as I leaned forward. “She works at the Midnight Lady?”

“She does. Her name is Pandora Hawthorne,” Henry said, leaning against the edge of the desk and crossing his arms. His professional, Beta demeanor settled over him, replacing his usual sarcastic tone. “She’s twenty-one. Left a marketing track at the local college two years ago. No criminal record, barely any digital footprint. She works two jobs—the bar at night, and a diner down the street during the day.”

I opened the folder. The first thing I saw was a photocopy of her ID. Her green eyes stared back at me, fierce and guarded, even in a sterile government photo. My wolf whined longingly.

“There’s more,” Henry continued, his voice softening slightly. “I pulled the local human court records. She lives in a small rental on the edge of the lower district. And she’s not alone.”

My grip tightened on the edge of the desk, the wood groaning under my strength. “A mate? A boyfriend?”

“No,” Henry said quickly, holding up a hand to soothe my rising aura. “A child. A two-year-old girl named Lora. But here’s the kicker—biologically, the kid is her sister. On record through the human court system, Pan has full legal custody. Their mother abandoned them the day the baby turned eight weeks old. Pan has been raising her entirely on her own ever since.”

I stared down at the paperwork, my chest aching. The trace of anxiety I’d smelled on her last night, her exhaustion, the way she had looked at me with so much fear when I told her she was safe—it all clicked into place. She wasn’t a carefree twenty-one-year-old out looking for fun. She was a protector. A mother in every way that mattered, fighting a brutal human system to keep her family alive.

My wolf howled inside my head, a sound of intense pride, mixed with a savage anger at the world that had forced her to suffer alone.

Henry watched me closely, his eyes sharp. “She’s a human with a toddler and a mountain of legal responsibilities, Dorian. She’s fiercely protective, and she already thinks you’re a lunatic. How do you feel about this?”

I closed the folder softly, running a hand over the printout of her face.

“I feel like she’s been carrying a pack’s worth of weight on her own for far too long,” I muttered, my voice dropping to a dangerous, final register. I looked up at my Beta, the gold in my eyes flashing bright in the morning light. “And I feel like it’s time I took some of that weight off her shoulders. When does her shift start, Henry?”