To Break a Wolf

Chapter 21: Unwanted Mornings

Mira woke slowly, her senses reluctant to return to reality. Sunlight streamed through the window, soft and golden, warming her skin and casting a quiet glow across the room. She didn’t recognize the ceiling above her, but the blankets cocooning her body and the heavy comfort of the mattress made it hard to care. For a precious second, she let herself believe she was anywhere else. Anyone else.

Then the scent hit her.

Bacon.

Her eyes snapped open, confusion blinking into focus as she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. And just like that, it all came crashing back. The forced relocation. The heated argument. The books. The whisper of ancient lore within those weathered pages. And most unsettling of all, his voice in her head.

Now bacon?

Her stomach growled in betrayal.

Groaning, she rubbed her eyes and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The cold air bit at her skin, dragging her fully into the present. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, not that she’d had much of an appetite after storming out on Bastian. Her hunger overshadowed the rage, but now, the bastard had the nerve to cook for her.

Dragging a hand through her tangled hair, Mira pushed open the door and padded into the hall. The scent of breakfast intensified with every step. Bacon, eggs, something sweet—maybe pancakes. And voices. One low and smooth, the other familiar and dry.

The kitchen came into view, and so did the reason her brain kept short-circuiting.

Bastian.

Barefoot and shirtless, his hair was an unruly mess. Low-slung sweatpants clung to his hips as he stood over the stove as if he belonged in some absurd lumberjack-themed calendar. The early morning light painted shadows across his back, catching on the curve of every muscle and defined line that no man should carry so effortlessly.

Mira froze, heat rising in her face for reasons she refused to explore. As if on cue, Bastian’s head turned slightly, just enough to suggest he’d sensed the shift in the air. Not fully looking, just… aware. Of her. Of something. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything.

Selene sat at the kitchen island, coffee in hand, her expression between amused and unimpressed.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” she drawled without missing a beat.

Mira scowled and stepped farther into the room. “Morning.” Her voice scratched with sleep and suspicion. Her gaze darted from the stove to Bastian’s absurdly casual posture. “Why are you cooking?”

Without turning around, Bastian flipped a pancake with calm precision. “Because I like food.”

“Right,” Mira muttered, arms crossing. “Sure. That makes sense.”

Selene set her mug down with a clink. “He always cooks breakfast. Annoyingly good at it, too.”

Bastian glanced over his shoulder, and Mira’s stomach twisted. He looked infuriatingly well-rested, his eyes slightly clouded from sleep, his expression unreadable but smug all the same.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, not quite smiling.

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“I know.”

She stared at him in disbelief. He went back to plating the food as though he hadn’t just ruffled every one of her nerves.

“You’re being suspiciously nice,” she said under her breath as she slid onto the stool beside Selene. “Should I be worried?”

Selene gave a half-laugh. “This is his version of quiet time. Less brooding. More bacon.”

Bastian set a plate down in front of her. Eggs, pancakes, perfectly crisped bacon. He leaned in just enough to murmur, “Careful, Mira. You’re starting to sound as if you enjoy my company.”

She grabbed a strip of bacon and bit into it with purpose. “Don’t push your luck.”

Selene snorted behind her mug. For a few minutes, they fell into an uneasy peace, the kind that came with full plates and slightly less venom. Mira focused on eating, refusing to let her gaze drift to Bastian’s torso, which was difficult because he sat right there, moving like sin incarnate.

Then her phone buzzed.

Once. Twice. A third time in rapid succession.

She blinked and snatched it from the counter. Notifications lit up the screen: texts, an email, a missed call. Mira’s brows furrowed.

“Wait… Why do I suddenly have a signal?”

“We turned on the signal booster,” Bastian simply explained.

She looked up. “What signal booster?”

“For guests. We don’t usually keep it active. Security risk.”

“You turned it on for me?”

He shrugged. “Figured you might want to check in with your world before pretending this one doesn’t exist.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone. It wasn’t the gesture itself that rattled her. It was that he had thought about her at all, anticipated what she hadn’t said out loud. That level of consideration didn’t belong in the same sentence as Bastian Donovan.

Mira set her phone back onto the counter but didn’t pick it up again. Her appetite was already dimming beneath the memories clawing their way forward: the silent forest, the unease threading through the air, the gleam of an inhuman being watching from the trees.

She glanced at Bastian, who was keeping busy, pretending that flipping pancakes was the most essential job in the world.

“What was that thing in the woods?” she asked, lower than before, almost hesitant.

Bastian’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second, though not enough that anyone else would have noticed, yet Mira did.

Selene set her mug down more carefully than necessary. “You don’t need to worry about that right now.”

Mira’s jaw tightened. “Pretty sure I already am. I saw something. It wasn’t just wolves. It was… different.”

Bastian finally turned, meeting her gaze head-on. There was no humor now, no easy deflection, only that wall of quiet, patient stubbornness he wore so well.

“You’re safe here,” he said.

It wasn’t an answer. It wasn’t even close. Judging by the way Selene looked away, it was the only one she was going to get.

Mira swallowed back the thousand arguments bubbling up. She could push, she could demand, but instinct told her she wouldn’t like the answer, even if they gave it to her.

Then the phone rang.

The name on the screen made her groan. Victoria, her publisher. She stood and walked toward the hall before answering.

“Hey. Yeah, I’m alive. Barely.”

Victoria’s voice shot through the line, fast and panicked. “Mira, thank god. You’ve been off the grid for days. The marketing team is spiraling. Pre-orders spiked after that blog feature, and I need chapters. Yesterday.”

Mira pinched the bridge of her nose. “Right. Sure. No pressure.”

She could feel them listening from the kitchen. Bastian silent. Selene unreadable.

“Are you somewhere with Wi-Fi? We need teaser content by Thursday. Your fans are feral.”

Mira exhaled. “I have bacon. Does that count?”

“Not unless you can email it to me.”

The call ended before she could respond. Slowly, she turned back toward the kitchen. Phone still pressed to her ear.

Selene raised a brow. “Fans?”

Mira dropped into her seat. “Don’t.”

“Just asking,” Selene teased.

Bastian, now leaning against the counter, added, “Should we worry about paparazzi? Maybe install a motion sensor for drone cameras?”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

No smile. No smirk. Just that maddening calm she was learning to recognize as his version of teasing.

The silence that followed held something different. Less barbed. More uncertain. Mira toyed with her fork, then glanced at him.

“I wanted to say thanks,” she said carefully.

He tilted his head. “For?”

“The books. In the room. I thought maybe you left them.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “That wasn’t me.”

Selene took a sip of coffee. “That was Ellie. She leaves surprises lying around when she thinks someone needs them.”

“She didn’t say anything.”

“She rarely does,” Bastian murmured. “But if she gave you one of her little gifts, there’s a good reason for it.”

That sent a strange shiver through her.

Mira turned to Selene. “Speaking of the Moon Goddess… who exactly is she?”

Selene considered her. “Do you want the spiritual answer or the historical one?”

“I found something. A book. It said she created werewolves.”

“She did,” Selene said softly. “Or that’s what we believe. She gifted us the ability to shift and bond. She’s the Creator of our kind.”

Mira hesitated. “And Artemis?”

That name changed everything as both of them stilled.

“You know the name,” Mira said, tension winding tighter.

Selene set her mug down and leaned back. “Artemis was the goddess of the hunt. Of the wild. Of the moon. Some say the Moon Goddess is her, while others say Artemis was just an influence. The oldest packs, the ones with memories long enough to stretch into myth, call her Artemis.”

“What do you mean by old ways?”

“Before Alphas and Lunas, before ranks and councils, there were the Chosen, humans blessed by the moon to protect what was sacred. According to the stories, Artemis gave select people the power to walk between man and beast.”

“So werewolves weren’t born. She created them.”

“Exactly,” Selene said. “Shapeshifters used to be more varied. Panthers, bears, stags. But wolves endured. Wolves formed packs. They became the bloodline that carried the legacy.”

Mira stared down at her hands. “Why would a goddess do that?”

This time, Bastian answered. “Because man was destroying what she loved. She gave her Chosen the power to restore balance.”

“Not to fight humans,” Selene clarified. “To fight corruption, to defend the wild. Werewolves were the balance.”

A chill slid down Mira’s spine. That word, balance, echoed inside her, unsettlingly familiar. She thought of Ellie, of how her own power had nearly torn her apart.

“Do you think Artemis still exists?” she asked.

Selene’s voice was soft. “I think her legacy never left.”

Mira sat in silence. Her appetite long forgotten. Because if that legacy lived on, if Artemis’s touch still lingered in the bones of the forest, then that book wasn’t just history.

It was a warning.