To Break a Wolf

Chapter 29: The Gift

The sunrise spilled golden across the mountain ridge as Bastian stepped through the back entrance of his cabin, a worn leather bundle tucked under one arm.

He hadn’t slept. Not really.

After the sparring, after the kiss, after Mira’s hips rolled against his and every last thread of control frayed apart, his wolf had stayed on edge, pacing inside his skin, demanding more of her. But it wasn’t the bond that kept him awake.

It was her words.

You think I wanted to feel helpless?

That was what gutted him. Not the strength Mira had shown. Gods, he admired her fire. Not even the heat in her kiss that still burned in the back of his throat just as a new brand would. It was the fear beneath it. Her voice had cracked on that question. Power flowed under her skin, waiting to rise, yet she’d felt as if she were something to protect instead of someone who could fight.

He crossed the clearing behind the cabin and spotted Mira immediately, barefoot in the dewy grass, her braid still damp from a fresh shower, her skin pink at the cheeks flushed from movement or the conversation Selene had hinted at.

She noticed him then. Her eyes fell to the bundle.

“What’s that?”

Bastian didn’t answer right away. He moved closer and unrolled the wrap, revealing what lay inside.

A staff of rich mahogany, polished smooth by time, silver etchings spiraling down its length like vines chasing moonlight. A carved crescent had been embedded near the top, subtle but unmistakable.

Mira blinked. “Is that—?”

“It’s yours,” he stated.

Her brows lifted. “You’re giving me one of your museum pieces?”

He almost smiled. “Not a museum piece. A weapon belonging to a legacy.”

She frowned slightly, unsure. “Bastian…”

“It’s for a Luna,” he said, voice quiet. “A warrior Luna. The first one, actually. It’s been in the vault, locked away since the day she fell. No one’s touched it since. Until now.”

Her fingers hovered over the polished silver, reverent but hesitant. “Why give this to me?”

“Because you need a weapon you trust,” he said, steady. “And because you already fight like you belong in the stories.”

Her throat bobbed.

She stared at the staff, then at him. “And I’m supposed to carry this around like a sword-wielding maniac?”

“Only if you want to scare the hell out of the Council.”

Her eyes narrowed, but her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. She reached out, curling her fingers around the shaft. The wood was cool beneath her palm—cool, but pulsing with an energy she couldn’t quite describe.

The moment she lifted it, her posture changed. Shoulders back, chin higher, as if the weight belonged there.

Bastian didn’t move. He just watched her absorb it.

“You honestly think I can pull this off?” she asked.

He didn’t blink. “Worked for Artemis.”

She blinked. “The goddess?”

He gave a half-smile. “The huntress. The protector. The warrior. Legend says she carried one similar.”

Mira looked down at her palms again, then at the staff, and her expression shifted. It didn’t show fear but doubt. She felt it now. The history. The responsibility. The power.

She turned to leave, shoulders square, each step measured. She didn’t walk like prey anymore. She moved like someone who carried a weapon on her back, and possibly more ancient power humming beneath her skin.

Bastian watched her go, and as the first breeze of morning stirred the trees, he felt it too. The tide had turned. Mira wasn’t just Fate’s choice anymore. She was becoming a storm of her own.