Dear Alpha, Your Luna

Chapter 5

HAVEN



Haven sat at the small wooden desk in her foster bedroom, pencil hovering above the paper. She had already rewritten the letter three times, but the words never seemed right. Adrian’s first letter—so sharp, so careless—still lingered in the back of her mind. But so did his apology.

She believed him. Maybe she shouldn’t, maybe it was foolish, but Haven wanted—no, needed—to believe.

Her social worker always said she was too quick to shut people out. Shirley, her foster mom, said mistakes didn’t define a person, only what they did after. And Haven wanted to see what Adrian would do after.

Taking a deep breath, she bent over the paper and began to write.

Dear Adrian,

I already told you in my first letter that I forgive you. I know you didn’t mean what you said, and I know you didn’t mean to hurt me—or whoever else your letter might have reached. I know you’re just a kid, figuring things out the same as me.

Shirley, my foster mom, always says that life isn’t about the mistakes you make. It’s about what you do after. Do you learn from it? Do you grow? Or do you just keep making the same mistake again and again? That’s what decides if someone’s a good person.

So I’m giving you a second chance. Because honestly? I need a friend. I don’t really have any. Not real ones. I’ve moved too many times, been to too many schools, met too many people who didn’t stick. My social worker says I shut people out too easily. Maybe she’s right. But maybe you’ll be different.

So here’s what I’m saying: You’ll be my first real friend.

Since we’re starting over, let’s pretend we’ve never met, or written. Fresh page.

Hi. My name is Haven Rivers. No middle name. That was the name stitched on the blanket wrapped around me when they found me in front of a fire station. I was only a few days old.

I’ve never met my birth parents. Don’t know if they’re alive, or where they are, or if they ever think of me. No one ever found out a single thing about them. I’m what my caseworkers call “a mystery file.” An abandoned baby with no trail.

I’m a foster kid. I’ve lived in nine homes already, which makes sense since I’m nine years old. Each one felt temporary. Some were okay. Some were awful. The one I’m in now? It’s the best so far. Jack and Shirley—they’re good people. They care. They don’t just do the minimum. They even told me I could call them Mom and Dad, but I haven’t yet. I’m scared if I do, I’ll jinx it. That the universe will take them away from me, too.

Still, I hope I stay. My longest record in a home is a year and a half, and I’ve already been here almost a year. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe.

Anyway, enough about me. I want to know about you. You said once you had a brother, Sebastian. Is he older or younger? Do you have other siblings? What’s it like to grow up with them? I’ve never had real siblings. Not blood ones, anyway. Foster siblings don’t stay long enough.

Tell me everything—your birthday, favorite color, favorite food, favorite animal. Anything you want to share. Because if we’re starting over, I want to know who you really are.

Your friend,

Haven Rivers

P.S. Shirley said I should send a photo of myself, so don’t laugh, okay? It’s my school picture, and my smile looks silly. You can throw it away if you want. Also, Shirley says it’s fine if you write back to our house address now, so you don’t need to use the school anymore.

Bye!

—Haven

When she finished, Haven slipped the photo of herself inside the envelope, chewing her lip nervously. Her strawberry-blonde curls looked too wild in the picture, her smile crooked. What if Adrian laughed? What if he didn’t write back at all?

Shaking the thoughts away, she sealed the letter and handed it to Shirley to post. For once, she let herself hope.

ADRIAN BLACKWOOD

Adrian didn’t check the mail.

At least, that was what he told everyone.

He didn’t hover near the packhouse entryway whenever deliveries came. He didn’t sneak glances at his father’s office where incoming letters stacked neatly. And he most definitely didn’t pace circles around the mailbox every time he passed it.

No—Adrian Blackwood was the son of Alpha Darius Blackwood. Heir to Crescent Lake Pack. He had better things to do than stalk the mailman like a lovesick pup.

At least, that was the lie he told himself. And what he would deny to Reid, Nolan, or anyone else who caught him looking.

By Saturday morning, a full week after he had sent his last letter, he was wound so tightly he could barely think.

Breakfast with the other heirs was unbearable. Nolan was quiet as usual. Reid, ever the loudmouth, cracked jokes at every chance. His younger brother Sebastian sat across from him with that infuriating smirk that made Adrian want to throttle him.

Adrian stabbed his eggs harder than necessary.

“What did those eggs ever do to you?” Reid teased.

“Shut up,” Adrian muttered.

Nolan added, “He’s been tense all week. Yesterday he almost tore his textbook in half flipping pages.”

Adrian glared. “I was in a hurry.”

“Uh-huh,” Reid drawled. “And what about the way you nearly broke your neck turning around in class? Looking for something?”

Sebastian smirked wider, ready to spill everything. “Maybe he’s waiting for a—”

Adrian lunged across the table before Seb could finish. Chairs scraped, silverware clattered, and the two brothers crashed to the ground. Growls tore from their throats, half play, half serious. Sebastian kneed him in the stomach, Adrian tackled harder, their scuffle echoing through the dining room.

The door opened.

Alpha Darius Blackwood’s presence filled the space like a storm. His massive frame blocked the doorway, his voice calm but lethal.

“Adrian. Sebastian. What did I say about roughhousing in the packhouse?”

Both froze.

“Not near the furniture,” Sebastian muttered.

“Twenty laps. Outside. Now,” Darius commanded.

When Sebastian whined, his father’s gaze sharpened. “Would you prefer forty?”

Adrian and Sebastian chorused, “Yes, Alpha.”

Outside, they ran until their lungs burned and sweat plastered their shirts to their backs. But even exhaustion couldn’t smother Adrian’s restlessness.

Something was waiting.

When they returned to the packhouse, Adrian saw it instantly. On the entryway table lay a pale purple envelope, his name written in neat, looping handwriting.

His pulse jumped.

Haven.

Before he could reach for it, Reid’s hand darted out, tearing it open with a wicked grin.

“Reid!” Adrian’s roar shook the walls. Fury surged through him as his friend scanned the words, unreadable.

But instead of mocking, Reid silently handed the letter back and walked away. No teasing. No smirk. Just… silence.

Adrian barely noticed. Something else had slipped from the envelope.

A photograph.

Small, with bent edges.

Haven.

Her curls framed her face, wild and untamed. Her smile was hesitant, almost forced, but her eyes—those blue eyes—were heavy with a sadness no child should bear.

Adrian’s chest tightened. His wolf stirred, growling deep inside him. A pull rooted itself in his core, fierce and undeniable. He wanted to shield her, protect her from every hurt she had ever known.

And he didn’t even know her.

Clutching the photo, Adrian shut himself in his room. The laughter of his packmates faded. He sat on his bed, Haven’s letter trembling in his hands.

And for the first time in his life, he realized—

Maybe a stranger could matter more than anyone he had ever known.