Exiled Wolf, Fated Luna

Chapter 12 – Night Voices

Sleep doesn’t so much come as ambush me.

One second I’m staring at the ceiling of my room, Bran’s words echoing in my head. The next I’m somewhere between a bridge and a lab, wood splintering into restraints, Milo’s scream folding into a metallic click as a door seals shut.

I jerk awake with a soundless gasp.

The room is dark, lit only by a strip of moonlight across the floor. My heart is a hammer in my throat. Sweat chills down my spine. For a few wild seconds I don’t know where I am.

Not Hollowpeak. Not a cage.

Grimvale.

My wolf, small and hoarse, presses against my ribs, as if reminding me. Here. Now.

Someone shifts in the hall.

I freeze, breath caught.

Then a familiar, dry voice murmurs, “You know I can hear you thinking from out here, right?”

Vael.

I push the blanket back and shuffle to the door, bare feet silent on the wood. When I crack it open, cool air washes over my face. Vael is sitting sideways on a chair opposite my room, boots propped on the wall, arms folded. A thermos rests on her knee.

“You’re on guard duty?” I ask, voice rough.

“Rotating,” she says. “Tharos did the first half. He snores.” Her gaze sweeps my face, sharp even in low light. “Nightmares?”

“More… reruns,” I say. “Bridge, Helix, the usual.”

“Fun channel.” She pats the empty chair beside her. “Sit. Might as well both be awake in comfort.”

I hesitate, then step out and close the door softly behind me. The hall is warm, smelling faintly of wood polish and wolves asleep behind doors.

When I sit, the chair creaks under my weight and her boots drop back to the floor.

She unscrews the thermos lid and offers it. “Tea. Erynn grade, not the stuff Darian drinks out of spite.”

The steam smells of something floral and sharp. I wrap my hands around the metal, letting the heat ground me before I attempt a sip.

“She told you?” I ask.

“She yelled at me for letting kids near a rotten bridge,” Vael corrects. “Then she gave me this and told me not to let you stare at walls alone all night.”

My mouth quirks, despite everything. “Efficient delegation.”

“That’s why she’s terrifying.” Vael leans her head back against the wall, eyes half‑closed. “How bad?”

I stare at the opposite door for a moment. “It’s not one thing,” I say slowly. “It’s… all of it on top of itself. Hollowpeak selling me off. Helix cages. Milo’s face when he thought he was falling forever. Darian bleeding on a bridge because I wasn’t watching close enough.”

Vael snorts softly. “You realize he’d punch a hole in the wall if he heard you blame yourself for that.”

“He almost died.”

“Yeah,” she says matter‑of‑factly. “He does that. It’s a hobby. Don’t encourage it, but don’t take credit either.”

A startled laugh slips out of me. It hurts my throat in a good way.

Silence stretches, but it isn’t heavy. Just late.

After a while, I ask, “Why a guard?”

“We just killed a Helix‑touched rogue who knew your name,” she says bluntly. “I like you breathing. Darian likes you breathing even more. It seemed wise to make sure no one gets clever tonight.”

The simple, flat way she says it lands harder than any poetic declaration would have.

“You think they’ll try again this fast?” I murmur.

“I think people who treat wolves like merchandise don’t like losing shipments.” Her lip curls. “And they’ve lost a lot lately.”

“Because of you,” I say quietly. “Because of this pack.”

“Because of all of us,” she corrects. “Including the Hollowpeak throwaway who held onto my pup on a collapsing bridge.” Her gaze cuts to me, sharp. “You get that, right? You didn’t just almost die. You chose not to let go.”

The words sit in my chest, hot and unfamiliar.

“I didn’t feel like I had a choice,” I admit.

Vael’s mouth twists. “None of us did, at first,” she says. “Then we decided we liked the wolves we were with more than the ones who wanted us dead. That’s all a pack is. Repeated decisions.”

Repeated decisions.

“Darian told me I could choose,” I say. “Stay. Go. He keeps saying it like it’s easy.”

“It’s not,” she says. “But the offer? That’s real. He meant it.” A beat. “Just don’t mistake his control for indifference. We don’t do rejection games here. Too much blood in the last round.”

I swallow. “You don’t think he’ll change his mind?”

She studies me for a long moment. “About you? No.” Then, more quietly, “About how much of himself he lets you see? That’s your work, not his.”

I stare into the tea. The surface shivers slightly, reflecting a warped slice of my face.

“I don’t know how to be someone’s Luna,” I say. “I barely know how to be someone’s guest.”

“Good,” Vael says. “Nobody needs a copy of me or my mother. We need you. The one who feels everything and still steps forward.”

The bond stirs, as if Darian heard that through some half‑sleeping thread and agreed.

“Is he… okay?” I ask before I can stop myself. “His arm. His shoulder.”

“Erynn patched him,” she says. “He’s pissed. That’s how you know it’s not mortal.” A hint of amusement smooths her mouth. “He wanted to come sit here. I told him if he tried to guard your door bleeding, I’d tranquilize him and paint his face.”

A startled bark of laughter escapes me. “You would, too.”

“In a heartbeat.”

We sit like that for a while—me nursing tea, her watching the dark end of the hall, both listening to the low hum of a sleeping pack.

Eventually my shoulders unknot enough that the thought of lying down doesn’t make my chest tighten.

“I think I can try again,” I say quietly, nodding toward my door.

Vael rises with me. “Good. I’m here till dawn. If you choke on a dream, open the door. I’ll look very annoyed and hand you more tea.”

“Terrifying,” I say. “Thank you.”

She shrugs, already lowering herself back into the chair. “Don’t make me regret not letting you walk off that bridge.”

I slip back into my room, closing the door gently. The bed smells faintly of Grimvale now—wood and lemon soap and something that’s becoming home.

As I lie down, the bond hums once, a tired, reassuring brush along my spine. Darian, half‑asleep, checking in without words.

I send back the smallest pulse I can manage.

Still here.

This time, when sleep comes, the bridge is still there, the ravine still yawns—but there are more hands on the rope, more voices calling my name.

And when I fall, I don’t fall alone.