His Rejected Luna: The Bond That Wouldn’t Die

Chapter 6 – Between Two Worlds

Morning comes too bright and too clean.

Someone left a change of clothes folded on the chair in the guest room they gave me—soft leggings, an oversized sweater, a tote bag with the Locke crest small and subtle on the side. There’s even a travel-sized toothbrush waiting by the sink.

Pack hospitality. Or pack containment. Depends how you tilt your head.

I scrub the alley grime and wolf scent off my skin until the water runs cold, then put my own clothes back on anyway. I’ll deal with the borrowed things later.

By the time I make it downstairs, the house hums with life. Voices in the kitchen, quick footsteps across hardwood, the murmur of someone on the phone. Wolves moving through their morning.

I slip out the side door before anyone can stop me.

Varro is waiting by the car. Of course he is. Black T-shirt, leather jacket, dark glasses despite the cloudy sky.

“You thought you were walking?” he asks.

“I thought I was going to work,” I say. “Alone.”

He unlocks the SUV with a beep. “Alpha wants you dropped off and picked up. Until further notice.”

I open my mouth to argue, then shut it again. Keane House was on the news last night, at least as a location of “heightened concern.” If some bright-eyed zealot decides to finish what the alley boys started…

“Fine,” I grind out. “But you don’t come inside.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says dryly. “Kids bite.”

The drive back into the city feels shorter this time. Maybe because I know exactly how far away the pack’s scent is once we cross the invisible line.

By the time we pull up in front of the shelter, a small cluster of neighbors is already gathered on the sidewalk, staring at the yellow tape strung across the back entrance. Two reporters linger near the corner, cameras idle but ready.

Mara is on the front steps, arms folded, phone pressed to her ear. She looks like she hasn’t slept. Her eyes go wide when she spots me.

“Gotta go,” she tells whoever’s on the line, hanging up without waiting for a reply. “Sylvi—”

I barely get both feet on the pavement before she’s hugging me hard enough to squeeze the air from my lungs.

“Oh, thank God,” she says into my shoulder. “When I heard there was an incident and they said your name—”

“I’m okay,” I manage. “I promise.”

She pulls back, scanning me for damage, gaze snagging on the faint bruise on my arm. Her mouth tightens.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing. I—I tripped.”

Her look says she knows exactly how much of that is bullshit, but she lets it go. For now.

Her gaze flicks past me to the black SUV and the man leaning against it, arms crossed. “And that is…?”

“Security,” I say quickly. “The, uh, city thinks we’re a higher-risk site now. Extra eyes.”

Varro doesn’t correct me. He just tips his head, expression unreadable behind his lenses.

“Great,” Mara mutters. “We get threatened and then supervised. Love that for us.”

She drags me up the steps and into the lobby.

The shelter smells like burnt coffee, crayons, and floor cleaner. Familiar. Grounding. A few kids are already in the common room, clustered around the old TV, bright eyes turning toward me as we pass.

“Miss Sylvi!” one of the littlest ones calls. “You were on the news!”

Fantastic.

“I was just… in the background,” I say, forcing a smile. “Grown-up stuff. Boring.”

It’s not a lie they’re ready to challenge. They go back to their cartoons.

In her office, Mara shuts the door and collapses into her chair with a sigh.

“City inspectors coming at eleven,” she says. “They want to ‘assess structural integrity and safety protocols.’” Her fingers drum anxiously on the desk. “Fun fact: that’s exactly what they say before they close a place for good.”

“They’re not closing us,” I say, more fiercely than I feel. “We followed every code. We passed our last inspection six months ago.”

“Codes don’t matter when somebody up top decides you’re a liability.” Her eyes search my face. “Sylvi. Who were those men with you last night?”

I swallow.

“A private security firm,” I say carefully. “Connected to… friends. They got there fast. That’s all that matters.”

“Friends?” Her brows jump. “The tall, lethal-looking kind from your… ‘bad decisions when you were younger’ phase?”

I wince. “Something like that.”

Mara leans back, studying me for a long beat. “Are you in trouble?”

“Yes,” I almost say. With the city. With the pack. With my own traitor heart.

“I’m… managing it,” I say instead. “I just need you to trust me for a little while.”

Her mouth softens. “I always have.”

A knock interrupts us. Theo sticks his head around the door, curls a mess, a coffee in each hand.

“Oh good, you’re alive,” he says. “I was going to haunt you if you weren’t.”

He passes me a cup, eyes flicking to the faint bruise, then to the window, where Varro is a dark shape by the car.

“So,” Theo says slowly. “Are we going to talk about the fact that your new ride screams ‘private security for a mob boss’ or just pretend this is normal?”

“It’s temporary,” I say. “Everything is.”

Outside, a siren wails faintly. Somewhere across town, pack howls answer, too low for human ears.

Two worlds, tugging at opposite sides of my ribs.

I take a burning sip of coffee and try not to imagine which one will ask the higher price first.