Lunas Wildfire

Shadows of the Past

The echoes of celebration carried through the air, the pack’s excitement impossible to miss even from the solitude of my little cabin on the outskirts of the main pack lands. Carter was finally back, and the entire pack was out in full force to welcome their alpha. The energy in the air was contagious, but for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like celebrating.

I stared out the window, the golden glow of distant bonfires flickering through the trees. My cabin was far enough from the main hall to feel peaceful, but close enough that the laughter and music still reached me, a constant reminder of what I was missing.

Normally, I would have been in the middle of it all—dancing, laughing, maybe sneaking off for a drink with Lily or stirring up trouble just for the thrill of it. But not tonight. Tonight, I needed the quiet.

I turned away from the window and wandered through my small home, my bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. The space felt different tonight, heavier somehow. My gaze caught on the little details I’d stopped noticing over time: the leather jacket Aaron had left draped over the back of the couch; the scuff marks on the kitchen counter from when we’d tried cooking together and ended up in a flour fight; the faint trace of his scent lingering in the air.

I moved to the bookshelf and traced my fingers over the spine of a book he’d given me last year. “For when you’re feeling restless,” he’d said with that teasing grin of his. We’d spent hours sitting on the couch, me reading while he worked on pack logistics, his presence a steady comfort beside me.

My chest ached as the memories washed over me.

I sank onto the couch, leaning back and closing my eyes as the memories played out in vivid detail. The way he’d look at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The way his hands felt—strong, rough, and possessive—when he’d pull me close during one of our heated nights together.

I remembered the way we’d laugh over stupid things, the quiet mornings when neither of us felt like getting out of bed, and the moments when his walls would come down, and he’d let me see the vulnerable, human side of him that few others ever did.

My cheeks flushed as another memory surfaced—one of those wild nights when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. The heat of his lips on my skin, the rough, desperate way he’d say my name.

But just as quickly, the sweetness of another memory followed. One where we’d sat under the stars, talking about nothing and everything, his arm draped over my shoulders as if he could shield me from the world.

It wasn’t just the passion I missed—it was him. His steadiness, his loyalty, the way he’d made me feel seen in a way no one else had.

A soft breeze rustled through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth. The sound of the celebration drifted in—laughter, music, voices full of life. I felt a pang of guilt for not being there, for not welcoming Carter back alongside everyone else.

But I couldn’t face it tonight. I couldn’t face the reminder of what I’d lost, not with the weight of Aaron’s absence still pressing down on me.

I leaned back against the couch, closing my eyes and letting the memories wash over me one last time.

Tonight, I’d let myself remember. Tomorrow, I’d figure out how to move forward.