Cast Out by My Mate, Crowned by the Moon

Chapter 9 – Not Yours Anymore

For a heartbeat, I was nineteen again.

Standing at the center of a ring of wolves, Varyn’s gaze on me like a hand at my throat, every breath dependent on which way he turned.

Then Sorren’s heat at my shoulder cut through it.

This isn’t that night. You are not that girl.

I drew in a breath that tasted of pine and tension and two Alphas’ clashing wills.

“You’re a long way from home, Varyn,” I said, surprised my voice came out steady. “Your scouts get lost?”

His eyes flicked to my leg, to the faint stiff hitch I couldn’t quite hide. Anger—at me? at himself?—tightened his jaw.

“You shouldn’t be limping,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here at all.”

“You fixed that, remember?” I let the words land like slaps. “You made sure I’d never be where you were.”

A muscle in his cheek jumped. Behind him, one of his warriors shifted uneasily.

Sorren’s tone was mild, but the steel beneath it was obvious. “You said you came for her. Clarify that before my wolves get offended.”

Varyn’s gaze slid to him for the first time, measuring, dismissing, then grudgingly recalculating. “Our world is not safe,” he said. “There are still… remnants. Wolves who followed Maelor. Half-broken packs. Liora is vulnerable out here alone.”

A humorless laugh scraped my throat. “I am not alone.”

His eyes flashed. “You’re in a camp that opens its door to any stray. You’re surrounded by wolves who don’t understand what you are, what you can do. They will use you up, Liora. Until there’s nothing left.”

Fenrik snarled softly. Nyssa swore under her breath. Vela’s hand tightened on her knife.

Sorren didn’t move. “And you won’t?”

Varyn faced him fully now, the air crackling between them. “I made a mistake,” he said, each word ground out. “I chose fear over trust. I won’t pretend I can fix that. But I can keep her alive. I can protect her properly. She belongs with a pack that knows her.”

“You mean,” I said, “with the pack that threw me out like garbage?”

He flinched.

“Liora,” he said quietly. “Please. Come home.”

The word hit like a stone.

Images flashed—my parents, the training grounds, the den that had once been mine. Nights curled against his chest listening to the heartbeat of the pack through his skin.

Then the circle. The stone. The ripping pain as he chose them over me.

I took a step forward, until I stood between the two Alphas instead of behind either.

“My home,” I said, “is the place that picked me up bleeding in the dark and didn’t ask how useful I’d be before they stitched me back together.”

Wildcrest’s wolves stilled.

“My home is where a healer grumbles but stays up all night for a kid who tripped over firewood. Where a patrol actually argues with their Alpha instead of worshiping him. Where I’m Liora first, and anything else second.”

I met Varyn’s eyes until he had to look away.

“You don’t get to call me Luna anymore,” I finished. “And you don’t get to call where I live ‘alone’ just because you’re not in it.”

Silence spilled across the clearing, heavy and absolute.

Sorren’s hand brushed, just barely, against my elbow. Not claiming. Just there.

Varyn drew in a slow breath, like a man stepping away from a ledge.

“So that’s your answer,” he said.

“That’s my answer,” I said. “Alpha to Alpha.”

His gaze flicked to Sorren again, sharper now with something like reluctant respect. Then he inclined his head—fractional, stiff.

“Very well,” he said. “Then I’ll speak to you as Alpha of Wildcrest, Sorren, about borders and threats. Not about mates.”

Something loosened low in my chest.

Sorren’s mouth curved, angle wry. “Now that,” he said, “I’m willing to discuss.”

Behind Varyn, his wolves shifted, the tension bleeding into wary truce. Behind me, Wildcrest exhaled in one slow, quiet wave.

My wolf settled, a warm, solid weight at the center of me.

Not his.

Mine.