The Alpha’s Outlaw Luna

Chapter 12 – Enemies & Witnesses

The kid sags into unconsciousness the second the circle’s light dies.

For a long moment none of us move. The only sounds are the hiss of a vent trying to clear the smoke and the distant muffled chaos from the hallway.

My pulse is still too loud in my ears. The Crescent residue crawls over my nerves like ants.

“Selene,” I say, because talking is easier than thinking. “Status?”

She closes her eyes, does a quick internal check like Lyra taught us. “Headache, nausea, a strong desire to strangle our former vendors,” she says. “But no residual hooks. Your turn.”

“I’m fine,” I lie.

Mara snorts. “You’re purple.”

She loosens her grip, easing the Calder boy down so his head rests on a relatively clean patch of floor. His aura is still a mess—shredded at the edges—but the lethal spike is gone. What’s left looks like a bad break instead of an explosion.

“We need him on a real bed,” she says. “Somewhere Crescent’s lawyers can’t ‘misplace’ him.”

“Moontrace infirmary,” I say immediately.

Mara’s head snaps toward me. “Absolutely not.”

“You want him in some back‑room clinic that can be leaned on by the first corporate rep who waves a settlement check?” I counter. “Or under Lyra’s nose, where every scratch gets recorded and every visitor logged?”

Her jaw works. “He’s a victim of your partners, branded under your crest. You really think he’s going to feel safe waking up in your tower?”

“No,” I say, honest. “But I’d rather he wake up angry in my building than not wake up at all in theirs.”

Selene glances between us, something like weary amusement flickering. “We can fight about whose bed he gets later,” she says. “Right now, I hear human sirens getting very close, and I’d prefer not to explain this circle to a firefighter with a GoPro.”

Right.

I crouch, sliding my arms under the kid’s shoulders. Mara moves on instinct to protect him, then catches herself, fingers curling into fists instead of my shirt.

“Easy,” I say. “I’m not stealing him. Just carrying.”

“I remember how you carry people,” she mutters. “Into boardrooms and rituals.”

“Those days are over.”

Our eyes lock for half a heartbeat. There’s too much history in the air for either of us to unpack.

“Fine,” she says. “You take him out the back. I’ll scrub what I can so the civilians don’t go home with nightmares.”

“You’re not coming?” The question is out before I can stop it.

Her laugh is sharp. “Stroll into Moontrace flanked by your security, with half the port watching? I’m outlaw, Varyn. Not a prop in your redemption arc.”

Kael appears in the doorway, sootier and more annoyed than five minutes ago.

“Humans are two blocks out,” he says. Then his gaze lands fully on Mara, and the rest of his sentence dies. “Saints. You really are alive.”

“Disappointed?” she asks.

He huffs. “Ask me when we’re not standing in a cursed geometry problem.”

I straighten with the boy in my arms. He’s lighter than he should be; Crescent’s “innovation” chewed more off him than bone and muscle.

“Mara,” I say. “What you did—”

“Was cleaning up your mess,” she snaps. “Again. Don’t thank me. Just make sure when he wakes up, someone tells him the truth about who put him in that circle.”

I nod once.

“And Mara?” Selene adds, voice cool but not unkind. “We’re not done with this conversation. Or with Crescent.”

She arches a brow. “You planning to send me a calendar invite?”

“Something like that,” Selene says.

Kael moves aside, clearing the path. I carry the boy toward the exit, Selene at my shoulder, Kael watching our backs.

Halfway down the hall, a howl knifes through the building.

It’s not from outside. It’s from somewhere deeper, lower—another room, another circle.

The hairs on my neck stand up.

“Tell me that was a memory,” I say.

Mara’s voice comes from behind us, suddenly close.

“That,” she says grimly, “was the other client.”

I glance back. Her face is pale under the soot.

“How many kids did you think they were running in here tonight, Varyn?” she asks. “One?”

The sirens outside start to wail in earnest.

We have one half‑saved boy in my arms.

And, apparently, another still locked in a circle we haven’t even seen yet.