Page 9 of Moonlit Fate

Lyza, a young shifter who found shelter with me after fleeing conflict in her old pack, perked up. “Not another one of those overconfident yearlings from the east?” The corners of her mouth twitched with the hint of a smirk.

Her mate Joren’s face lit up with youthful curiosity, his eyes shining with anticipation.

I chuckled, the sound reverberating against the stone walls as I collapsed onto a pile of cushions with feigned exhaustion.“Nope.” I allowed the suspense to build for a second longer. “The Silver Claw alpha’s daughter herself, Aria Winters.”

Everyone’s attention shifted towards me, their expressions a medley of surprise and intrigue. Joren had just taken a sip from his drink. My words startled him so much that he coughed and spluttered, narrowly avoiding a spill down his shirt.

Mia, our healer, stopped sorting through her cache of herbs and looked up, her eyes filled with a deep, ancient wisdom. Even Hale, our confirmed bachelor and the eldest among us, raised an intrigued eyebrow from where he lounged.

Joren wiped his mouth with his sleeve and winced as Lyza jabbed him in the ribs. “You what?” he said. “Did you give her your standard lecture on staying safe in the forest?”

I chuckled wryly. “As if she’d listen to a rogue about safety.”

Mia set aside her herbs, the lines of her face shaping into a mask of concern. “The alpha’s daughter, in a trap? How did she manage that?”

“Either carelessness or fate,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe both.”

Hale leaned back, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Well, clearly she was out looking for the renowned rogue hero to save her.” His tone was as dry as the desert sands, but his jest was clear in the glint of his eye.

“More like cursing me and the day she decided to take a walk. She’s full of spirit, that one.” I kept my tone lighthearted, but inside, the memory of our encounter flared bright and hot, impossible to ignore.

I tried to shake off the image of Aria, the way her body had arched against the constraints. I was not successful.

“Did you play the mysterious stranger, all brooding and silent?” Joren cackled as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“More like the exasperating savior,” I murmured, my gaze locked on the dancing flames. “She wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me.”

I leaned my head back against the rough stone wall and crossed my arms over my chest, watching as Mia shook her head.

“I can’t imagine why,” she said. The corners of her mouth twitched upward, and her dark curls caught the faint light that filtered in from above. “You’re such a charmer.”

My lips curled into a half-smile at her sarcastic remark. Before I could craft a retort, Lyza chimed in playfully. “So, are we expecting a thank-you note from the alpha, delivered by a royal messenger bird?”

Her jest stirred something in me, an unsettling blend of anticipation and dread. No, there would be no acknowledgment, no letters or gestures of gratitude. Yet, Lyza’s words conjured images of delicate feather quills and ink-stained parchment, a symbol of civility from a world I barely remembered.

“Hardly.” The idea was absurd enough to draw a genuine laugh from my lips. “Silver Claw royalty wouldn’t lower itself to correspond with rogues.”

Still, the notion lingered like a ghost of a possibility. It was ludicrous, but part of me hungered for that connection, for a sign that our fierce encounter had meant something to her, too.

I pushed the idea away, burying it under layers of skepticism and nonchalance. “Besides, if Aria Winters wanted to send me any message, I doubt it’d be one of thanks.”

Hale snorted over the laughter. “More likely a warning to stay away from precious pack princesses.” His words were heavy with sarcasm, but not entirely devoid of concern.

“Atticus!”

A voice from outside grabbed all of our attention. All amusement vanished, leaving behind a growing sense of apprehension.

Joren stood. His posture, rigid and alert, sent a ripple of tension through the air. I rose without a word, every sinew in my body tensing, ready for whatever threat lurked outside. The lingering thoughts of Aria dissipated like mist, replaced by the familiar focus that emerged with impending conflict.

As I stepped into the cool evening air, I picked up the faintest trace of an unfamiliar scent. It held urgency and something akin to desperation.

A rogue on the edge.

“Atticus!” The call came again, more insistent this time, and I vaguely recognized a scout from another rogue group standing at the threshold of our domain, his chest heaving from exertion.

Seizing his arm, I pulled him towards me, minimizing the space he had to launch an attack. In an instant, my finger morphed into a razor-sharp claw, poised menacingly against the delicate flesh of his neck. “What can I help you with?” I asked in a low growl.

“Peace,” he gasped out, his hands raised in a gesture that spoke of no harm. “I need to speak with you.”

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