Page 126 of King Luna

Hot, angry tears stream down my cheeks as Noah’s claws hold no mercy, pinning the whining Alpha to the ground.

But despite having no chance, Matthew bites back. I can read the cultist's intentions from here: there's no compassion behind his angry, batting paws.

Matthew is driven by the belief that he's owed more than Omegas are—a belief Noah shatters by existing. He hates Noah. Not just for who he is, but what his life stands for.

Shit, Noah was right. It’s not just about winning the King title anymore.

I know how this story goes. If we let them get any stronger, they’ll hurt more wolves than just Omegas.

No one we know will be left unharmed.

Chapter 27

One second, Noah has Matthew pinned to the ground. The next, Noah flies across the grass, launched by all four of Matthew’s paws.

I scream without meaning to, waking up Markus. His plushy cheeks warp before my eyes—until Markus bursts into full-blown tears.

I cup his quivering head, my heart shredding. “S-sorry, sweet boy! Oh— Oh, no, sweetheart—”

“Åh, stackars liten...” Annika scoops up Markus, nuzzling into him with soft-spoken Swedish.

Letting out a sad whimper with Markus, I rub Annika’s shoulder. “Oh, I’msosorry, Anni, it just came out.”

“I understand, mama. I feel like screaming too.” Annika’s somber, pale expression guts me.

“Poor Luna,” Waimarie whispers, holding me close.

I can’t bear to be distracted a second longer, my focus flipping back to Noah. I’ve never seen him get tossed like that in my life. No one usually matches up to Noah’s strength.

But Noah has already popped right back up, shaking his fur off.

Matthew stalks closer, ready to strike, and Noah’s tail stands on end in excitement.

I’m almost annoyed he seems so thrilled to kick Matthew’s ass. This competition is fucking ridiculous.

Like the wolves they are, they pace for a while—before lunging back in with wicked, rapid snaps of their jaws, snarling and vicious barks echoing across the field.

My breath catches, each bite shaking my entire body. When they move this quickly, it’s increasingly difficult for me to process what’s happening at all, spiking acidic fear into my throat.

When the wolves break apart, Noah’s fur is too dark to tell if he sustained any wounds.

But their bloody fangs sink my stomach down to my feet.

“I can’t tell who’s bleeding. My wolf is losing her shit,” I whisper.

Annika simply squeezes my hand.

Judging by Noah’s little sneeze, I can only guess he got one or two knicks on his snout. They restart their prowling circle, estimating how to strike next.

That’s when I spot a subtle limp; Matthew is carrying himself differently after their last bite clash.

I almost forgot I have an advantage: I can figure out what’s wrong from a distance, mindlinking Noah with a hint.

Focusing on Matthew’s massive paws, I find each step perfectly calculated. The back paws take the place of the front, the brooding Alpha sneaking through his own footprints. When he leaps for Noah, his movements are sharp and fleeting, snapping back just as quickly. He’s agile, and he’s deceptive about it.

He’s clever.

Putting myself into Matthew’s shoes, I scope out his fighting tactics. It’s clear he only wants to allow quick, passing bursts of aggression between him and Noah, likely betting he has a better chance to wear Noah down without overexerting himself all at once.

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