The Warrior Luna's New Bond After Divorce

Chapter 7

Ruby’s POV

The canvas sighs with the wind. Warm stones press my ribs and feet; the bandage at my shoulder rasps when I shift. Outside the camp, murmurs; low voices, a pot lid knocking once, a twig of pine crackling in the fire. I count with it.

Four in. Four out.

A strip of wool scratches the inside of my elbow where Lily tucked the blanket and the grit of dried salt lingers at the corner of my mouth.

Ava’s face drifts up first. The way she held a cup as if kindness could be poured. But it quickly becomes Alice with her tray and careful hands that smelled of boiled bitter roots and lavender. The memories come like knives twisting at an already festering wound.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the flood. The scent of antiseptic and crushed herbs clings to my nose. Alice’s trembling fingers. Ava saying my name like it still meant something. I buried these moments under grit and duty, but now they rise again.

Another wound that runs farther back. Father wanted a son to take the Alpha trials. He had three. Rex stood where Father’s praise always landed. Ryan’s eyes were always measuring where to cut. Roger’s grin was always hopeful and open. They all had our father’s dark black hair, while I had our mother’s red.

When he looked at me, he saw a flaw and told me to step aside. So I put my want for the title into my fists and chose the warriors’ yard instead; steel, drills, and bruises. Out there no one could pretend not to see what I could do. It almost felt like freedom.

I remember the first time I landed a blow that made a senior stagger. The silence afterward was thick with disbelief, then grudging respect. I bled, but I stood. It became proof that I could shape my own legend.

Then I met Jake again. I let the path I built with my own hands bend toward him. I gave up the rank I bled for to be his Luna because I believed in the future we would build together. What I received was the taste of betrayal and the weight of hurt. The words line up like a drill I used to run at dawn. Now the mate bond feels like rope burn, something we were taught to worship that turns to ash when you put your weight on it.

“Ruby?”

The voice at the flap pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up. A man stands half inside, shadow cut in two by the tent light. Taller than Jake, built long and lean the way runners are. Dark hair wind-tossed, brushing his ears. A pale scar splits his left eyebrow. His eyes are a soft gray.

I don’t know this face. Not pack, not enemy. When I woke, Lily said a name Tyler, but this is the first time I put it to the man.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says.

He doesn’t stare, but his gaze runs over me like a hand checking for breaks; bandages, posture, breath count. A soldier’s inventory. It makes my skin feel too thin, like I should pull the blanket higher.

“Do I know you?” I manage.

He tips a nod. “Tyler. We answered your field call. I’m the one who pulled you off that rock shelf.”

The word shelf jolts through the bruise of memory.

“I was awake,” I say. “Thank you... for the ridge.”

He stops a pace from the cot. “You are welcome.” His eyes linger on the edge of the dressing at my shoulder. “How bad’s the pain?”

“Manageable.” I hear the lie in it, so I know he does too.

“You were out a long time,” he says.

I nod. It should be easy to look at him, but that gaze keeps weighing me. Not hungry, not cruel, just measuring. I don’t know what scale I’m on, and that unsettles me more than I want to admit.

“Lily says you’ll heal,” he says, not asking. “It will take time. Rest here. When you’re strong enough, I’ll escort you back to your pack.”

Back. The word twists in my ribs. “No.” The refusal leaves me before I can swallow it. My voice is a rasp, but it does not waver. I push onto my elbows, fire lancing across my back. “I’m not going back. I’ll stay. With your team.”

His eyes widen, then flatten into appraisal. I know what he sees: bandages, tremor, wolf-silence. Shame surges hot in my throat. Of course he doubts me.

He does not answer at once. He lowers to sit cross-legged, elbows braced to knees. “You think I look down on you,” he says. Not a question.

I flinch. Moonlight catches the scar cutting his left eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you?” I ask. “I’m wrapped like shattered pottery.”

His response surprises me. “I look at a warrior who crawled through hell with her hands bleeding,” he says. “Not at what’s broken. You walked away from your mate-bond. That takes a spine most wolves don’t have.”

The words ripple through the quiet. I flex my fingers under the blanket; the raw skin stings. “Then why the hesitation? You know what I can do.” My voice drops. “Or did.”

He furrows his brows and opens his mouth, but the flap lifts before either of us can continue. Lily slips in with a steaming cup and a coil of fresh bandage draped over her arm.

“Good, you’re awake,” Lily says from the doorway, cheerful as a small bell. She brings the smell of willow and mint with her and a bowl that smokes in quiet wisps. “I have broth and a lecture prepared, and I’m equally serious about both.” She flicks a look at Tyler. “And you. Out of my way for thirty seconds. Make it sixty.”

Tyler steps back without a word. Lily kneels, checks the wrap with gentle fingers that still find every wince, then replaces the warm stone at my ribs with another.

“Tea,” she says, blowing across the surface. “Willow, yarrow, mint. Sip. Growl at me if you must, but sip.”

I take the cup, the warmth radiating through my fingers. “I’m fresh out of growls,” I respond, unable to suppress a faint smile despite the ache in my body.

“You can borrow one of mine.” She tips her head toward the tent wall where camp sounds thicken. “We eat at dusk. One pot, two loaves, hands washed, mouths shut until the injured are seen. We’ve kept it since.” Her glance softens. “You’ll start with broth.”

“Is your broth always this bossy?” I ask.

“Only around people who try to sit up and audition for hero before the stitches think it’s a good idea,” she says, tucking the blanket more securely against my shoulder. “Drink.”

I obey. Heat runs down and settles in my stomach. Tyler had turned toward the flap, but he hadn’t left. He’s giving us privacy without making a show of it, eyes on the ground.

“About what you were saying,” Lily murmurs as she checks the edges of the bandage, voice for me alone.

I keep my eyes on the tea. “I won’t go back.”

Tyler huffs a breath that might be a laugh, might be surrender. He steps forward, closing the distance by the width of a boot. “I heard you, and I didn’t mean any disrespect. I know exactly who you are, Ruby. But without your wolf, you’re not suitable for the line right now. I won’t put you there and get you hurt.”

The words sting not because they are cruel but because they are true. I lift my chin anyway. “I’m not asking to run point on a raid. I’m saying I’m rogue and I choose to stay. This is a camp, not a throne room. There’s work here I can do, wolf or not. I can demonstrate in human form, teach holds and breaks, map approaches, set decoys, and read signs. If you’ve got a gap, I can fill it.”

I know the tempo of a strike team, the way fear moves through a unit like static. I’ve mapped terrain in my sleep, trained pups who couldn’t hold a blade straight. I can still see the angles and choke points. My wolf may be silent, but my mind is sharp. Sometimes, sharp is what keeps people breathing.

He studies me for a beat that feels like a measure before a march. Then he nods once. “We’ll revisit after you’re healed. But for now, you can do simpler tasks.”

“Fair,” I say, and I mean it.

Outside, the world continues to hum with life. I wrap my fingers around the cup tightly, feeling the rough ceramic against my skin. The tea is bitter, its taste a mix of herbs that intertwine with the lingering sharpness of reality, but it’s warm.

I take a sip and let it ground me. I’m still here, standing on my own two feet. And that’s a start.