The Alpha's Shadow Luna

Chapter 3

Outside, the air was colder than I remembered. I let the chill sink into my skin, hoping it would numb the ache blooming in my chest. It didn’t. If anything, the cold made everything sharper, the pain more distinct.

I wandered away from the hall, the laughter inside echoing behind me. I told myself I just needed air, that I’d go back in a few minutes, pick up where I left off, pretend everything was fine.

But I knew the truth. I wasn’t ready for what was coming. Not tomorrow, not tonight, not ever.

And that scared me more than anything the hunt could throw at me.

I lingered in the cold for longer than I’d meant to. I watched dusk gather in the pockets of frost along the roofline and tried to convince myself I’d only needed a minute to clear my head. I didn’t want to walk back inside and find Mary hanging on my fiance . I didn’t want to see Shane, his face so easy and open with her, when I could barely wring a smile out of him. But the dark was coming on fast, and if I stayed out here much longer, I’d only make it worse.

Inside, the warmth slapped me full in the face. The hall had filled in the short time I’d been gone; bodies pressed close, voices overlapping in thick, ribbing laughter. I made it halfway through the crowd before I saw them. Mary had taken my place on the bench, radiant as a storybook queen in the firelight, her hair perfectly arranged to look as if she hadn’t arranged it at all. Shane sat beside her, knees nearly touching, and for once he wasn’t looking away or fidgeting with his hands. He was focused, every muscle aimed toward her, the way a wolf zeros in on prey or mate. Probably both.

I hesitated at the edge, not sure if I was supposed to approach or just keep orbiting until the gravity sucked me in. Mary noticed me, of course, she always did, no matter how hard I tried to be unnoticeable. She raised a hand in greeting, her smile bright and just a little too knowing. “Leah! There you are. I was beginning to think you’d left the party for good.”

Shane turned as if waking from a pleasant dream. “She needed some air,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if it was meant as a defense or a rebuke.

Mary patted the space next to her on the bench. “Don’t stand there like a scolded pup. Sit, sit.” She had a way of making you feel like you were the center of attention, even when you knew you were just a bit part in her drama. I slid onto the edge of the seat, careful not to crowd her.

“Big day tomorrow, huh?” Mary’s eyes sparkled. “Shane, I heard you almost had Anton flat on his back in training yesterday. Next time, give him a warning before you take him down. He bruises like a banana.”

Shane grinned, teeth flashing. “He got cocky. Figured he could outmuscle me.”

“That’s Anton for you.” Mary laughed, a clear, perfect note. “It’s not the brawn, it’s the brains. And you, darling, have plenty of both.” She reached out, fingers brushing Shane’s forearm just above the wrist. It was casual, practiced, the kind of touch that could be mistaken for nothing at all unless you were looking for it. I was always looking for it.

The contact lit Shane up. He leaned forward, shoulders thrown back, his confidence no longer just a mask but something alive and breathing. He didn’t even glance at me as he recounted the story, milking the details for every last drop of humor and suspense. Mary laughed in all the right places, her laughter a little louder than anyone else’s, a little more sincere. The other wolves nearby picked up on the current, edging closer, drawn to the heat.

I tried to contribute, but every time I opened my mouth, Mary had a counterpoint or a sharper joke ready. If I mentioned the hunt, she pivoted to a story about the time she tracked a stag through three feet of snow and came home with a pack twice her size. If I commented on the weather, she told us all about how the elders had predicted this cold snap weeks ago, and wasn’t it funny how they were always right? Even when the conversation touched on me, it was as if I were a character in one of Mary’s stories, interesting, sure, but only because of the way she told it.

At some point, someone brought over a fresh pitcher. Mary poured for Shane first, then herself, and finally for me, leaving just enough in the cup to look generous. I watched the way her fingers curled around her own glass, her nails manicured and gleaming in the firelight. I looked down at my hands, unpolished and unmanicured. A warrior’s hand … not a woman’s.

Shane laughed again, and I realized I hadn’t heard that sound in months when he was just with me. It twisted in my chest, a mix of joy and something darker I didn’t want to name. I thought of the first time Shane had ever looked at me like I was the only one in the room. That look had been rare, even then, but it was mine. Now, it belonged to Mary.

I shifted, crossing one leg over the other, feeling my presence shrink with every word. At one point, Mary started in on a story about their childhood, some prank she’d pulled that ended in the two of them running barefoot through the snow, and I realized I wasn’t even in the memory. It was just them … always them.

“She’s always had a wild streak, hasn’t she?” Shane said, glancing at Mary like she was a constellation.

Mary shrugged, eyes soft. “Someone has to keep you from becoming boring.”

The two of them grinned at each other, and it was so easy, so natural, that I couldn’t even bring myself to be angry. Just empty, hollowed out. If anyone had looked at us right then, they would have seen a perfect duo. Shane and Mary.

I tried one last time, desperate for some foothold. “So,” I said, forcing brightness into my tone. “Are we going to run together tomorrow, same teams for the hunt?”

Mary smiled at me the way you’d smile at a child or a lost animal. “I’m leading the east flank. Shane’s with me. Didn’t you hear?” She glanced at him, a conspiratorial flick of her eyes. “They need us to coordinate. Too many new pups this year.”

I felt my face flush, hot and prickly. “I hadn’t heard,” I managed. “But that makes sense. You two always work well together.”

Mary squeezed my knee, a little too hard to be friendly. “We’ll let you know how it goes. You can always run clean-up behind us.”

There was laughter then, shared and loud, but I didn’t join in. I just sat, letting the sound wash over me, feeling myself dissolve at the edges.

Someone called Mary’s name from across the hall. She excused herself with a flourish, promising to return with more stories, and left us, me and Shane, alone.