[Lyanna’s POV]
The first sensation was warmth—real warmth, not the fleeting heat of fever or the desperate friction of rubbing frozen hands together.
I floated up through layers of unconsciousness toward the gentle scent of healing herbs and clean linens, a combination so civilized it seemed impossible after weeks of caves and hollow trees.
"Ah, you're waking," a voice said, soft as summer rain. "Take your time, child. You've been through an ordeal."
I opened my eyes slowly, finding myself in a room bathed in afternoon light.
An elderly woman sat beside the bed, her weathered hands glowing faintly with the residual warmth of healing magic. Her face carried the kind of genuine kindness that made my throat tighten with unexpected emotion.
"Where am I?" My voice emerged as barely a whisper, rough from disuse.
"You're safe, dear one. You're in the Moonridge Pack's healing quarters."
She helped me sit up, arranging pillows with practiced efficiency.
"Our border patrol found you collapsed at our boundaries three days ago. You were burning with fever, those claw wounds badly infected. It's a miracle you made it as far as you did."
"My babies…" The panic hit suddenly, my hands flying to my belly.
"Are strong and safe," she assured me quickly, placing a calming hand over mine. "All three heartbeats are steady and true. The infection never reached them, though how you managed that while so ill yourself, I cannot fathom."
The memories returned in fragments—the rogues' circling forms, the scent of my own blood, the desperate flight to the stream where I had washed my wounds until the water ran clear and my hands were numb from cold.
Then days of stumbling through unknown territory, the infection taking hold, turning the world into a maze of fever dreams and desperate determination.
"Three days…" I murmured, trying to orient myself. "I've been here three days."
"Unconscious for most of it, fighting the fever."
The healer, she had the bearing of someone who had tended wounds for decades, studied me with professional concern.
"You're lucky our patrol found you. Another day, perhaps two, and we would be having a very different conversation."
Before I could fully process this information or rehearse the cover story I had practiced in my delirium, the door opened. Two men entered, their combined presence shifting the room's atmosphere entirely.
The first radiated quiet authority that was nothing like Rheakar's oppressive dominance—this was strength without cruelty, power without the need to demonstrate it.
The second, standing slightly behind, carried himself with the watchful bearing of a Beta, his sharp eyes already assessing me as a potential threat or burden.
"Alpha Lucien," the healer said, inclining her head respectfully. "She's just awakened."
"Thank you, Marta. Would you give us a moment?"
As the healer departed, I studied this Alpha who had, knowingly or not, saved my life. Lucien appeared to be in his thirties, with dark hair and dark-brown eyes that held depths of experience despite his relative youth.
But it was not his appearance that made my breath catch—it was something else entirely. A pull in my chest that had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with a feeling I could not name.
Coming home.
That was what it felt like. Though I had never seen this man before in my life.
"I apologize for the intrusion," his voice carrying the measured tones of someone accustomed to diplomacy. "We wanted to ensure you were recovering well. This is my Beta, Ralf.”
“A pregnant woman alone, wounded… You can understand our concern." Ralf intervened.
"Of course," I managed, forcing myself to meet his gaze despite the strange sensation building in my chest. "I'm grateful for your pack's kindness. Not everyone would have taken in a stranger in such a condition."
He moved closer, taking the chair Marta had vacated, while Ralf remained standing, watchful. As Lucien tilted his head while studying me, something deep in my memory stirred.
That gesture… The particular angle, the way his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, tugged at something from before. From a time when I was not Lyanna the Luna but a different child in a different life.
"What's your name?" he asked gently.
"Lyanna," I said, seeing no reason to lie about that at least. "I'm... I was a lone wolf. My pack was destroyed by rogues years ago. I've been wandering since then, taking shelter where I could find it."
"And the father of your children?"
"Dead," I lied smoothly, though my heart clenched at the word. "Killed in the attack that scattered what remained of our pack. I've been running ever since, but the rogues finally caught up to me at your border."
He listened with that same head tilt, processing not just my words but something beneath them.
"Marta confirms your injuries match your story. The claw patterns suggest escape rather than combat—the wounds of someone who ran even after being hurt."
"I had no choice," I said, letting real exhaustion color my voice. "I carry three lives besides my own. Fighting would have meant their deaths as surely as mine."
"Three," he repeated, and something softened in his expression. "The Goddess has blessed you, though it might not feel that way given your circumstances. Do you have anyone to contact?"
"No one," I said firmly, meeting his eyes to sell the lie. "I am entirely alone in this world, Alpha Lucien. My children and I have no one to claim us, no pack to return to. We are ghosts of a life that no longer exists."
The silence stretched between us, and I saw him beginning to form words, an offer, perhaps, when desperation overtook my pride.
"Alpha Lucien," I said, sitting up straighter despite the pain it caused. "I know I have no right to ask, but I'm begging you—let us stay. I'm completely alone and carrying three children. We won't survive without your protection."
Before Lucien could respond, Ralf stepped forward, his expression skeptical.
"Alpha, a word of caution. We cannot so thoughtlessly take a stranger under our protection. If someone is hunting her it could cast a shadow of danger over our entire pack. We have our own to shield."
Lucien hesitated, that strange pull between us warring with his Beta's practical wisdom. I saw the moment slipping away, sanctuary dissolving before it could solidify, and spoke with desperate conviction.
"No one will come looking for me," I said quickly, meeting both their eyes. "They think I'm dead. The rogues, the attack—anyone who might have once searched for me believes I perished at that river. I made certain of it."
Ralf’s eyes narrowed, clearly parsing my words for deception, but Lucien's expression shifted. Whether he believed me or whether that inexplicable connection between us swayed him, I couldn't say.
"Then you'll stay here," he said finally, the decision carrying the weight of personal conviction. "Moonridge pack offers sanctuary to those who need it. You and your children will be safe within our borders."
I saw Ralf’s jaw tighten, his disapproval evident, but he kept his opinion to himself, the perfect Beta even in disagreement. The way Lucien spoke suggested he was making a vow to himself as much as to me.
"Thank you," I breathed, tears threatening to spill. "Thank you so much. I will not be a burden, I promise. I can work, contribute…"
"Rest first," Lucien interrupted gently, standing to leave. "Heal. When you're stronger, we'll discuss your future here."
He paused at the doorway, Ralf already stepping into the hall, and looked back at me with that puzzling expression.
"You remind me of someone," Lusicen said quietly, almost to himself. "I cannot say who... But something about you feels... familiar. As if we've met before."
My heart raced as he studied me one more moment, that head tilt returning.
"Rest now, Lyanna. You're not alone anymore. Whatever you're running from, it stops at our borders."
After they left, I lay back against the pillows, my mind spinning with both relief and uncertainty.
The pull between us, the familiar gesture, the sense of coming home—what if it was not imagination but something deeper, older, truer than memory itself?
And Ralf’s skepticism—would he investigate my story, discover the carefully crafted lie?
I pressed my hands against my belly where my sons moved restlessly, as if sensing my turmoil.
"We're safe," I whispered to them, though I wasn't entirely certain what safety meant anymore. "That's all that matters now."