Melvina turned around sharply in response to the voice she had just heard, her heart skipping. For a second, she was afraid it might be her husband—the voice had sounded exactly like his. 

When she saw that it was only Anthony, she sighed in relief. Thank the Moon. She didn’t think Peter would find it funny seeing her here after he had told her earlier that he wanted her.

But Anthony was smirking, and as she stared at him, she realized why. 

He had imitated Peter’s voice just to make her nervous. The mischievous glint in his eyes accentuated the wild guess. She felt like bashing his head against the very tree she and Derek had rested on.

“Good evening, Luna,” Anthony greeted cheerfully, unfazed by the disapproving look on Melvina’s face. She was his godmother, and teasing her had long become one of his favorite pastimes.

After his parents died in the last pack war, Melvina had taken him in as her own. His mother, Judith, had been one of her dearest friends, and Melvina had made sure Anthony never felt the void their deaths left behind. He owed her everything.

“Anthony…” Melvina’s voice was laced with mock anger. “Why did you do that?

“Ah, Luna… I don’t really understand your question. You know that—”

“Mom, I’m going in,” Derek cut in, interrupting the conversation between his mother and Anthony, whom he regarded as an older brother. He knew their banter could last until morning; they were a funny pair, quite alike.

“Oh, right,” Melvina said, remembering that her son was starving. “Let’s go in, then.” She took his hand in hers and ignored the smirk on Anthony’s face. She would deal with him later.

And so, the trio ambled their way through the garden toward the west wing of the packhouse where their residence was—oblivious of the shadowy figure that slowly slithered down the big tree overlooking the garden, the same tree where Melvina and Derek had just rested.

The figure, dressed entirely in black, smirked as it touched the ground. 

Dusting off its blistered hands—injured from the thorns on the tree—it crept toward the east wing of the packhouse where the gate stood, glancing left and right to make sure no one saw or followed.

The figure, clearly male, when seen from a distance, scaled the tall iron gate fanned on both sides by pointed bars, landing silently on the other side. In a blink, he shifted—flesh to fur—as a large brown wolf hit the ground running.

The wolf dashed into the night, his urgency evident in the way his paws tore through the earth, eyes glowing nearly black beneath the moonlight. He ran across the borders of the Black Moon Pack territory, breath steaming in the cool September air. 

After a while, he slowed near the last boundary line between the pack and the outside world. Crossing it, he took off again—faster this time, as though driven by something more than duty.

In the distance, the silhouette of a high, castle-like fence appeared against the deep forest. The wolf trudged toward it, muscles straining. After more than an hour and thirty minutes of running, he finally slowed beside a tall oak.

There, his body shifted once again—fur melting into flesh—revealing a beautiful, naked young woman with bright yellow hair and curves in all the right places. She exhaled deeply, relief washing over her features. 

Mission accomplished.

Her gaze drifted to the base of the tree where a neatly folded set of clothes waited: a black polo, blue denim jeans, and white sneakers. Someone had left them for her, as planned. 

Smiling faintly, she dressed quickly, the fabric clinging to her still-warm skin.

Then, stepping toward the iron gate nearby, she knocked sharply.

“Who’s there?” a voice called from the other side.

“It’s me,” she replied impatiently, one hand pressed against her growling stomach.

“Maya?” The voice rose an octave.

“Yes, Maya,” she said, irritation flickering across her face.

The gate opened immediately, and a teen with dirty blond hair stepped out, relief evident in his eyes.

“Did you get anything?” he asked, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“Maybe…” Maya muttered, shrugging him off and striding into the pack’s territory. She needed food before conversation.

“Hey, Maya, wait up!” he called, jogging to catch up. “I know you’re hungry and tired, but could you give me a little intel? I’ve been waiting here for ages!”

“No. I have to let Dad know first,” she said curtly. “You can listen in then.”

“But Maya, you know he won’t let me into the conference room when you’re reporting to him,” he complained, pouting.

If she had been in a better mood, Maya might have laughed. Her brother still acted like a ten-year-old, though he would turn eighteen in a week. She was only two years older, but sometimes it felt like a lifetime between them.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said, brushing past him and stomping into the pack’s main house. Her father was waiting.

“Good evening, Dad,” she greeted, bowing slightly.

“Maya.” His tone was flat. “Did you get anything?” He poured himself a goblet of wine, watching her with a calculating eye. He had been waiting for hours—nearly convinced she wouldn’t make it back. 

The Black Moon Pack could be dangerously vigilant at times. But not tonight, it seemed. Not tonight.

“Yes, Dad,” Maya said, ignoring his lack of acknowledgement for her greeting. He had always been partial—always favoring her brother over her. She’d spent her life trying to please him, but it was never enough.

“Let’s hear it, then,” he said, settling into the sofa, curiosity sharpening his gaze.

“His son’s mate is a human,” she said at last, a sly smirk curving her lips.