Chapter 26

As Kieran pushed open the double doors to the master bedroom, I felt my breath catch in my throat. The room was spectacular—spacious and elegant, with the same floor-to-ceiling windows that seemed to be a signature of the house. Moonlight streamed in, casting a silvery glow across the enormous bed that dominated one wall. The furnishings were minimal but luxurious—a huge dresser of dark wood, a pair of plush armchairs beside a small fireplace, and what looked like a door leading to an ensuite bathroom.

"Do you like it?" Kieran asked, his voice low as he watched my reaction.

"It's beautiful," I managed, still taking in the details—the soft-looking throw pillows on the bed, the subtle artwork on the walls, the way the moonlight reflected off the polished wooden floor.

He moved toward a dresser, opening a drawer and pulling out what looked like sleepwear. "Bathroom's through there if you want to change," he said, nodding toward the door I'd noticed earlier.

I took the clothes he offered—a soft t-shirt and sleep shorts—and retreated to the bathroom, grateful for the moment alone to collect my thoughts. The bathroom was just as impressive as the bedroom—marble and glass, with a rainfall shower and deep soaking tub big enough for two.

After changing and splashing cool water on my face, I took a deep breath and returned to the bedroom. The sight that greeted me made me freeze in the doorway.

Kieran stood by the windows, his back to me, wearing only a pair of loose sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His upper body was completely bare, the moonlight highlighting every muscle, every curve and angle of his powerful frame. But what made my heart contract painfully were the scars—so many more than I'd glimpsed earlier. They crisscrossed his back, pale silver against his tanned skin—evidence of violence I could barely imagine.

Without thinking, I moved toward him, drawn by an impulse I couldn't name. My hand reached out, fingertips hovering just above a particularly vicious scar that ran from his left shoulder blade down to his spine.

Just before I made contact, Kieran's hand shot back, catching my wrist in a grip that wasn't painful but was unmistakably firm. He turned his head slightly, his profile sharp in the moonlight.

"Don't," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry," I said, confused by his reaction. "I just wanted to..."

He turned to face me fully then, still holding my wrist. The expression on his face was one I hadn't seen before—a vulnerability that made him look younger, almost afraid.

"Why won't you let me touch them?" I asked softly.

Kieran's jaw clenched, his eyes darting away from mine. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he released my wrist, taking a step back.

"It's not..." he began, then stopped, frustration evident in the tense line of his shoulders. "It's complicated."

I studied his face, seeing the conflict there, the struggle between wanting to share and needing to protect himself. My initial hurt at being rejected faded, replaced by understanding.

"If you're not ready to talk about it, that's okay," I said gently. "We have time. When you want to share, I'll be here to listen."

Something flickered in his eyes—gratitude, perhaps, or relief. He nodded once, a sharp movement, before turning away and moving toward the bed. Without another word, he slid beneath the covers, his back to me, his body radiating tension.

I stood there for a moment, uncertain, before joining him in the bed. Despite its size, I was acutely aware of his presence just inches away—the heat of his body, the rhythm of his breathing. We lay like that for what felt like hours, back to back, not touching, until finally I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

When I woke the next morning, Kieran was gone. The sheets beside me were cool, suggesting he'd been up for some time. Sunlight streamed through the windows, indicating it was well into the morning. I'd slept later than intended, likely due to the emotional and physical exhaustion of the past few days.

After showering and dressing in clothes I found in the closet—apparently someone had anticipated my arrival and stocked the wardrobe with items in my size—I made my way downstairs, curious to explore the house in daylight.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard a familiar voice coming from what I recalled was the living room. Peering around the corner, I spotted Mia, my best friend from back home, curled up on the couch with a book. She'd arrived at the Silver Moon territory a week earlier as part of a cultural exchange program—the real reason I'd agreed to come meet Kieran in the first place.

"Mia!" I exclaimed, rushing forward.

She looked up, her face lighting up with a smile as she set her book aside and jumped to her feet. "Lena! You're finally up!"

We embraced tightly, both laughing with the joy of reunion. When we pulled apart, Mia held me at arm's length, examining me critically.

"Look at you! Already looking like a proper Luna," she teased, gesturing to the elegant clothes I'd chosen—a pair of fitted jeans and a silky blouse.

"Hardly," I scoffed, though her words sent a flutter of anxiety through me. I hadn't given much thought to what being Luna would actually entail.

"Oh! Speaking of which," Mia said, her eyes sparkling with excitement, "I have news! Kieran asked me to help plan your Luna coronation ceremony! Isn't that amazing?"

I stared at her, momentarily speechless. "My... coronation?"

"Yes! It's going to be incredible. We're thinking two weeks from now, which doesn't give us much time, but with the resources of the Silver Moon Pack, we can pull off something spectacular." She clasped her hands together, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "There will be a formal ceremony, followed by a feast and celebration. All the allied packs will send representatives. It's a big deal, Lena!"

My mind was reeling. A coronation. In two weeks. The reality of my new position was suddenly very concrete, very real. I would officially become Luna of the Silver Moon Pack—the most powerful werewolf pack in the region. I would have duties, responsibilities, expectations to meet.

"Did Kieran discuss this with you?" Mia asked, noting my stunned expression.

"No," I admitted. "This is the first I'm hearing of it."

"Oh." Her enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "Well, I'm sure he was planning to. He's been incredibly busy this morning—meetings with the pack council, calls with the allied pack leaders. Alpha business, you know."

I nodded, trying to process this new information. A part of me was irritated that Kieran had made such significant plans without consulting me, but another part understood that as Alpha King, his life was governed by protocols and traditions I was only beginning to understand.

"Do you know where he is now?" I asked, eager to speak with him about these plans.

"In his office," Mia replied, gesturing toward a hallway opposite the kitchen. "First door on the right."

Thanking her, I made my way to Kieran's office, my mind buzzing with questions. I paused outside the closed door, hearing the low murmur of his voice inside, before knocking gently.

"Come in," his voice called, firm and authoritative—his Alpha voice.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, momentarily taken aback by the transformation in Kieran. Gone were the casual clothes and relaxed demeanor of our journey. In their place was the Alpha King in full business mode—dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean waist, his hair neatly styled, his expression serious as he reviewed documents spread across his massive desk.

He looked up as I entered, his eyes warming slightly at the sight of me. With a gesture, he indicated I should sit in one of the chairs facing his desk, before returning his attention to the papers before him.

I sat, taking the opportunity to observe him in his element. There was something undeniably attractive about seeing him work—the focused intensity in his eyes, the confident way he handled each document, the occasional frown of concentration that creased his brow. This was a different side of Kieran—the leader, the decision-maker, the protector of his pack.

As I waited for him to acknowledge me properly, I found myself studying the details of his office. Like the rest of the house, it was a blend of modern and traditional—cutting-edge technology alongside ancient werewolf artifacts. Books lined one wall, a large map of the territories occupied another, and what looked like family photographs were arranged on a shelf behind his desk.