Chapter 82 You Run
LUCA
Back at the temple, Bardon and his team of magic users set up binding rituals for the defectors. Each one willingly submitted to spells that would prevent them from committing violence on the grounds.
“It’s working,” Bardon reported after the first ten were processed. “The bindings are holding, and I’m not detecting any hidden agendas or deception.”
“They’re genuine?” I asked.
“As far as I can tell. They truly want out of the coalition.” He paused. “Luca, if this is real, if two hundred more defect—that’s a major blow to Theron’s forces.”
“Or a major infiltration of ours.”
“Always the optimist.”
“Always the realist.”
By midday, guests were arriving in steady streams. Alphas from packs I’d never heard of. Lycan nobles from distant kingdoms. Representatives from the Bear Clans, the Cat shifters, even a delegation from the Fae courts.
The temple grounds filled with bodies, voices, energy.
And every single one felt like a potential threat.
I stayed close to Arya, my hand never far from a weapon, my eyes constantly scanning for danger. She moved through the crowds with grace, greeting guests, making introductions, building alliances with every conversation.
She was extraordinary.
And I was slowly losing my mind.
“Your Majesty,” a familiar voice made me turn.
Alpha Damian from the Eastern Territories, one of the most powerful wolf Alphas in existence, extended his hand. “Thank you for having us.”
“Thank you for coming.” I shook his hand, noting the strength in his grip. “Your support means a great deal.”
“The Moonborne were legends when I was young. My grandfather spoke of them with reverence.” Damian looked at Arya, who was laughing at something Helena said. “She’s everything the stories promised and more.”
“She is.”
“Theron’s a fool for opposing this. Unity isn’t weakness—it’s inevitable evolution. Those who can’t adapt will be left behind.” He paused. “If the coalition attacks, the Eastern Territories will fight with you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank her.” Damian nodded toward Arya. “She’s the one who made me believe change is possible.”
After he walked away, Caspian appeared beside me.
“We’ve had sixty-seven pledges of support so far. Including some I never expected.” He pulled up his tablet. “The Bear Clans are offering warriors. The Cat shifters are providing magical support. Even some of the more neutral Lycan houses have committed resources.”
“And the coalition?”
“Still positioned outside. But they’ve lost another thirty to defection. Theron’s forces are down to maybe two hundred fifty now.”
“Still enough to do damage.”
“True. But their morale is fracturing. Our scouts report arguments, dissension, some of them openly questioning Theron’s leadership.” Caspian smiled slightly. “Arya’s invitation strategy is working. By offering them peace, she’s exposing his extremism.”
He was right. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
‘It’s too easy,’ my Lycan muttered. ‘This is too easy. Something’s coming.’
“Stay alert,” I told Caspian. “Triple the guard on Arya. And get me a direct line to every security position. If anything happens, I want to know immediately.”
“Already done.”
As the sun began to set, the temple grounds were transformed. Magical lights floated in the air, casting everything in soft, golden illumination. Tables had been set up for the evening meal, mixing species deliberately—wolves beside Lycans beside bears beside cats.
It looked like the future Arya envisioned.
Peaceful. Unified. Possible.
Which was why I knew it couldn’t last.
The explosion shattered the western wall.
One moment, everything was peaceful, guests mingling, eating, laughing and the next, fire and stone erupted inward, screams replacing conversation.
I had Arya on the ground before the debris finished falling, my body covering hers.
“Stay down!” I roared over the chaos.
“The guests—”
“Caspian has them! Stay down!”
More explosions. North wall. South entrance. They were attacking from multiple positions simultaneously, just as Sage had predicted.
Coalition warriors poured through the breaches, weapons drawn, faces twisted with battle fury.
But they weren’t attacking guests.
They were heading straight for the temple center.
Straight for Arya.
“Get her inside!” Caspian was suddenly there, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. “They’re targeting her specifically!”
“I fucking knew it.” I pulled Arya up, half-dragging her toward the temple interior. “I knew this would happen!”
“The guests—” she protested.
“Are being evacuated by our people. Your job is to survive!”
Sage and Ryker appeared, forming a protective circle around us. Both were already shifted partially, their wolves close to the surface.
“This way!” Sage led us through a side entrance, away from the main fighting.
But we weren’t fast enough.
A group of coalition warriors cut us off, weapons raised. At their head was someone I recognized from intelligence reports.
Elira.
She looked different from the last time I’d seen her. Harder. Scarred. Her eyes held a fanaticism that made my skin crawl.
“Going somewhere, Luna Arya?” Her smile was poisonous. “The party’s just getting started.”
“Stand down,” I ordered, power flooding my voice. “This is your last warning.”
“I don’t take orders from Lycan Kings who’ve forgotten what it means to be pure.” Elira’s gaze fixed on Arya with undisguised hatred. “She’s corrupted you. Weakened you. Made you believe in fairy tales about unity and peace.”
“Last warning,” I repeated.
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Elira laughed. “I’m already dead. We all are. This is suicide mission. We’re here to eliminate the Moonborne, and we’ll die doing it if necessary.”
“Then die.”
I shifted partially, my Lycan form emerging. Eight hundred years of accumulated power flooded through me, and I saw fear finally touch Elira’s expression.
“Kill her!” she screamed to her warriors.
I was faster.
The first warrior died before he’d fully raised his weapon. The second lasted marginally longer. By the third, they realized they’d made a terrible mistake.
I wasn’t a king playing at war.I was a monster who’d been holding back for centuries. And they’d just threatened my mate.
“Luca!” Arya’s voice cut through the red haze. “Don’t kill them all! We need information!”
Information. Right. I forced my bloodlust down, leaving two warriors alive and terrified.
Elira tried to run. Sage caught her, throwing her to the ground with brutal efficiency.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Sage growled.
“Search the grounds,” I ordered, my voice rough from the partial shift. “Find Theron. He has to be here somewhere.”
“Already on it,” Caspian’s voice crackled through the communication device. “We’ve got eyes on him. He’s in the Moonwell chamber. With hostages.”
My blood ran cold.
“How many?”
“Ten. Mixed species. Including—” Caspian paused. “Including Jaime.”
I looked at Arya, saw the conflict in her expression. She didn’t love Jaime anymore. But she didn’t want him dead either.
“We’re going,” she said.
“Like hell—”
“We’re going. Those are innocent people. And Theron chose the Moonwell for a reason. He’s planning something.” She grabbed my arm. “Please. We have to stop him.”
Through the bond, I felt her determination. Her compassion even for people who’d hurt her. Her absolute inability to let others suffer when she could prevent it.
It was one of the things I loved most about her.