Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Luna’s Stand

Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Luna’s Stand

The morning began with too much silence.

Faith woke to the weight of David’s arm draped across her, his body still heavy with the exhaustion of their stormed union the night before. For a moment, she lay still, her wolf content in the warmth of his protection, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her ear.

But then came the sound.

Not birdsong. Not the gentle rustle of branches. No — this was sharper. The distant clash of metal against metal, faint but unmistakable. War was moving.

Faith’s eyes flew open.

She sat up so quickly that David stirred with a growl, instinctively reaching for her wrist. “What is it?” His voice was thick, gravelly, but alert.

“Listen,” she whispered.

The echo came again, clearer this time — the low horn of the western watchtower, three short blasts. Not a drill. An alarm.

David was out of the bed in a flash, yanking on his trousers, already Alpha again, already storm. He barked for a guard through the half-open door. A young wolf appeared within seconds, his eyes wide.

“The western gates,” he panted. “The Orell pack… they’ve struck.”

Faith’s blood turned cold. Divine.

David was already strapping his blades to his back. His aura surged, commanding, unyielding. “Get her to the safe chambers,” he ordered, jerking his chin toward Faith without looking at her.

Safe chambers, hidden away, and caged.

“No.” The word left her mouth before she could swallow it.

David froze, the steel buckles in his hands half-done. Slowly, he turned, his gaze black fire. “Faith…”

“I will not hide,” she said, climbing from the furs. The rush of blood through her body was hot, sure, like a second heartbeat. Her wolf prowled beneath her skin, restless. “If Divine is at our gates, then the pack will look to me as much as they look to you. I will not let them see their Luna locked away like a fragile doll.”

His jaw clenched so tight she thought his teeth might crack. “You are carrying my heir. Our heir. You will do as I…”

“As your mate,” she cut in, her voice low but sharp, “I am not asking permission. I am telling you where I belong.”

The silence between them was a taut rope. His eyes searched hers, torn between fury and something more fragile — fear.

Finally, he cursed under his breath and slammed the last buckle of his armor into place. “Stay near me, or I swear…”

“I’ll stay where I’m needed,” Faith interrupted again, softer this time.

David’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing more. He stormed from the chamber, and Faith followed.

The western gates were chaos.

Smoke curled from the barricades where tar-soaked arrows had struck. Wolves in half-shift tore through Divine’s vanguard, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air. The ground trembled with the force of paws and boots colliding, war cries echoing off the timbered walls.

Faith stood tall among them, her cloak whipping around her legs, hair loose, eyes bright. The younger warriors — those barely shifted, those whose hands still trembled on their blades — turned instinctively toward her. Not the Alpha’s brother. Not even David. Toward her.

Her heart pounded, but she straightened her shoulders and let her wolf rise in her voice. “Hold the line! Tighten the formation at the breach — no gaps!”

The youths obeyed instantly, relief flashing in their faces at the clarity of command.

A charging Orell wolf lunged toward a boy barely past his first shift. Faith didn’t think — she moved. Her dagger sang as it slashed across the wolf’s side, knocking him off course just long enough for the boy to finish the strike. Faith’s chest heaved, her pulse racing, but she didn’t falter.

She called orders as though she’d been born for it. “Shift to your right! Cover the archers! Don’t break!”

Every shout was an anchor in the storm. Every decision kept them alive.

From the corner of her eye, she caught David on the front line — a dark whirlwind of claws and steel, his growls thunder over the battlefield. His fury carved through Divine’s soldiers like lightning. But even from there, even drowning in war, his gaze kept flicking to her.

And every time he saw her standing, saw her directing, saw her striking he did not drag her away. He let her burn beside him.

Hours blurred into a fever of battle. Divine’s forces pressed harder than expected, but Rainfall held strong.

It was Faith’s idea to pull the younger wolves back into the narrow lane near the grain stores, where the wider numbers of the Orell would be forced into a choke point. The maneuver saved dozens of lives — and broke the rhythm of Divine’s assault.

By dusk, the Orell horns sounded retreat. Their vanguard limped back into the shadows of the forest, dragging their wounded with them.

Victory. But it felt hollow.

The gates were cracked. Bodies littered the ground. And Faith knew this had only been Divine’s opening strike.

The Rainfall wolves began to gather, rallying themselves, tending the wounded. And their eyes — every single one — kept sliding to Faith.

Not just as the Alpha’s mate. Not just as the woman carrying his heir. But as their Luna, who had stood in the storm with them.

Later, when the fires burned low and the wounded were stable, Faith stood outside the gate alone, staring at the treeline where Divine’s army had vanished. The night was cool, the wind carrying the scent of pine and ash.

She touched her stomach lightly, almost unconsciously. Her wolf hummed beneath her skin, fierce and restless.

David found her there. His armor was bloodied, his hair damp with sweat, but his presence still filled the air with command.

“You disobeyed me,” he said at last. His tone was not rage, not even accusation. It was heavy.

Faith didn’t look away from the trees. “I saved them.”

A long silence. Then the crunch of his boots as he came closer. His hand slid around her waist, his lips brushing her temple.

“You painted a target on yourself,” he whispered.

She finally turned to him. His eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, raw and unshielded. “Then let her aim,” Faith said, voice steady. “Because I will never be prey again.”

For a moment, no words passed between them — only the sound of the forest, the crackle of torches, the steady thrum of their bond.

Then David’s mouth curved into something dark, something dangerous. “My Luna,” he growled softly.

And though the night was quiet, Faith knew the storm had only just begun.