Chapter 56 Love and devotion
Vuk Kael Lasković
Last night I stood before the court and declared what the moon had already decided: Maureen Laurent is my Luna.
The words barely left my mouth before the hall exploded—howls crashing against obsidian walls, fists thundering on tables, elders dropping to one knee while the young wolves bared throats in raw submission. No one dared speak against it. Not after they saw the fire in her silver eyes. Not after they felt the bond snap taut between us like a live wire.
Tonight we stand at the Selene Altar.
The peak is carved open to the sky. The blood moon hangs low and bloated, bleeding crimson across snow and stone. Torches burn infernal blue in iron rings around the ritual circle. Hundreds of wolves form a silent wall—elders in silver-threaded robes, scarred warriors bare-chested, young ones barely containing their tremble. The air is thick with pine smoke, old blood, and the electric hum of anticipation.
Maureen stands beside me in white silk that catches the moon like liquid starlight. Her ginger hair is swept high in a fierce ponytail, cascading fire down her back. The crown waits on the altar: black obsidian studded with rubies, moonstone heart already pulsing faintly. Her hand is steady in mine, but I feel the faint tremor when our fingers lace. I squeeze once—hard enough to ground her, soft enough to remind her she is not alone.
The Oracle steps into the circle.
Ancient. Untouchable. Cloaked in white wolf fur stitched with silver runes that shimmer like frost under moonlight. Her eyes are milky, blind to the world yet seeing everything that matters. In her gnarled hands: the ritual dagger—silver blade etched with Selene’s crescent on one side, Lucifer’s flame on the other.
She stops before the altar. Raises her voice—low, rasping, carrying like wind through frozen pines.
“Children of the North. Flame-born. Moon-kissed. The blood moon rises. The bond demands witness.”
Silence falls so deep it hurts the ears.
She turns to me first. Extends the dagger hilt-first.
I take it without hesitation.
The blade bites my palm—clean, deep. Immortal blood wells dark and steaming in the cold. I press the wound to Maureen’s bite—the mark I gave her that first brutal night, still raised and perfect on her shoulder. Power crackles between us: wildfire slamming into starlight, gold veins racing up my arms, silver flaring in her eyes.
The Oracle nods once—slow, deliberate.
Maureen takes the dagger next. No flinch. No fear. She slices her own palm—quick, unflinching—and presses it to the crescent scar at the base of her throat, the one she was born wearing, the one her mother once kissed goodnight.
Our blood mingles—drop by drop—on skin, on stone. A hiss. A curl of blue smoke. Tiny flame ignites where it touches the altar.
The Oracle lays her cold hands over ours.
“By Selene’s light and Lucifer’s flame,” she intones, voice echoing inside my skull, “by blood shared and will unbroken, I bind Alpha to Luna. King to Queen. The pack is whole.”
She lifts our joined hands high.
The moon answers.
Crimson light floods the circle like spilled wine. Power detonates outward—golden veins exploding across my skin, silver aura bursting from Maureen in waves. The shockwave rolls through the pack: heads snap down as one, throats bared, knees hitting stone in perfect unison. Even the elders bow. The mountain shudders—distant snow avalanches roaring, howls rising in layered harmony that shakes the stars.
The Oracle steps back. Her milky eyes glow brighter for one heartbeat.
“The moon has spoken. The flame has answered. Rise, Luna of the Northern Dominion.”
I release Maureen’s hand only to lift the crown.
Obsidian heavy. Rubies like frozen blood. Moonstone heart catching crimson fire.
I place it on her head.
It settles perfectly.
She lifts her chin. The crown does not waver.
Her voice rings clear across the peak—no tremor, only steel wrapped in silk.
“Northern Dominion… it is an honor to be your Luna. Your Queen.”
The pack answers—thousands of howls cresting wild and reverent, shaking snow from the peaks, drowning the night in sound.
I drop to one knee before her—Alpha Devil brought low—and press my lips to her bloodied palm.
“My Luna,” I rasp, voice thick with everything I’ve never said aloud. “My queen. My everything.”
She threads fingers through my hair, tilts my face up until gold meets silver.
“And you,” she whispers, just for me, “are mine.”
The howls swallowed us whole.
Under the blood moon, crowned and bound, we stood as one.
The ritual ended in thunder—thousands of voices rising until the mountain itself seemed to roar back. Maureen lifted her chin beneath the obsidian crown, silver eyes blazing, and the pack answered with everything they had: loyalty, awe, feral joy. I stayed on one knee a heartbeat longer than necessary, lips pressed to her bloodied palm, tasting copper and moonlight and forever.
Then the celebration began.
The great hall had been transformed while we were on the peak. Black marble floors gleamed under torchlight. Long tables groaned with roasted boar, infernal wine in crystal rivers, honey-glazed fruits that shimmered like captured stars. Musicians played low, throbbing drums and bone flutes that made the air pulse. Wolves danced—some in human form, graceful and fierce; others half-shifted, tails lashing, claws clicking on stone.
We sat at the high table on the dais—Maureen at my right, crown still on her head, white silk gown stained faintly at the hem with ritual blood. I kept one hand on her thigh under the table the entire time—possessive, grounding, thumb tracing slow circles over silk. She leaned into me between performances, cheek against my shoulder, smiling at the dancers who spun and leaped like living shadows.
A group of young wolves performed a ritual hunt dance—bodies painted with silver runes, moving in perfect sync to mimic the chase, the takedown, the triumphant howl. Maureen’s fingers tightened on my arm when they finished, eyes shining.
“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.
“You’re more beautiful,” I murmured back, turning to brush my lips against her temple. “And they know it.”
She laughed—soft, bright, the sound cutting through the noise like moonlight through fog.
Hours passed in a haze of wine, laughter, and the pack’s unrestrained joy. When the drums finally slowed and the torches burned lower, I leaned close.
“Ready to leave, my Luna?”
She met my eyes—silver on gold—and nodded once.
We slipped out quietly. The pack noticed but didn’t follow; they knew better than to interrupt their Alpha and his newly crowned Queen on this night.
Back in our private chambers the fire had been banked low, casting warm gold across black furs and obsidian walls. The moment the heavy doors closed behind us—
Gold launched.
The little black cat—our tyrant in fur—had been waiting on the bed like a coiled spring. She streaked across the furs, meowing indignantly, and hurled herself at my chest. Tiny claws hooked my shirt as she scrambled up to my shoulder, tail lashing, pink tongue immediately attacking my cheek in frantic licks.
I laughed—low, rough—and caught her under her belly before she could fall.
“Easy, little tyrant,” I rumbled, scratching behind her ears until her motor started like a tiny engine. “We were only gone a few hours.”
Maureen stepped closer, eyes soft, and reached out to stroke Gold’s back. The cat leaned into her touch, purring louder, then hopped down to wind between our legs in figure-eights.
Maureen took my hand—fingers lacing tight with mine. We stood like that for a long moment, just breathing each other in: smoke, pine, blood, moonlight, and the faint vanilla sweetness that still clung to her from the cookies she’d tried to make earlier.
She placed her free hand on my chest—right over my heart—and looked up at me.
“Do you know what’s missing now?” she asked quietly.
I tilted my head, thumb brushing her knuckles. “What?”
Her silver eyes searched mine—vulnerable, fierce, full of something so bright it almost hurt to look at.
“A mixture of you and me,” she whispered. “A baby is missing…”
The air left my lungs in a rush.
“A child?” I echoed, voice cracking on the word. A slow, helpless smile crept across my face—wide, unguarded, the kind I hadn’t worn in centuries. “You want to have my child…”
“Of course, silly!” She laughed—soft, teary, perfect—and pressed closer, hands sliding up to frame my face. “I want to have your child. That right then would be your greatest gift and honor to me…”
“Oh my gods,” I breathed, forehead dropping to hers. My hands shook as they settled on her hips—reverent, almost afraid. “I will. I will give you a child. I will work hard—gods, I will work so hard for that.”
She rose on her toes and kissed me—slow, deep, tasting like promise and forever. When we parted, her smile was wicked and tender all at once.
“Then start tonight, my king,” she murmured against my lips. “We have a legacy to build.”
I growled low in my throat—possessive, reverent—and lifted her in one motion, carrying her to the furs while Gold meowed indignantly from the floor (clearly offended at being ignored).
The crown slipped from her head as I laid her down. I caught it gently, set it on the bedside table beside the dagger still crusted with our blood.
Then I leaned over her—seven feet of flame and ruin, brought low again.
“My Luna,” I rasped, voice thick with everything I felt. “My queen. My mate. My future.”
She reached up, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me down.
“And soon,” she whispered, “your child’s mother.”