The wind whispered through the Mooncrest woods, bringing the smell of night jasmine and firewood to Natasha's senses as she sat on the edge of the healer's porch. The evening air was cool on her skin, but not uncomfortable. She liked the cold now—it didn't judge her, didn't brand her with burning heat or deception.
A cup of chamomile tea steamed gently in her hands. She hadn't touched it. Her eyes remained fixed on the tree line, where the lake's surface shimmered with moonlight. It should've been quiet. It should've been healing.
But peace didn't come easily to dogs who had been misled by their mates.
Behind her, she heard the slow sound of boots. She didn't look.
"You're not sleeping again," Gareth said.
She sighed softly, not answering.
He stepped beside her, leaning against one of the wooden beams with the same quiet calm that had defined every moment between them. There was something old in Gareth's presence—something still, but watching.
He reached for a flask at his belt, took a slow sip, then said, "Your father used to sit like that."
She finally looked at him.
"What?"
He smiled weakly. "When we were younger. Before we split up the forest into packs, before titles ruled our names. Your father would sit by the lake, stare at the moon, and wonder if his fate was already set… or if he could beat it."
Her brows wrinkled. "You knew him?"
Gareth nodded, the glint of something deeper—something—flickering behind his eyes. "He was my brother in blood, not birth. We trained together. Hunted together. We both wanted power. But only one of us would get it."
She turned to face him fully now, interest rising. "He never mentioned you. Not once."
"He wouldn't." Gareth chuckled without humor. "History is written by the victors, Natasha. And your father won."
Her stomach twisted. "What happened?"
His eyes flicked toward the horizon, jaw tense. "He chose power. I picked your mother."
That stilled the air between them.
Natasha's eyes widened. Her heartbeat stumbled. "What did you just say?"
"I was in love with her," Gareth said, and his voice no longer held control. "Before she was promised to him. Before she became Luna. Before he made it a bargain instead of a bond."
"You're saying…" Her voice was thin. "You were—"
"We were mates," Gareth confirmed softly. "But she rejected the bond. For your father. For politics. For duty."
The silence after his statement was cruel.
Natasha clutched her cup harder, but her hands shook. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because you deserve to know your lineage isn't made of perfect wolves. And because your father might one day come to erase what's left of you, just like he wiped me."
Her breath caught.
She wasn't sure if it was the deception echoing across generations—or the fierce protectiveness in Gareth's voice that broke something in her chest.
"I saved you," he added, voice lower. "Not because I wanted vengeance. But because I wasn't about to let another woman I care about be crushed by an Alpha's pride."
His words fell heavy, warm, and dangerous.
She looked away, stunned.
Gareth watched her in silence.
But what he didn't say burned more than what he had.
He didn't ask for thanks.
And he didn't ask to replace the man who had broken her.
But something in his voice—deep, gruff, longing—told her he might be hoping for it anyway.
Mooncrest was a refuge built in quiet. The kind that came after storms, the kind that whispered between trees and over still lakes. It had been years since they'd seen war. Longer still since they'd felt the tremble of another Alpha's presence.
So when Jude arrived at the edge of the line, the very forest seemed to hold its breath.
He didn't talk.
Didn't howl.
He simply walked—shirtless, soaked in sweat and dust, carrying nothing but the thunderclouds in his eyes.
Every step carried weight. Power. Purpose.
Mooncrest dogs emerged carefully, pulled by instinct as much as fear. Mothers led pups back inside. Warriors came to stand with weapons near, but their hands were still at their sides. The wind moved.
Then the whispers began.
"It's him…"
"The Alpha of Ever Green…"
"Her mate…"
And then Gareth stepped into view.
He didn't draw a weapon.
He didn't shift.
He stood with his arms crossed and his look colder than ice. "You should've stayed gone."
Jude stopped at the edge of the imaginary line that marked the border. His voice cracked like thunder across still water.
"I'm not here for war."
"No," Gareth answered. "You're here for her."
Jude's eyes darkened. "She's carrying my child."
"That doesn't mean she's still yours."
Jude's jaw ticked. "She's my mate."
Gareth's face didn't shift. "She's more than a bond."
The wind picked up between them. The wolves of Mooncrest stood silent, waiting for the moment to break—when words would turn to claws.
"I didn't come to fight," Jude said, his voice low.
"But you will, if she asks you to," Gareth returned.
The threat didn't go ignored.
And Jude didn't deny it.
The tension between them was oil waiting for a spark.
Jude took a step forward.
Gareth's attitude didn't shift, but the fighters behind him tensed.
"If you touch this soil, I will consider it a breach," Gareth said coldly. "You don't get to walk back into her life like nothing happened."
"I branded her," Jude said. "I wake up choking on that mistake. And now she's carrying my pup—"
"That is not your redemption," Gareth snapped. "Don't act like a child's heartbeat absolves what you did."
Jude growled low, but Gareth matched it.
"She is not a cure for your guilt. She is not a prize to reclaim. If you want to speak to her, you earn that right."
Jude's chest heaved. The wolf inside him growled, demanding to break past this obstacle, to find her, to fall at her feet and beg.
But Gareth's eyes didn't move.
And for a moment, Jude saw something frightening.
Not rivalry.
But connection.
Gareth had kept her safe. Gareth had fed her, healed her, and given her a place to breathe again.
Gareth had filled the gap Jude had left bleeding.
Jude's voice dropped to a low, pained rasp. "Do you want her for yourself?"
Gareth didn't smile. Didn't blink.
"I want her to choose," he said. "Freely. Without fear. Without pressure. Without the weight of a bond she never asked for."
Jude said nothing.
And neither of them moved.
From the shadows beyond the tree line, Natasha watched—half-hidden, heart booming.
They didn't know she was there.
And she wasn't sure she wanted them to.
Jude stood like a storm, broken and proud. Gareth stood like the forest itself—steady, protective, impossible to move.
Her fingers tightened over her stomach, feeling the weight of the life within her—a child forged from pain and heat, from a bond denied and a truth twisted.
She should've hated Jude.
She had tried.
But watching him now… the way his hands shook at his sides, the way his voice cracked when he said her name, the rage in his eyes when Gareth blocked his path…
He hadn't come with arrogance.
He'd come with desperation.
And still, Gareth stood between them.
Not out of pride. Not for victory.
But for her.
She turned away before either of them could spot her.
Because choice was hers now.
And for the first time in her life, two strong wolves were ready to fight not for her body, not for her family, but for her soul.
She just had to decide which one would survive her choice.