Crescent Moon Pack is...odd.
Not in a bad way, just in the way that everything feels too warm, too open, too good to be true. Cassandra keeps expecting someone to jump out of a bush and yell "Just kidding!" while dragging her back to the cold, unwelcoming reality she's used to.
But no one does.
Instead, she wakes each morning in soft cotton sheets, greeted by the scent of fresh-baked bread, pine trees, and the occasional puppy pee. She falls into a routine, something she hasn't known in a long time. There's structure, comfort, and Grace's subtle brand of regal-but-kind command making sure everything runs smoothly. The Luna is like a velvet-wrapped tank, graceful, warm, but absolutely capable of flattening anyone who threatens her people.
Cassandra likes her. Immensely.
Especially since Grace gave her a job she didn't even know she needed: assistant pup-wrangler.
If the pups were left to their own devices, they'd have burned the packhouse down by now. Instead, they race through corridors on stubby legs, hide in laundry baskets, and try to chew on everything that resembles food, furniture, or Cassandra. At one point, she's certain one of them tried to mate with her sock.
"I think I'm becoming their chew toy," Cassandra says one afternoon, her hair in a wild bun, her shirt decorated with peanut butter handprints and glitter.
"Rookie mistake," Sasha replies from her perch on the porch, sipping something fruity with a tiny umbrella poking out of it. "You wore white. That's practically a challenge."
"They were supposed to be finger painting!"
"They did. Your fingers. Your paint."
Cassandra groans, flopping beside her, laughing despite herself. "I love them, but they're savages."
"Adorable little savages," Sasha agrees. "Kind of like someone else I know."
Cassandra follows her gaze and nearly chokes on her lemonade.
Darius.
Lurking, again...at the edge of the forest like some brooding forest god carved out of shadows and disapproval. He's dressed in his usual uniform of black everything, arms crossed like he's personally offended by the concept of sunlight. His grey eyes are unreadable, but Cassandra swears she can feel them on her like a second layer of skin.
"Does he always... do that?" she asks, pretending not to care.
"Lurk? Glare? Look like he's contemplating burning the forest down with his mind? Yeah. Standard Darius behaviour." Sasha waves her drink toward him. "He's a big ol' teddy bear, once you get past the homicidal stares."
"Right. And I'm the Queen of the Mystic Isles."
"No offense, your majesty, but you'd need a lot more glitter."
They both burst into laughter, but inside, Cassandra's chest tightens.
Because Darius doesn't just stare. He studies. Observes. Calculates. Like she's a puzzle with a missing piece he's desperate to find. And worse, sometimes, she catches herself doing the same. Her wolf perks up every time he's near, her senses sharpening, heart pounding, body hyper-aware.
She chalks it up to biology. Pheromones. Or maybe he's just really good at smelling like moonlit leather and trouble.
Whatever the case, she avoids him as much as possible. He may be unfairly attractive, but he's also a storm on legs, and she has no intention of getting caught in it.
Mostly.
Sometimes.
Okay, fine, she might take the longer route through the hallway if she knows he's in the kitchen, but that's just... awareness. Not interest. Definitely not interest.
Probably.
The pack itself is bigger than she expected. Like, sprawling kingdom big. There are dozens of buildings tucked into the hills and trees, each connected by winding paths and sparkling lamplight that pulses with faint enchantment after sunset. Ancient wards shimmer faintly in the air, a blend of old magic and wolf power that thrums beneath her skin like a heartbeat.
Everywhere she turns, there are people, shifters with smiling faces, humans with gentle curiosity, witches trading herbs and enchantments in the marketplace just beyond the pack's main hall. There's even a goblin blacksmith with a crooked grin and a passion for decorative weaponry.
It's chaos. It's home.
And yet... there's still that shadow.
Darius.
The Alpha who treats her like an uninvited ghost one second and a threat the next. She tries not to think about him. Fails spectacularly.
He haunts her like a half-remembered dream, stormy eyes flashing in her mind when she least expects it. And that damn smirk, the one that says he knows exactly how flustered she is, and enjoys every minute of it.
"Is he always like that?" she finally asks Michael one morning, cornering him by the coffee pot.
Michael sips his brew like a man who's about to drop ancient wisdom. "Yup."
"That's not helpful."
"That's all you're getting."
Lexie, Michael's mate, overhears and cackles from the other side of the room. "If you figure out the secret to Darius 'Stoneface' Thorn, let us know. There's a pool going. I bet fifty credits he cracks by Solstice."
Cassie raises a brow. "Cracks?"
"As in, admits he's a repressed Alpha who secretly dreams of love and poetry."
"Poetry?" Cassie laughs.
"Oh yeah. Sasha says he writes in a journal. You know, like 'Dear Diary, today I almost didn't growl at someone.'"
Michael covers his face with his hands.
Cassandra's laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, and for a moment, the weight of her past slips from her shoulders like mist.
But later, when she's back with the pups, Cassandra finds her gaze wandering...again, toward the forest line.
And there he is.
Watching.
Always watching.
Darius knows he's being an idiot.
But logic has never had much sway over his wolf. Every time he tells himself to stay away from her, to focus on training, security, the rogues prowling beyond their borders, his gaze drifts back to Cassandra.
She's always glowing. Not literally (though that wouldn't surprise him in this weird enchanted territory), but in a way that makes her stand out. Her smile hits him like sunlight through the trees, warm, blinding, unwanted.
It infuriates him.
Because he doesn't want to want her. Not after everything.
Not after her.
The memory of his former mate still cuts deep. He was barely twenty-one when he found her—beautiful, strong, already claimed by another. The betrayal had gutted him. Since then, he'd shut down any hope of love, commitment, vulnerability.
Women came and went. Warm bodies. Empty nights.
But this one? This stubborn little caretaker with eyes like autumn leaves and sass sharp enough to gut him?
She's different.
And it's ruining his life.
He's losing sleep. Losing focus. And, apparently, losing bets, if the whispers around the pack are to be believed.
He needs a distraction.
Preferably one that doesn't wear glittery stickers from the pup art room or smell like lilac and forbidden territory.
His wolf disagrees. Loudly.
Every time she laughs, his instincts growl. Every time she leans down to scoop up a pup, his gaze tracks the curve of her hips and the sway of her curls.
This is hell.
And it's getting worse.
Because now, she's not just a thorn in his side. She's creeping under his skin.
And he doesn't know how to stop it.
Later, Cassandra sits alone in her room, staring out the window at the silver glow of the moon filtering through the trees.
Her thoughts wander to Abby and John, her only family left behind. She prays they are safe, wondering if the Alpha's wrath has reached them yet.
Her mind then drifts to the pack she's growing to love and the mysterious darkness that is Darius.
She wonders if she could ever trust him, not just as Alpha, but as something more.
Her heart beats faster at the thought and she shakes her head, trying to dismiss the fluttering inside her.
But Cassandra feels a flicker of hope she hasn't known in a long time.
Tomorrow is a new day.
And with it, new challenges.