Emma stirred from her long slumber as the fading warmth of the evening sun filtered through the towering windows of the Alpha's stronghold. There was no human device to measure time—no glowing screen nor ticking wristpiece—only the shifting scent of dusk and the soft dimming of daylight across the Pack House. The air carried the faint aroma of herbs and roasted meats, a lingering signature of the Alpha's meals. Her senses, sharpened by years of being an omega, absorbed everything: the distant howl of a wolf, the clinking of utensils, and the subtle hum of life within the estate.
Sliding from the Luna's bed, she stretched her limbs, feeling the tension of sleep release from her shoulders. She adjusted her steps, careful not to disturb the quiet pack halls, and followed the faint aromas drifting through the corridors, guiding her to the Pack's Grand cookhouse. Each step echoed softly, but her heightened instincts seemed to make the echo unnecessary; her wolf was guiding her more than her eyes ever could.
With the guidance of an omega attendant, she finally located the communal cookhouse. The pack cooks paused in their duties—chopping, seasoning, stirring—and lifted their gazes toward the Alpha's Luna. Even the smallest movements seemed to halt under the weight of her presence. She could feel the subtle respect and awe emanating from them, a mix of curiosity and caution.
She offered them a soft smile and a small wave, a gesture that carried both reassurance and command, a reminder that she was claimed by Alpha.
"Have you come to assist the cookhouse circle, Luna?" a middle-aged she-wolf asked, her grin wide and welcoming. There was an edge of pride in her tone, as if the mere presence of the Alpha's mate elevated the entire cookhouse.
Emma nodded, her gaze scanning the cookhouse for familiar patterns of work, ingredients, and the careful choreography of service.
"Who prepares the Alpha's meals?" she asked, curiosity threading through her calm tone, her wolf picking up nuances of loyalty, caution, and pride in every glance from the pack cooks.
"Helen, escort her to the Alpha's Private Hearth," the woman instructed, beckoning to a young omega who had been shredding cabbages with swift precision. The she-wolf removed the stains from her palms and stepped forward obediently, her movements smooth and respectful, a testament to years of training under the Pack's hierarchy.
She led the Luna into a magnificent private cookhouse—crafted in dark stone and polished silver, designed solely for the Alpha's nourishment. The scent of fresh ingredients mingled with the lingering aroma of previous meals, creating a sensory map of the Alpha's daily rituals. A tall man dressed in cook's leathers turned and smiled.
"Bernard," the Luna called warmly, the familiarity in her voice a tether in the tension of the room.
Bernard's childhood companion arched a brow. "What brings the Alpha's Luna to the Private Hearth?" There was a mixture of amusement and curiosity in his tone, a hint that he enjoyed watching her navigate this unfamiliar territory.
"I have come to assist," she replied, moving toward the oversized stone basin and beginning to cleanse the used platters. Her wolf moved alongside her, anticipating the rhythm of the Alpha's hearth and the subtle scent of Bernard's presence, a companion she both trusted and questioned.
"Please stop!" Bernard exclaimed. "You are the Alpha's fated mate. We serve you." His voice carried both warning and teasing, an audible reminder of the boundaries she was challenging.
She had lived as an omega servant all her life. Submission and service were stitched into her bones. Yet the fire of independence and her new role as the Alpha's Luna compelled her to ignore him and continue washing, a silent assertion of her willingness to contribute to the Pack in her own way.
"Is the Alpha aware you are here, Luna?" Bernard asked carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed her intentions.
"No," she replied simply, her voice calm yet firm.
"Alpha's mate—"
"I do not wish to hear it," she cut him off, her tone unyielding.
"Hear what?"
"Whatever counsel you intend to give," she replied, her gaze steady.
"He will punish me," Bernard confessed, almost a whisper of fear threading his voice.
"He will not. You are his partner in mischief," she replied lightly, the corner of her lips lifting in a confident smirk.
Bernard's laughter boomed through the stone chamber, startling her. She frowned at the intensity of it, her wolf bristling at the force of his amusement.
"I will cook. You will serve," she declared, her voice carrying both authority and a hint of challenge.
"Why must I serve?" he asked, amusement flickering across his features.
"Because he trusts only you. I do not wish for him to know I prepared his meal," she explained, her eyes scanning the ingredients as she planned the scent and flavor that would convey her presence without alarming the Alpha.
Bernard leaned back. "I have prepared the Alpha's meals for twelve winters. If anything changes, he will sense it. He may reject the food… but…" He smirked. "He will not reject yours."
Her curiosity flared. "Why?"
"You are his mate. The Alpha wolf will recognize the scent of his Luna in every bite. Shall we test it?"
She shrugged, intrigued by the idea of a challenge that would let her imprint on the Alpha in such an intimate way.
"You seem to know much about him," she observed, moving to the induction flame-stone.
"I know him better than he knows himself," Bernard grinned, the pride in his voice unmistakable.
She began cooking with precise, practiced movements. Every chop, every stir, every sprinkle was deliberate, a quiet declaration of skill and intent. Bernard relaxed at the round stone table nearby, his eyes never leaving her, a mixture of admiration and amusement etched on his face.
"I once thought you were a legend," he said softly. "A myth the Alpha imagined."
She narrowed her eyes. "Bernard, before yesterday, had you ever seen me?"
"No. If I had, I would never have doubted your existence."
"I am not here for riddles," she replied coolly, her wolf restless, sensing the playful tension he carried.
Silence lingered between them, filled with the unspoken language of the Pack.
"I did not see the she-wolves from yesterday," she added carefully. "The ones from the Pack Alliance?"
"They are daughters of influential allied Alphas. Wealthy. Refined."
"They behave like courting she-wolves," the Luna said, her tone edged with quiet suspicion.
"They are not his lovers," Bernard insisted firmly. "Only allies."
"He shares chambers with them."
"He does not," Bernard countered, unwavering.
She fell silent, her thoughts conflicted, wanting to believe him, yet her instincts warned otherwise.
"Why keep them close?" she pressed, her eyes meeting his.
"He is an Alpha—handsome, powerful, influential. She-wolves gather like moths to flame."
"And he does not take them to bed?" she asked carefully, measuring each word.
"No. Love humbled him. He has a Luna… and he is consumed by her."
She arched a brow, her wolf leaning into the scent of truth. "Consumed? Is that why he keeps her locked in his chamber?"
Bernard's expression cooled instantly, a rare flash of seriousness overtaking his playful demeanor.
"I will return shortly," he said, taking the plated meal with a careful hand, and left the alpha's hearth.
Minutes later, he returned, his presence commanding the space even without a growl.
"What did he say?" she asked, tension threading her words.
"He has not yet arrived. Just keep your ear on the intercom—"
"Bernard!" The Alpha's voice thundered through the intercom stone.
They exchanged glances, the weight of the Alpha's dominance settling between them.
"Go," she urged, though uncertainty lingered in her steps.
"No. You cooked it. You explain."
"We had an agreement!"
"Yes. You cooked. I served," Bernard replied calmly, leaning back in the chair, eyes glittering.
"Who owns the explanation?"
"The cook," he said with a shrug, casual yet authoritative.
"Bernard!" The Alpha's voice echoed once more, sharp and commanding.
She straightened her shoulders and walked the long corridor toward the Alpha's grand hall, her pulse quickening with each step.
Her heart skipped the moment she saw him. Alpha Brandon stood beside the small ceremonial pack table—crafted for bonded mates. His presence filled the grand hall like a dominant scent, magnetic and commanding.
"Good evening, Alpha," she greeted softly, bowing slightly.
He lifted his piercing golden eyes to her, flecks of gold glinting within them, then lowered his gaze without replying.
"I prepared the meal," she murmured quickly, aware of every heartbeat and inhale of the room.
He paused, his wolf scent mingling with the aroma of the dinner.
"I apologize about my attitude this morning," she added gently.
"It's alright. Let us eat," he commanded.
She blinked, startled. "Huh?"
"You heard me," he said, calm yet magnetic, sending a shiver through her wolf.
Her wolf stirred restlessly under her skin as they sat and eat quietly, vulnerability washing over her.
"Relax," he murmured with a faint smile. "It is only you and me."
"Tonight we celebrate our union under the moon," he said softly as he rose, his presence like a protective cloak. "It will be… unforgettable."
He gave that subtle wink before leaving the chamber, leaving her wolf restless, pondering what he meant by an unforgettable night.