The Nameless Luna – Book Three: For Her, He Falls
: Chapter 10

As night began to fall and the wolves shifted back into their human forms, I suppose it’s appropriate that the nightwalkers provided clothes for those who needed them.
Clad in black as the last of the sunlight fades, we really are dressed for a funeral.
We decide to burn the dead, gathering them into a massive pyre in the citadel right outside the castle. The ashes that remain will be scattered over the forest outside the city walls and returned to the earth. One day, those grounds would come to be known as the Forest of Day in honor of those who fought in a war that began at dawn and ended at dusk. It will become a sacred place with no distinction between packs, ranks, or species.
I don’t know what happened to Viktor’s body specifically, and I don’t want to know. The only thing that really matters is that he’s gone. He can never hurt anyone ever again. All that really remains of him is everything he failed to destroy.
‘You look like shit.’ Mark’s voice draws me back to the present, and Tristan offers his Beta a wry smile in response to the insult.
Honestly, we’ve all looked better.
Tristan is still clutching a broken arm wrapped in a makeshift sling. Mark has a split lip and is covered in bruises, and there’s a deep gash on Nico’s leg that will surely leave a nasty scar—not that he seems to mind, with Lucy fussing over him.
We’re all covered in grime and blood, but she’s the filthiest out of us all, with crusty crimson soaked up to her forearms and sweat streaking her dust-covered face. Her curly black hair is clumpy and matted, and her clothes are stained and torn.
I can’t help but think of Lucy’s words before the battle and how she said she couldn’t tear down an enemy, but she could pick up a friend. It looks like she did just that.
And me? I don’t even want to think about what I must look like right now. Then there’s Amara…
Oh gods, Amara.
She lies on a cot in the grand hall of the nightwalker’s castle, which has been converted from a grand ballroom into a sort of infirmary. Mark is sitting behind her, his arms wrapped protectively around his mate as she leans back against him, her fingers entwined with his.
When she sees me, she smiles, but then immediately winces from the movement. Three gashes run from her left temple, over her brow, and down her left eye. The cuts go across half of her face, and though all claw marks should look the same no matter who inflicted them, something inside me recognizes the handiwork, and my stomach twists itself into a knot.
‘Don’t make that face, sweet flower,’ she says softly, her voice raspy as she chastises the horror in my eyes.
‘Did my cousin do this to you?’ I ask, moving to kneel beside the cot and take her free hand.
‘Don’t be daft. That brute was not your cousin. Viktor was not your uncle. I don’t care about genetics and ancestry; those people were not your family, and you are not connected to them or responsible for anything that they did. Do you understand?’ she asks, her gaze pouring into me.
Her left eye is swollen shut, and even with the magic of werewolf healing, I doubt it will ever properly open again, but the other one remains bright and sharp, staring into my own. I nod slowly, accepting the absolution she seemed determined to drill into me with her stare.
Beside me, someone huffs, and I turn to replace Helena standing with her arms folded over her chest. She must have helped tend to Amara’s cuts, resuming her duties as a healer once her work as a soldier was done.
‘If you think that’s bad,’ Helena says, nodding toward the claw marks on my friend’s face, ‘You should’ve seen what she did to him.’ There is a trace of approval in her voice, something ancient and proud, recognizing a similar kind of wisdom and strength in Amara.
Amara returns the nightwalker’s smile, and this time when her lips curl and tug at the torn skin from her face, she does not flinch.
One warrior acknowledging the other.
Mark and Tristan exchange a look as well, something dark and deadly passing between them. There is no trace of a smile among them, no hint of anything soft and kind. For a moment, the sheer wrath they seem to share chills me, but then I think of what I would feel if the roles were reversed.
Tristan and I aren’t even properly mated, but I cannot imagine the things I would do to a man if he hurt Tristan the way Oscar had hurt me.
Whatever Amara did to Oscar, I get the sense that it was a mercy compared to what Tristan or Mark would have done if either one of them had gotten their hands on the monster who’d harmed their mates.
‘Settle down, you psychos,’ Lucy says, shaking her head in exasperation and breaking the tension in the air. ‘The time for violence is over.’
They were my psychos, my misfit, outcast, and weirdos. My pack.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ Nico chimes in with a mischievous smirk. ‘You’re actually a really violent nurse, Lucy. Awful bedside manner.’
After so much intensity, seeing the Rovers bicker playfully among themselves feels like a breath of fresh air, and I can’t help but smile. It feels like home. Blood, guts, and all.
‘I had to clean and sew the cut to save you from losing your leg, so you’ll have to forgive me if it stung. Besides, I wouldn’t have to be forceful with you if you didn’t squirm so much, you big baby,’ Lucy retorts.
She moves to smack him on the shoulder, but Nico is faster, catching her by the wrist before she can strike him. They hold each other’s eyes for a moment, the friendly bickering sizzling out and turning into affection as Nico lowers her arm and lets his fingers slide further down to grasp her hand.
‘Ugh, get a room,’ Mark groans. ‘I thought Nico’s pinning was bad, but now I have to watch my own sister make heart eyes back at the little twerp.’
Nico grabs a balled-up bandage from beside the bench where he’s sitting with his leg propped up and chucks it at Mark’s head.
‘You little-‘
‘Be nice, darling,’ Arama scolds, patting her mate’s hand gently to settle his temper.
Helena arches a brow at the entire exchange, looking at me with a hint of amusement. ‘Are all wolves like this? I’m going to have my work cut out trying to help heal this lot if they keep trying to hit each other.’
‘No, not all wolves,’ I explain with a smile. We’re all drained and exhausted from the fight, but I think the familiar banter among the Rovers is almost like a coping mechanism. It’s a way of expressing relief and trying to get some semblance of normalcy after so much change.
‘These guys just have an odd way of expressing affection,’ I add with a shrug. ‘It’s like throwing things is their way of saying I care about you. You get used to it.’
‘Hey! Rude,’ Lucy says, flicking my arm almost as if to prove my point. At the same time, Nico hurls a small roll of medical tape at me, and Mark tosses the balled-up bandages as well.
I’ll take that as a compliment.
Tristan catches the little roll of tape before it can hit me, and I duck out of the way of the bandages with a laugh.
‘Careful,’ Tristan warns, his voice equally protective and playful. ‘You wouldn’t want to hit the Queen, would you?’
I resist the urge to make a sour face at the title. I want to stay in this little bubble of teasing and kinship with them, avoiding reality for just a while longer. Here it is awkward, odd, simple, and safe. This strange moment is a small reminder that there are traces of joy to be found even in times of hardship.
But there is a battlefield to clean up, bodies to burn, a kingdom to put back together, and the politics of five dead Alphas to attend to.
‘Don’t call me that,’ I protest timidly. ‘I’m not, I mean, I can’t be… I-I don’t even know what to call myself.’
The Princess of the Nightwalkers. The Luna of a pack that once hated me. The mate of a male I can’t actually be with. The Queen of five armies that originally came here to kill me.
Bane. Rover. Massen. Silas. Lyall.
Who am I supposed to be now?
‘About that,’ Helena says as if suddenly remembering why she came up to us in the first place. ‘Your father is recovering in his chambers. You should come with me to check on him. I believe your mother will be waking up soon. Perhaps it is time for you to meet her.’