Luna Paige's Arc

Chapter 8 of 10

Michael's brother slept in the guest room by dawn. Luna sat at the kitchen table with the wolf customs book open and could not read a word of it. Her own curse still pressed against her skin like wet cloth. She had two nights left before the pack came. She had broken the wrong curse. She did not know how to break her own. Michael came down in a clean shirt and set a cup of tea in front of her. He did not ask if she had slept. He sat across from her and put both hands flat on the table. "The book says a true name lifts a false one," he said. "You said that last night." "My true name is a wolf's name. I don't have it in this mouth." "Then we find the mouth that does." He stood. "Get your shoes." She followed him out because she had no better plan. He led her past the garden wall, past the boundary stones, into the trees. Her brother the silver wolf fell in beside them without being called. They walked until the ground opened into a broad clearing ringed with wildflowers. She had been here before. This was where her brother had made her swear. Michael stopped in the center. He pulled a small cloth bundle from his coat and unwrapped it on a flat stone. Two rings. Plain gold, matched. And a bunch of moonpetals tied with green ribbon, the blossoms still wet from the garden. "Michael." "My brother is alive because of you," he said. "I am alive because of you. I am not letting the pack take you back on a technicality." He was not smiling. His hands shook. "The book says a claim answers a claim. So I make one. Out loud. In front of your brother, who is the pack." The silver wolf sat in the flowers and watched. Michael picked up one ring. "Luna Paige. I claim you. Not as a debt. Not as a trade. Say yes and it's binding in both worlds, or so the book says. Say no and I put these back in my pocket and we think of something else." She looked at the silver wolf. He did not move. He did not growl. He lowered his head onto his paws the way he had for the moonpetal. "Yes," Luna said. She put the ring on Michael. He put the other on her. He pressed the bouquet into her free hand. Nothing cracked open. No light. Her skin still felt like her skin. Then the silver wolf stood, walked to her, and pressed his forehead against her hip. He held it there. When he stepped back, she felt something inside her chest give one small quiet turn, like a key finding a lock but not yet twisting. "It's not broken," she said. "No," Michael said. "But it moved." Behind them, in the trees, a branch snapped. The pack was early.