The Luna's Chance

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

The wolf lies before me, its chest heaving with each shallow breath. Blood mats the fur on its flank, a stark contrast to the otherwise silvery coat. Hesitation knots in my stomach, but I push it down. This is what I do—I heal.

I inch closer, my hand trembling as it hovers just above the ragged wound. The wolf's eyes lock onto mine, a silent understanding passing between us. It doesn't flinch or growl; instead, it seems to be granting permission. With a deep breath, I let the warmth of my empathetic healing powers flow through me.

"Easy," I whisper. "Let's get you fixed up."

Closing my eyes, I focus on the pain radiating from the shifter, letting it wash over me. It's like stepping into an icy river, the shock of someone else's agony chilling me to the bone. But then, as if responding to an unspoken cue, my body begins to counteract the cold with heat. Warmth spreads from my core to my fingertips and into the wolf's flesh.

The wound knits together beneath my touch, fur growing back in place of torn skin, the muscle and tissue reconnecting. The process drains me, leaves me lightheaded, but I can't stop—not until I'm sure the wolf is fully healed.

When I finally open my eyes, the wolf is standing, its posture strong and steady. There's no sign of injury, just a healthy, powerful creature staring at me with something akin to reverence.

The wolf shudders, its body contorting in ways that defy nature. Bones c***k and reform, fur recedes into skin, and within moments where the wolf once stood, there is now a man. He rises to his full height, his broad shoulders casting a shadow in the moonlight. Brown hair falls messily over his forehead, and his brown eyes hold a depth that feels both wild and familiar.

"Thank you," he says, his voice deep and resonant. He takes a cautious step forward, as if testing the steadiness of his human legs. "My name is Roman."

I swallow hard, trying to reconcile the creature I'd healed with the man standing before me. "Lane," I manage to reply, my own voice sounding small and distant.

I catch a part of his scent I hadn’t picked up on before—Alpha. He is the leader of a pack.

His gaze flicks over to Vee. “I owe my life to you and my friend. Please… have dinner with me.”

I raise my eyebrows at Vee. A long moment goes by where I hope she’ll say no… and I also hope she’ll say yes.

“Sure,” she finally says. “We’d like that.”

***

The crackle of the campfire fills the silence between us as I skewer a few sausages and hand them over to Roman. He accepts them with a nod, his gaze flickering over to Vee who's already roasting her own over the eager flames. The heat from the fire battles the evening chill, casting a comforting orange glow on our small circle.

"Here," I say, passing Roman a bun and some condiments. "The world might be full of magic, but nothing beats a good old-fashioned hot dog when you're hungry."

He grins, an expression that somehow makes him more human despite the knowledge of what he truly is. We eat in quiet companionship for a moment, the sounds of the forest surrounding us—a reminder that the ordinary lives alongside the extraordinary.

"Your friend is quite the cook," Roman remarks, nodding towards Vee whose strawberry blonde hair seems alight with the fire's reflection.

"Vee's got many talents," I reply, offering her a warm smile which she returns before biting into her meal. She may have been deemed weak by her old pack, but to me, she's always been anything but that.

Roman's eyes linger on me, curiosity bright in their depths. "Lane, your abilities... they are remarkable. I've never seen anyone heal like that. Is it something you've learned or..." He trails off, the question hanging between us, heavy as the logs crackling in the fire.

I press my lips together, feeling the weight of his interest and the burden of my secret. It's not just a skill one hones; it's something much deeper, an intrinsic part of who I am. Revealing too much could be dangerous, even if Roman appears trustworthy and kind.

"It's just something I've always been able to do," I say finally, keeping my voice light, hoping to steer away from the topic. "Everyone's got something special about them, right?"

"Indeed," he says thoughtfully, his gaze still searching. "But not everyone can touch a wounded creature and mend its flesh with a mere intent. You saved my life, Lane."

"Anyone would've done the same," I deflect, avoiding his intense brown stare by poking at the fire with a stick. Sparks fly up into the night sky, joining the stars in their silent watch.

"Perhaps," Roman concedes, though I can tell he's not convinced. "But not everyone could have done it. There's a difference."

"Maybe." I shrug, as if the depth of my powers isn't a big deal—as if concealing this part of myself doesn't ache like holding my breath underwater. "Let's just enjoy the meal, okay? We can worry about the mysteries of the universe some other time."

"Fair enough," Roman says with a chuckle, and for now, the questions cease. But his eyes, warm and thoughtful, tell me this conversation is far from over.