Soul Tyes A Queen Luna Novel

He jolted awake at exactly 3:04 a.m., lungs dragging in cold air like he’d surfaced from drowning. Sweat clung to his bare skin, trickling down the deep grooves of muscle carved from years of training and restless nights. He pushed a palm over his chest steadily, controlled though the beast inside him snarled at the restraint.

His vision adjusted to the shadows, the room flickering silver under the pulse of moonlight through the half-open window. His normally steel-grey eyes burned nearly silver now, his Lycan prowling the edges of his mind, restless and sharp with memory.

Xavier swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet bracing on the cold wood. The ache under his ribs demanded more than air and moonlight tonight. He needed the heat to feel alive, if only for a few fleeting minutes.

The steam in the ensuite shower coiled around him like a living thing, clinging to the sharp planes of muscle carved by years of relentless training — and even more relentless loss. He braced a hand against the cold tile, head bowed, water pounding over his broad shoulders, rivulets tracing the deep grooves down his back.

His other hand wrapped around his heavy length, thick and unyielding in his palm despite the dull ache beneath his ribs telling him this was pointless. He hissed between his teeth, a low, broken sound. His Lycan snarled at the intrusion — disgusted, restless, clawing at the edges of his control.

Leave it, the beast growled in the back of his mind. She’s gone. This is nothing.

But Xavier couldn’t leave it. He needed to feel something. Needed to drown out the ghost of his mate’s laughter echoing in the cracks of his mind.

He spat into his palm, warm saliva mixing with the water before he wrapped it tight around his shaft. He pumped slowly at first, willing his body to obey, to give him even a shred of release.

Nothing.

The Lycan inside him rumbled a cruel, bitter laugh, feeding him shards of grief instead of pleasure.

Think of her, he ordered himself through clenched teeth. Anna.

His hips jerked once, uselessly, as images flickered — Anna beneath him, soft sounds spilling from her lips, her hair tangled in his fingers, her taste on his tongue. He squeezed harder, dragged his grip rougher over the thick head, shuddering when the first pulse of heat coiled at the base of his spine.

Yes.

A snarl tore from his throat — half agony, half relief — as his fangs scraped over his own bottom lip, breaking skin. He thrust into his own fist, faster now, chasing that old familiar edge he hadn’t let himself fall over in far too long.

Anna’s voice in his ear. Her scent in his lungs. The way she’d gasped his name when he’d sunk his fangs into her neck — claiming her, branding her, loving her in the only way a beast like him knew how.

It snapped him.

With a ragged growl, Xavier jerked once, twice — then heat exploded through him, ropes of release striping the shower wall and washing down the drain. He groaned, forehead thunking hard against the slick tile, chest heaving as the last tremors shuddered through his massive frame.

Silence.

Emptiness.

No comfort in the echoes of her name on his tongue. No peace in the burn beneath his ribs that no orgasm could ever touch.

His Lycan snarled once more, savage and unsatisfied.

She’s gone.

Xavier stayed there, water cascading over him like punishment, eyes closed, heart still broken — alone in the steam, with nothing left to offer but the grief that never died.

As the jets continued to hit him, Xavier planted both hands against the marble wall and let his head drop forward. Water coursed over the thick ropes of muscle along his shoulders, down the hard cut of his back, tracing the deep groove of his spine until it sluiced over the curve of his ass and powerful thighs.

He shifted, the spray hitting his abdomen rock solid, scarred, corded with years of carrying heavier weight than any crown. His manhood hung between his thighs, thick and impressively endowed even now, but now limp and indifferent.

It hadn’t stirred since Anna’s heartbeat faltered beneath his palms. Since the midwife’s cries turned into a funeral hymn in his head. What once roused at a simple glance from his beloved Luna now felt like an arm, a leg just another piece of him left hollow by loss.

Each attempt ended the same guilt suffocating any flicker of need, his wolf snarling in protest as if touching himself was a betrayal of the bond buried in the grave with Anna and their daughter.

He let the water cleanse him. Muscles twitching under the steady pulse of heat. He scrubbed his skin raw, ignoring the phantom press of memories he couldn’t wash away. When the steam finally dulled the edge of the beast clawing at him, Xavier shut off the shower and stood dripping heavily, solid, alone.

He toweled off briskly, no hesitation in the practical ritual of dressing: black denim jeans that clung to the powerful swell of his thighs and tight ass; a black long-sleeve thermal that strained against his biceps and chest; black cowboy boots that whispered both king and ranch hand in a single step.

Two photographs caught him before the door:

Anna barefoot and radiant, round with the life she never cradled in her arms. Cheyenne’s sonogram, just a grainy promise the Moon Goddess never let him keep.

He didn’t speak to them. He didn’t dare.

Outside, the corridors of the packhouse held their breath as Xavier stalked through them. He didn’t stop until the cold air hit him, slicing clean through steam and sorrow alike, carrying him toward his truck a 2025 matte black Toyota Tundra which would take him to the barn and the only heartbeat that kept him tethered—Ladygirl.

He didn’t remember putting the truck in gear only that the weight in his chest seemed to ease once the packhouse disappeared in the rearview. Midnight Mountain still slept behind its fortress of pines and ancient gates, but the king inside its gates hadn’t rested in nearly a decade.

The road to the ranch house wound low and narrow through mist and dawn haze. He kept one hand draped over the wheel, the other tapping slow on the leather console as the radio flickered between static and an old soul station out of Asheville.

A familiar guitar lick slipped through the static—sweet and aching as memory itself.

Al Green. How Can You Mend a Broken Heart.

Of course. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

His eyes flicked to the dark tree line ahead, but his mind drifted back to a different road altogether: a winding stretch just past the village gates, Anna’s laughter bright in the passenger seat of his first black pickup.

She’d insisted he take her down to the human village that day, no packhouse dining room, no fancy restaurant where whispers trailed their every move. She’d wanted the park. Just the park.

“If I’m gonna fall in love with the king, Xavier St. Clair, I need to meet the man first. And I can’t ask you every silly question I have at some overpriced dinner. Or in a movie theater. I hate awkward silences.

So, he’d relented reluctantly at first. Back then he thought flowers, candles, the right wine would impress her. But Anna had only wanted sunshine on her face and a bench under the old oak by the pond. He’d bought them two chocolate ice cream cones from a cart manned by an old woman who’d winked at Anna like they were conspirators.

She’d peppered him with questions about everything. His first fight. His first shift. What terrified him most as a boy. How he liked his eggs in the morning. No fear in those eyes, just curiosity, bold and soft all at once.

Xavier fell in love that afternoon. Before the pack named her Luna. Before his parents approved of her as being he chosen mate . He’d loved her then, sticky with melted chocolate and giggling at a bird that stole half her cone.

The song wrapped around him now like a phantom hug, slow and tender, pouring through the speakers as he turned onto the final gravel drive up to the ranch house.

“How can you mend… this broken heart…”

A cruel question. One even the Moon Goddess hadn’t answered.

Xavier killed the engine and let the last notes of Al Green fade into the hush of the dawn. His pulse steadied. His wolf lay quietly beneath his ribs—for now.

He had a barn to check, a mare to whisper to, and memories to keep at bay.

The familiar scent, hay, leather, the soft musk of his prized mare, hit him first. Ladygirl lifted her dark head from the stall, ears flicking in recognition. Xavier exhaled, a fraction of his tension bleeding away as he approached her. He pressed his forehead to hers, large palm stroking the curve of her neck.

“You’re all right, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice deep enough to settle skittish wolves. “I’m leaving for a bit, but you’re not alone.”

A cough behind him made him straighten. Dr. Greene, the pack’s trusted vet, stood by the gate, hands in the pockets of a worn brown coat.

“She’s fine, Alpha,” Greene said gently, nodding toward the mare’s belly. “Still a few weeks yet. But I’ll be here at the ranch house until you’re back, just in case.”

Xavier dipped his chin in gratitude, though his eyes never left Ladygirl.

“Good. Keep her safe.”

Xavier lingered in the barn until Ladygirl’s rhythmic breathing settled the last of the restless growl under his skin. By the time he stepped back into the crisp dawn, the eastern sky was bruising purple and silver, clouds stirring like restless ghosts over Midnight Mountain.

He stalked toward the blacked-out SUV idling near the main gate. Rock leaned against the driver’s side, one boot braced on the bumper, flipping through something on his tablet, always three steps ahead, the pack’s living fortress in a leather jacket.

Quest, on the other hand, perched on the passenger side with his phone practically welded to his ear. His entire six-foot-five frame looked half-civilized in dark jeans and a grey Henley, but the goofy grin told a different story. Newly mated men always carried that dopey softness. Kristen had melted half of his rough edges in a single moon cycle.

Xavier approached, boots crunching gravel. Rock straightened immediately, eyes flicking to his Alpha’s still-glowing irises before respectfully looking away.

“All set?” Xavier rumbled, voice low but steady.

Rock nodded. “Jet’s fueled. Flight plan cleared. When we land, I’ll coordinate the return pickup. Nothing touches the airstrip without my clearance, Alpha.”

“Good,” Xavier grunted, slamming the back hatch closed after tossing in his duffel.

Quest didn’t even notice—he was busy whispering something into his phone that made Rock roll his eyes.

“Yeah, baby, I promise. Soon as I land, I’ll mindlink you. Mhm. Love you more—” He caught Xavier’s look and winced, covering the mic with his palm. “Hey, boss.”

Xavier raised a brow, amusement hidden beneath the gruff. “Tell Kristen you’ll survive a few days without her.”

Quest muttered, “Don’t tempt her to show up at the airstrip.” Then back into the phone: “Okay, sunshine, really gotta go. Love you. Bye—bye—Kristen—Kristen—okay. Bye.”

He ended the call with an exaggerated sigh and Rock barked a laugh under his breath.

“Sorry, Alpha. Newlyweds, you know how it is,” Quest grinned, shrugging giant shoulders that could break a bear’s spine.

Xavier gave him a rare, fleeting smile—one that didn’t quite touch the grief buried in his eyes. “One of us should be happy.”

He rounded the SUV and slid into the back seat, letting Rock drive. Quest climbed up front, immediately tapping out a message to the charter pilot waiting for Rock at Tallahassee Regional.

“You’re sure you trust the charter for my parents?” Xavier asked, eyes on the blur of pines racing by the window.

Rock turned halfway around, earnest as ever. “Personally, vetted the pilot and crew. I’ll fly down, pick up your parents myself, and have them back in time for the Full Moon Festival. Dr. Greene will keep me updated on Ladygirl. I promise, X—nothing’s slipping through the cracks.”

Quest hummed his agreement, eyes flicking to the rearview. “Whole pack’s got eyes up. Nothing happens to them. Or you.”

The SUV rolled through the gates of Midnight Mountain, the hidden kingdom giving way to the human world just beyond the tree line.

For a heartbeat, Xavier let himself exhale. For now, his people were safe. His mare was safe. His past stayed buried behind him, locked in a barn with old ghosts and half-formed dreams of a family he’d never hold again.

Ahead, the private runway gleamed in the dawn like a blade unsheathed—waiting for a king who no longer knew how to sleep without nightmares.