Blood Claim

Ashlin

The Moonridge packhouse is nothing like the drafty cottages my brother and I grew up in. Nor the modest home we were given when Garrick first claimed me as his mate.

It feels foreign—warm, spacious, its timber beams and stone hearth whispering of history and tradition. Large windows look out over a moonlit garden. It is rustic elegance at its finest, designed to make visiting Alphas feel both comfortable and impressed.

On the vanity, a small wooden trinket box waits. Its surface is worn, the carvings softened from years of touch.

My fingers lift the lid and find the necklace nestled within. The form of a howling wolf carved from obsidian that has gone smooth with age. A single garnet stone is mounted in its chest, glowing like a beating heart in the soft light. Its leather cord is rough between my fingers as I drop it over my head, letting the familiar weight ground me.

“It was my mother’s,” I’d told Garrick the first time he’d seen me wear it. He’d traced the wolf’s silhouette with gentle fingers, promising that one day our children would hear stories about the grandmother they’d never know.

Tonight, that future will begin.

“Miss Ashlin?” A soft voice interrupts my thoughts.

I turn to find Dinah, a young omega, balancing a velvet-lined tray that gleams with enough jewelry to fund the pack for years. Emeralds the size of robin’s eggs, diamonds that throw rainbows across the walls, sapphires deep as midnight sky.

“For tonight, Miss,” she says, setting the tray on the long dresser that lines one wall.

“Thank you.”

She keeps her gaze lowered, already dipping into a bow.

“Dinah, don’t.” I catch her arm gently. “Please.”

She straightens, surprise flickering across her features before something softer takes its place. Almost sympathetic. “Is there anything you need, Miss?”

“No, thank you.”

Dinah gives me one small, genuine smile and slips back out without another word.

I stare at the jewelry that I don’t want.

“That’s quite a spread,” a sultry voice drawls.

In the mirror, I watch Celestra Craven step into the suite. Silver silk clings to every flawless line of her body, her auburn hair twisted into an elegant updo. She steps closer, her fingers hovering over a particularly massive emerald necklace.

“Have you decided which you’ll be wearing tonight?”

“None of them. I’m wearing this.” I turn, letting her see the pendant. “It was my mother’s.”

Celestra’s gaze drops to the simple leather cord. “How... sweet.”

My wolf stirs beneath my skin. “I know it isn’t the most impressive piece—”

“No, no,” she interrupts, trailing a finger over the glittering necklaces. “I understand. Sentimental value and all that.”

I turn back to the mirror, trying to focus on anything other than the way she says sentimental. Like it is something distasteful. My reflection stares back—dark curls framing pale skin, gray eyes bright beneath dark lashes.

“It’s just not what I would have chosen,” Celestra continues, her voice light and conversational. “I’d probably go with something like...” She examines several pieces before settling on a necklace of emeralds set in white gold. “This. Look at the richness of that color. The way it catches the light. Well suited to an Alpha’s Luna, don’t you think?”

My gaze hardens as I meet hers in the mirror. She holds it for a minute before slipping the necklace back into its place.

“—but, then, I’ve never suffered such tragedy. Perhaps I’d feel differently if I had.”

I rise from the stool, pulling my curls over one shoulder as I cross to stand beside her. “If you like it that much,” I say softly, “you should wear it tonight.”

She flutters her hand. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” I shrug, lifting the necklace out of the tray and offering it to her. “You’re our ally, and they really are beautiful pieces. It’d be my honor to lend it to you.”

Celestra hesitates just a moment before taking it from my grasp. “If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind…”

“Not at all.”

“Well, if you insist...” The necklace is around her throat before I can blink, the gems nestling perfectly against her pale skin. She admires herself in the mirror with obvious satisfaction. “You’re too kind, truly.”

A knock comes from the open doorway. Bran leans against the frame, dark hair mussed as if he’s been tugging at it. His eyes flick to the necklace at Celestra’s throat, then back to me.

His face brightens when I smile at him.

“I ought to go. I wouldn’t want to intrude on this family moment.” She offers the slightest hint of a bow. “Thank you again, Ashlin. For your generosity.”

The door closes behind her with a soft click.

Bran narrows his gaze at me. “Why are you so nice to her?”

“I’m nice to everyone.” I adjust the fall of my dress, watching the velvet catch the light like a night sky stitched with gold.

“True.” He makes a face. “But she’s kinda awful.”

“Bran Gillivray!” I shoot him a disapproving look.

“Well, she is,” he groans, throwing his hands up. “Have you seen the way she treats the staff?”

“Bran, I love you, but I don’t have time for your condemnations of pack class structure.” He opens his mouth to argue, but I turn and catch his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know it’s important. That’s why I’ll bring it up at the first council meeting after—”

My voice falters.

His expression softens, and he pulls me into a hug.

My little brother—now taller than I am. When did that happen? It seems like yesterday that Moonridge patrols found us—two terrified children, bloodied and alone in the borderlands, with no memory of where we’d come from or who we’d been before.

I’ve watched him grow from a timid four-year-old who clung to my legs into this lanky, outspoken man who worries about social justice and makes faces at spoiled, tactless she-wolves.

He draws back, searching my face. “Are you sure about this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this. Garrick. The mate bond. Becoming Luna to a pack that—” He sighs.

He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to. Moonridge thrives on tradition, and tradition rarely takes kindly to those with afflictions like ours—wolves who can’t shift, can’t heal like the others.

I shake my head, dismissing the old, familiar doubts I thought were long behind me. “I’m sure. Garrick loves me. If it weren’t right, the Moon Goddess wouldn’t have chosen me for him. He wouldn’t have spent the last seven years being patient and kind.”

Bran doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he bends and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Then let’s go get you mated, Luna.”