His Discarded Luna, the Rival's Obsession

Killian Sterling built half his reputation on showing up when nobody expected him. Announced visits were useless-staff smiled harder, managers hid problems. If he wanted the truth, he came with no warning and no patience.

That's why he stood in the Sterling Hotel lobby at nine-thirty on a weeknight, half-listening to Miles read off complaint numbers while the manager behind the desk sweated through his shirt.

"Noise complaints are up on sixteen and seventeen," Miles said. "Two guest-care issues from last month never got closed."

Alpha Killian raised one hand. Miles stopped talking.

Across the lobby, a woman was checking in. No shoes. Wet hair stuck to her neck. A red handprint on her cheek. Marks circled both wrists, too clean to be an accident.

She looked tired enough to see through. But she stood straight.

Not the kind of pride a Pack daughter wore like jewelry. Something quieter.

Someone holding herself together by force.

Inside Alpha Killian, Rowan stirred.

The silver-gray wolf had slept through most of the evening's business reports with his usual contempt. Now he rose so fast Alpha Killian's muscles tightened.

[Follow her, ] Rowan said.

[No, ] Alpha Killian answered.

[Find out who hurt her.]

[Not here.]

The woman took her key card and moved toward the elevator. Her steps were steady, but her toes were white from the cold floor. The elevator doors began to close.

Alpha Killian moved before he had decided to.

His hand caught the doors. They opened, and she looked up.

Blue eyes. Bloodshot. Empty in a way that made something in his chest contract.

Alpha Killian knew fear. He had seen it in traitors dragged before Pack judgment, in businessmen realizing they had signed the wrong contract, in rival Alphas when Rowan showed his teeth. This was not fear. Not exactly. It was the look of someone who had already been hurt and had no room left to be surprised.

He stepped into the elevator and stood beside her, careful to leave space. Rowan hated the distance. Alpha Killian kept it anyway.

The elevator waited. She had not pressed a floor.

"Which floor?" he asked.

"Eighteenth."

Her voice was rough, but she did not lower her eyes. He swiped his black card and pressed the button. The elevator rose. Her scent reached him in fragments under soap, rain, and pain. Not perfume. Not practiced sweetness. Something clean, faint, and warm beneath the cold.

Rowan went utterly still.

Not with lust. With recognition.

Alpha Killian's jaw tightened. He did not move closer. He did not ask questions. A wounded woman did not need an Alpha filling a steel box with demands, even if every instinct in him wanted to turn the building upside down until someone named the person who had left those marks on her skin.

The doors opened on eighteen. She stepped out and thanked him without looking back.

Alpha Killian watched until the hallway swallowed her.

"Alpha?" Miles's voice came through the phone in his ear. "Should I continue the report?"

"No." Alpha Killian looked at the number glowing above the elevator. "Put a welfare note on the female guest who just checked in. No one gives out her room number. If anyone asks for her, security informs me before answering. If she calls the front desk, she gets priority."

A short pause. "Yes, Alpha."

"And send slippers, anti-swelling cream, and water to her."

"Of course." Another pause, more careful this time. "Do you want staff to deliver them?"

Alpha Killian looked at his own reflection in the elevator's polished wall. Cold eyes. Still face. The same face that had made Council elders sit straighter for eight years.

He should let staff deliver them.

Rowan's growl rolled through him, low and furious.

"Bring them to me," Alpha Killian said.

There were reasons people called him the Sterling Wolf. Some were exaggerated. Most were not.

At twenty, he had taken Sterling Pack from his father after a family challenge no one outside the inner circle still dared discuss.

Half the old Alphas expected him to fail.

Two years later, a high-ranking traitor sold border routes to rogues and tried to murder three patrol guards in their sleep. Alpha Killian did not ask the Council for permission to act.

The next morning, the Council received a video of a silver-gray wolf standing over the traitor's body at the edge of Sterling territory. The message had been simple: Sterling law protects Sterling blood.

No one called him a child after that.

They called him dangerous. They called him ambitious. They called him unmated like it was a disease waiting to spread.

At twenty-eight, Alpha Killian ran nine hotels, three resorts, and the most disciplined Pack in the northern region.

Council elders had begun sending him daughters wrapped in silk and political convenience. He had not wanted any of them.

Want was a messy word. Alpha Killian preferred control.

Then a barefoot stranger with bruises on her wrists stepped into his hotel, and control suddenly felt like a thin leash in his fist.

Miles brought the bag himself. He did not ask questions. Smart man.

Alpha Killian took the paper bag to room 1806 and knocked once. Inside, silence. Then soft movement. He saw the shadow shift behind the peephole.

"Good evening, Miss Crawford," he said, reading the name the front desk had recorded on the welfare note and nothing more. "Sterling Hotel provides basic guest care for visible injuries. You may refuse it."

A pause.

The door opened only a crack. The chain remained in place.

Good, Alpha Killian thought. She had sense.

Her blue eyes moved from his face to the bag. In her right hand, half hidden by the door, she held a glass bottle by the neck.

The corner of Alpha Killian's mouth almost moved. "Also a good choice. Aim for the temple if you need to."

For the first time, something like life flickered in her eyes. Not amusement exactly. More like disbelief that he had said that.

"I'll remember," she said.

He held up the bag. "Slippers. Cream. Water. No charge. No conversation required."

"That sounds like conversation."

"Then I'll make it short."

After another moment, she slid the chain free and opened the door enough to take the bag. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand. Ice cold. Alpha Killian's wolf surged toward the contact. Alpha Killian held him back so hard pain flashed behind his eyes.

"Thank you," she said.

His gaze dropped to the bruises on her wrists before he could stop it. The marks were shaped by fingers. Too large to be hers.

"Your face," he said carefully, "and your wrists. Do you need security or medical help?"

Her expression closed at once. "I had a fight with my husband."

"A fight," Alpha Killian repeated.

Her mouth curved slightly, but there was no humor in it. "That is the polite version."

"The polite version usually lies."

She looked at him then, really looked. Most people looked away when Alpha Killian's attention landed fully on them. Eira Crawford did not. Exhausted, hurt, wrapped in a blanket, she still held his gaze as if she had already survived something worse than him tonight.

"I'm handling it," she said.

He believed her. He also believed that handling something alone did not mean a person should have to.

"You should consider finding a good lawyer." The words came out sharper than he had intended.

A tiny shift crossed her face. Not surprise. Recognition. "Thank you for the advice. I already have one."

Of course she did.

Alpha Killian inclined his head. "Then I hope they're ruthless."

This time, the ghost of something almost like a smile touched her mouth. "She is."

The door began to close.

"Miss Crawford."

She paused.

"No one gets your room number from my staff. If anyone bothers you, call zero."

For a heartbeat, the guarded look in her eyes softened.

"Good night," she said.

The door closed. The lock clicked. Then the chain slid back into place.

Alpha Killian stood in the hallway for longer than necessary. Behind that door was a married woman with bruises, a lawyer, and eyes too empty for her age. None of that was his business.

Rowan disagreed.

Mine, the wolf said.

Alpha Killian's hand tightened around nothing.

No, he told the wolf. Not unless she chooses.

The answer did not calm either of them.

When the elevator arrived, Alpha Killian stepped inside and pressed the button for the top floor instead of the lobby. Miles called again before the doors fully closed.

"Alpha, are we continuing the inspection?"

"Temporary schedule change," Alpha Killian said. His voice had returned to its usual coldness. "I'm staying at Sterling Hotel for a few days."

"For the guest complaints?" Miles asked, far too carefully.

Alpha Killian looked at the glowing number eighteen as the elevator rose past it.

"For now."