The Last Shadow Luna

Gerald’s POV

I stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, the city sprawled out beneath me like a glittering toy kingdom I no longer cared about. Dawn had broken hours ago, painting the sky in muted greys and golds, but the view brought me no peace. An emptiness gnawed at the center of my chest, a completely foreign feeling. For thirty-two years I had ruled the North with iron control, bending my inner lycan to my will until it was little more than a weapon I wielded at will. Now that same beast paced and snarled inside me, restless with a sense of loss so sharp it felt like someone had carved a piece of my soul out in the night.

Who the hell was she?

The question had circled in my mind since I walked away from that hotel bed and left her sleeping. I had told myself it was just the drug, just one night, just another warm body to burn the fire out of my system. But my wolf refused to accept that. He paced and snarled, demanding we go back, demanding we find her. The ache of her absence was sharp enough that I had to press a hand to my chest to steady myself.

The door opened behind me.

“My king,” Caius said, his voice carefully neutral. My head of security knew better than to show fear, but I could smell the tension rolling off him. “The woman from Room 14… she’s gone. And she left no traces.”

The glass of whiskey in my hand shattered. I hadn’t even realized I was squeezing it until the crystal exploded and amber liquid mixed with blood dripped down my fingers. The pain that shot through me felt distant and irrelevant.

“Find her,” I said, my voice deceptively calm. Inside, my wolf was roaring. “I don’t care what it takes. Every camera, every contact, every damn fingerprint in that room. I want her name, her pack, her scent trail. Everything.”

Caius nodded once and left without another word.

Alone again, I stalked into the marble bathroom, intending to wash the blood and whiskey from my hands. Something in my reflection stopped me cold. There, just below my jaw on the side of my neck, was a faint but unmistakable mark—crescent-shaped bruises from small, fierce teeth. She’d bitten me in the height of passion, hard enough to leave evidence even on my skin.

A low, surprised chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. Amused. Of all the reactions I expected—rage, confusion, hunger—this faint spark of amusement caught me off guard. The little wolf had marked me. Me, the Lycan King. Most women trembled at the thought of even touching me, yet she’d sunk her teeth in like she had every right.

“Bold little thing,” I muttered, tracing the mark with my fingertips. It tingled faintly, warm under my touch. My wolf preened, the restless ache easing for a split second. Mate, he whispered in the back of my mind. I shoved the thought down hard. Fated bonds didn’t form after one drug-fueled night with a woman whose face I could barely piece together in the haze of memory. This was impossible and dangerous to even think about.

But the emptiness remained.

---

Two days later, back in the cold stone walls of my northern citadel, the obsession had only grown. I paced the war room like a caged animal while reports piled up on the massive oak table. My spies had turned the city upside down. Nothing. She had vanished like smoke. The only traces left were her fingerprints lifted from a champagne glass, the lingering scent on the hotel sheets that still drove my wolf insane every time I caught a whiff, and a maid’s hesitant report: the woman had carried the faint aura of a suppressed wolf and had been wearing old, fine pack silk beneath that cheap dress.

A werewolf. Hiding in plain sight, right under my nose.

I slammed my fist on the table, cracking the wood. “Bring Helen Ashmoor to me. Now.”

Helen arrived pale and trembling, her usual calculated confidence nowhere to be found. She dropped into a deep curtsy, but I could smell the fear-sweat on her skin.

“You arranged the aphrodisiac that night,” I said softly, dangerously. My golden eyes pinned her in place. “Hoping to bind me to you. To elevate your status.”

She broke quickly under the weight of my gaze, confessing everything in a rush of tears and excuses. She had planned it all—drugging the drinks, ensuring I ended up in that room with a “suitable” woman who turned out to be far more than she bargained for. I didn’t know this for sure before now, it was only a guess that she has just confirmed.

What Helen wanted was power, and me all to herself. Hot rage settled over me.

“You are stripped of all titles and privileges,” I declared, voice echoing through the hall. “Banish her to the borderlands. She lives, but she will never again set foot in civilized territory.”

Helen’s eyes flashed with pure hatred as guards dragged her away, but I felt nothing. My thoughts were already elsewhere—on her.

Later that evening, one of my senior spies burst into my chambers with a data pad. “We have something, my king.”

Grainy security footage from the hotel lobby filled the screen. And there she was.

Even in the low-quality image, she was stunning—dark hair tousled, cheeks still flushed from our night, eyes wide with something between panic and determination as she fled into the grey morning. My wolf surged forward so violently I had to grip the edge of the desk to stay upright.

Mine.

I studied every pixel of her face, memorizing the delicate curve of her jaw, the way her lips pressed together in resolve. Something deep inside me clicked into place, sharper and more determined than ever before. This wasn’t just lust or the aftermath of a drug. This was more.

“Find her,” I ordered quietly, my voice carrying the weight of absolute command. “Comb every city, every pack, every backwater town if you have to. But no one touches her. No one frightens her. Bring me her location and nothing more. She is to be treated with the utmost care.

He bowed and vanished to carry out my will.

---

Far away, in a cramped bathroom in another city, Catherine stood before a foggy mirror, adjusting the cheap wig and colored contacts that formed her meager disguise. She was trying—desperately—to forget that night. To forget him. The way his body had felt moving over hers, the way his voice had rasped “mine” against her skin, the impossible pleasure that still haunted her dreams.

She pulled her shirt aside to check the bite mark, muttering under her breath. “Just fade already, you stupid—”

The mark on her shoulder suddenly flared to life, glowing with a soft, golden light that illuminated the entire dingy bathroom like a fucking lantern.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” she hissed, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I’m trying to move on, pretend the Lycan King didn’t ruin me for any other man, and now you decide to light up like a goddamn beacon? Really? Thanks for the subtlety, universe. Could you make it any more obvious that I’m carrying around a walking advertisement for ‘Property of Gerald Draven’?”

She slapped a hand over the glowing mark, but the light pulsed warmly against her palm, mocking her. Her wolf inside purred in contentment.

Catherine groaned, leaning her forehead against the cool mirror. “This is going to end so badly.”

But even as she said it, a traitorous part of her wondered how long it would be before the King of the North came for what he had already claimed.