MIDNIGHT HOWL
Freya
Only sixteen days remain until the Blood Moon Conclave.
I don’t have much time left to gather a witness circle, pack members who will, with their hearts, offer their support to me during the Severance.
I count carefully. There are nine werewolves already gathered.
Nine. That’s how many I needed to successfully attempt the Severance.
But… I don’t know how many of them truly respect me, and don’t just fear the change that has started to occur in this pack.
I’m sure some have come only out of curiosity. Like Vanya.
Tamsin’s here. And Brin. Jax is not there yet. But he will come. My brother will come to support me.
With bated breath, I wait, and one by one, wolves walk in, filling the courtyard lit only by torches in the night. I can barely believe this is really happening. That I’m attempting something no Luna has attempted in two decades.
Letting out a long sigh, I make my way down the stairs. Frost silvers the grass at the borders, and torches burn low.
Tamsin falls in step beside me. “Word spread faster than we expected.”
“Good,” I say.
Jax meets us halfway across the yard. His posture is careful. “Alpha doesn’t know yet.”
“He’ll know soon enough,” I answer.
Jax nods. He understands what I mean: this is not a rebellion. It’s a reminder.
The wolves shift and murmur restlessly. Some bow their heads; others don’t. I recognize many faces—warriors I healed, omegas who stopped meeting my eyes a long time ago. They stand in the cold now because their Luna called them.
I climb the low ridge that overlooks them. The grass crunches under my boots. When I reach the top, I remove my cloak and let it fall. The cold bites into my skin, but it sharpens my voice when I speak.
“Silvercrest wolves,” I say. “You remember the last time the moon called us together?”
No one answers. Only the wind moves.
“Twenty years,” I continue. “Twenty years since a Luna stood before you and spoke to the moon first. Since a woman led this pack without waiting for permission.”
Nyx stirs beneath my skin, her growl a low drumbeat.
I lift my chin. “Tonight, I don’t ask for loyalty.
I demand instinct. You know what that means.
” I walk along the ridge, meeting eyes, testing them.
“When the Alpha commands, you obey. When your Luna calls, you answer. Those are the laws of Silvercrest. They are older than the lady of the house, older than me, older than every false smile in our keep.”
Tamsin stands behind me like a wall of iron. “They hear you, Luna,” she murmurs.
“I know.”
I let Nyx push forward until our breaths mingle, until the pulse of the pack hums in my blood. Then I raise my face to the moon and let the howl tear through me.
It’s not soft or pretty. The sound cuts the air like thunder, shaking the torches, carrying through the valley. It’s the voice of a Luna who’s done being silent.
For a heartbeat, the yard holds still. Then the first wolf bows its head and howls back. Another joins. Then ten. Then thirty. The sound spreads outward, rolling through the trees, through the hills, through every vein of this cursed land.
I can feel them—their hearts syncing to mine, the bond knitting back together where it had been poisoned and frayed.
Nyx roars in triumph inside me. ‘They remember where they come from. They remember they are connected.’
I lower my head, my breath coming out ragged. The howls keep rising, carrying our scent, our strength, our defiance.
When the noise finally fades, the wolves drop to one knee, heads bowed. The silence that follows is louder than the noise.
I step forward, voice even. “You have answered your Luna. Remember this feeling. The Moon Goddess favors those who do not cower.”
A young warrior—barely out of training—speaks from the front. “Will the Alpha punish us for this?”
“If he does,” I say, “he punishes loyalty to the pack. This is not a rebellion that I’m stirring. This is me reclaiming my position, reminding you all that I’m your Luna.”
Jax crosses his arm over his chest, bowing low. “Luna.”
Kade forbade everyone from using the title, but now his most loyal beta does it.
The others follow, one by one, until the entire front half of the field is on their knees. The rest—those who came only to watch—don’t move. I don’t force them. I just meet their eyes and say, “You’ll come next time.”
I pick up my cloak, sling it over my shoulders, and walk down the ridge.
As I pass Jax, he leans close. “You’ve taken half the pack back tonight.”
I shake my head. “Not half. Enough.”