North’s POV

I didn’t remember when I fell asleep.

One moment I was beneath him—claimed, full, undone—and the next, I was weightless. Floating. Boneless in his arms.

Now, I woke slowly.

Not to pain. Not to fear. But to warmth.

Johan was cradling me in the aftermath like I was made of glass and fire. His hand was splayed wide against my lower back, steady and slow, thumb brushing little circles over my spine as if coaxing me back into my body. My legs were tangled with his. Our scents, no longer separate, were thick in the room—crushed wild moonflowers, iron, rain, and storm. The air almost shimmered with it.

My throat ached faintly where he had bitten me. Marked me.

Mine, he had said.

And I had let him.

My fingers clenched softly in the linen at my side. Every part of me felt too tender and too raw, and yet I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t hiding. The bond… it pulsed gently under my skin now. Not a chain. Not a trap.

A tether. A quiet hum between us. Ancient and new all at once.

I turned my head and found him already awake, eyes half-lidded, heavy with sleep but fixed on me like I was the only thing that mattered.

“Morning,” Johan murmured, his voice gravel-sweet, wolf-laced.

I blinked slowly. My throat was dry. My voice caught on the first try.

“Is it… still morning?”

Johan gave a low chuckle and pressed his nose to my hair. “Barely. Just past eleven.”

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t, not yet.

Because his hand had just moved—down, then up, trailing along the small of my back again, and it made me feel like all the skin there had lit up under his touch. As if my body remembered him too deeply now to ever forget.

I shivered.

“You’re cold,” he said, pulling the edge of the blanket higher around me.

“I’m not,” I whispered.

He paused. The quiet between us settled like dust.

“I meant what I said,” Johan said, voice suddenly low and real. “You’re mine. But it’s not something I’ll take for granted.”

I didn’t know what to say. Not yet. Not when my chest was so full of stormlight and fear and strange, aching safety.

Instead, I lifted my hand and pressed two fingers gently to the bite on my neck.

It burned. But not in a way that hurt. It felt more like… the seal of something I hadn’t known I was missing.

Johan’s eyes tracked the movement, then returned to mine.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked softly.

The question was too honest. Too vulnerable coming from someone so powerful.

I shook my head once. Just a little.

“No,” I said, hoarse. “Just… don’t talk for a minute.”

He obeyed. He always did when I asked softly like that.

We lay there like that for a long time—our breaths syncing, our hearts almost in rhythm. I could still feel the faint ache in my hips, the tremble in my thighs, the throb between my legs—but it wasn’t shameful. It was real. It was mine.

And when I finally fell back asleep, head tucked under his chin, I dreamed of wildflowers.

Not crushed beneath rain—but blooming in it.

___________

The mansion felt different now.

It wasn’t louder. It wasn’t brighter.

It was just… watching me.

Not with suspicion. Not anymore.

But with attention. With awareness.

As if the walls themselves had exhaled the moment Johan marked me—finally, finally—and now the house was adjusting to something it had long been waiting for.

I sat in the private sitting room outside our chambers, half-draped in a soft robe that still smelled like him, tea cooling untouched between my hands. My legs were sore. My throat carried the ghost of his teeth. And the mark on my neck—it pulsed every now and then like a second heartbeat.

Outside, I could hear voices. Not frantic. Not fearful.

Just… reverent.

I was Luna now.

Officially.

No longer the wild thing in the garden. No longer the skittish omega with secrets in his ribs and starlight in his blood. I had been claimed. Chosen. Bound in the oldest of ways.

The bond between Johan and me thrummed like a wire strung through every part of me.

He was near. Not in the room, but not far.

He was never far now.

There was a knock. Polite, hesitant.

I didn’t answer right away.

Then—

“It’s Phoon,” came the voice, muffled and hopeful. “Dao and Easter are with me. We brought your favorite—moonmilk dumplings. Don’t be mad.”

I blinked. Some tension in my chest unwound a little.

I stood, slow and careful, and padded barefoot to open the door.

The three omegas were standing there like they’d been caught mid-conspiracy, arms full of snacks and folded linen and what looked like a small carved box.

Phoon took one look at me and immediately tried to pass me a dumpling. “Emergency sugar infusion?”

Dao elbowed him gently, then reached out to touch my arm. “Can we come in?”

I didn’t speak. I just stepped aside.

They entered like sunlight—quiet, warm, careful not to take up too much space but filling the room anyway. Phoon set everything down with dramatic flair. Easter was already fluffing pillows on the chaise. Dao pressed a warm dumpling into my hand like it was a talisman.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said, voice quieter than I meant.

They all looked at me.

“I don’t know how to be a Luna.”

Dao smiled gently. “You don’t have to know. You just have to be.”

Phoon added, “We’ll teach you the secret handshake later.”

Easter stepped closer, eyes warm. “The whole pack already feels it. The bond. It changed everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re claimed,” he said softly. “We felt it ripple through the territory like thunder. Not fear. Not dominance. Just—recognition. Our wolves knew it before we did.”

I lowered my eyes. “I feel different.”

“Good different?”

“...Scary different.”

Phoon crouched near the hearth, poking at the embers. “Scary means something’s changing. Doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

I sat down slowly. The dumpling was warm in my palm. I took a small bite. Sweet milk. Soft skin. It grounded me more than I wanted to admit.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Dao said, sinking beside me. “You’re already ours.”

Ours.

The word dug beneath my skin and settled in my lungs.

And that’s when Johan walked in.

No warning. No footsteps. Just the scent of him crashing into the room like a fresh storm.

Everyone turned.

But his eyes were only on me.

My breath caught.

He was dressed differently now—something ceremonial in the way his shirt clung to his broad shoulders, the black and steel of it echoing the alpha bloodline. But it wasn’t the clothes that made my pulse skip.

It was the way he looked at me.

Like I was something holy. And his.

“North,” he said, and that was all it took.

I stood. Slowly.

The omegas fell back without being asked, fading to the edges of the room like shadows respecting the sun.

I met him halfway, unsure why I moved at all.

He stopped in front of me.

Lifted a hand to brush my hair back from my forehead.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said, voice too soft. “But it’s okay.”

I didn’t answer.

And then—Johan bent without warning and kissed my mark.

In front of everyone.

His lips brushed it once, slow and claiming. A press, not a bite. But it sent a shock through me so deep my knees nearly gave.

“Johan—” I whispered.

He wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me fully against him, possessive and gentle all at once.

“I couldn’t wait anymore,” he said against my skin. “They’ve been whispering about you all morning. Our Luna. My Luna. But I haven’t even touched you since morning.”

“You’re touching me now,” I said, voice barely steady.

“Not enough,” he growled.

Phoon made a strangled noise in the corner. Dao cleared his throat. Easter tried very hard not to giggle.

But Johan didn’t care.

He kissed the mark again. And then lower—dragging his mouth along the curve of my throat in a line that felt more like a promise than possession.

My whole body locked up, unsure how to move. How to breathe.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against my collarbone. “And I’ll keep showing you until it feels safe.”

My hands gripped his arms. Not to push away. Not really.

But to hold on.

His wolf was too close to the surface. And mine was starting to rise to meet it.

“Johan,” I said again.

This time, not a warning.

A name.

A surrender.

But before the moment could deepen, Phoon loudly announced, “We’re going to go stand in the garden now. For privacy. Or dignity. Or survival.”

The three omegas vanished in a flurry of giggles and muffled laughter.

Johan didn’t move.

I didn’t either.

“Breathe,” he said.

“I am.”

He looked down at me with something between reverence and hunger. Then kissed my forehead once.

“You were always mine,” he said. “Even before the bond. Even before the name.”

And for once—

I didn’t argue.