Page 40 of A Reign of Malice (Wolves of Lunara #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

SLOANE

W alking among the wolves today is nothing like I imagined it would be. I’ve done it before, countless times in Alcaris, among my own people. But this is different. These aren’t just wolves preparing for a shift in leadership or some change in law. They’re wolves ready for war.

Most of them looked at me and Julian as if we’re the spark they’re clinging to.

The one they’re choosing to follow straight into the fire.

Their eyes tracked us as we moved through the sanctuary.

Some were cautious. Others reverent. A few looked as though they hadn’t yet decided what to believe, but they’re here.

That’s something. Hell, that’s everything because they’ll be safer in this mountain than nearer to the castle.

Even now, as we walk toward the room we were shown earlier, I sense the underlying peace, see it in their relaxed shoulders, in the way they nod when we pass.

They’re ready for what comes next, not because they were ordered, but because they believe in what we’re trying to do. In what we’re trying to protect .

And yet, every step I take brings the weight of their trust down on my chest. Half of these people are ready to fight, to bleed for their pack, maybe even die, all because I said this was the right thing to do. That’s not the kind of responsibility I take lightly.

Julian brushes his hand against mine as we slow to a stop just outside the main cavern again. That simple touch steadies me, tethering me to the moment instead of letting my mind spiral toward what might go wrong. Because right now, we don’t have time to fear. Only to act.

As if summoned by the shift in my thoughts, Clara appears, flanked by two younger wolves dragging several large crates behind them. Her blonde braid rests neatly over one shoulder, but her cheeks are flushed with exertion and pride.

“I knew if these people had built all this,” she says with a wave of her hand, “they were likely prepared for many scenarios, including war, which means they’d need clothing fit for warriors.

Though, I may have had some adjustments done to a few of them while you were busy.

Between what they already had and what we could scavenge, I think you’ll like what’s been put together. ”

I raise a brow as she unclasps the lid of the first crate and flips it open. Inside, folded neatly and cleaner than I’d expect for having been made underground, are stacks of dark leather and reinforced fabric. Not royal garb, nothing flowy or gilded. No, these are clothes made for battle.

Armored corsets. High-necked, sleeveless tunics with reinforced stitching across the chest and spine.

Leggings woven with protective threading and slots for blade sheaths.

A belt already prepared with throwing daggers rests beside a set of leather bracers etched with the symbols for three of Lunara’s kingdoms .

Clara looks up at me, smile soft. “I thought at least one item should reflect all of you. Not just Alcaris. You’re fighting for more than one pack now.”

Isla appears over my shoulder and lets out a low whistle. “Now this is something I can kick some ass in.”

Estee walks in behind her, eyes scanning the crates. “Battle couture. I approve.”

Clara pulls out a set from the crate and holds it up to me. “Outfits for all the queens and kings are ready. We didn’t know how long we’d have, but there was no way I was sending you into a fight looking like you were headed to a coronation.”

I take the clothes from her slowly, the material cool and dense in my hands. “Clara, you went above and beyond with these. You didn’t have to do this.”

She lifts her chin. “Of course I did. This is what you wear when you go to show the world who the hell is in charge.”

I laugh, the sound soft but genuine. “Then I hope you brought boots too.”

She grins. “Obviously.”

Isla grabs her set next. “Damn, we’re going to look terrifying.”

“You don’t need leather to accomplish that,” Estee says with a wink as she runs her fingers down one of the embroidered bracers. “We’re not just fighting for our people tonight. We’re rewriting what it means to be queens in Lunara.”

My gaze meets theirs—Clara’s, Estee’s, Isla’s—and then Julian’s, who’s watched silently thus far. There’s a coiling in my chest, tight and unrelenting. But it isn’t fear. It’s purpose and gratitude. The unshakable loyalty and love that roots me to this moment .

“We’re not just rewriting it,” I say, voice low but certain. “We’re claiming it.”

Isla closes the space between us and pulls me into a fierce embrace. “Damn right we are.” She flashes a solemn smile. “I’m going to bring Asher his clothes and get dressed. We’ll see you above ground soon?”

I nod, the knot in my stomach drawing tighter. “We leave within the half hour.”

Estee steps forward next and wraps her arms around me without a word. We don’t need them. I squeeze her back then watch as the two of them move out with the unspoken understanding that the next time we stand side by side, it will be to face our enemies.

Clara eyes the crate again then bends down before tossing items to Julian. “I hope you didn’t think we’d left you out.” She grins then turns to the two wolves flanking her. “Get the rest of these to the others as quickly as you can.”

They move swiftly and without question.

Clara sets her gaze on me, all fire and steel. “Noen and I will also be watching your back tonight.”

I open my mouth to object, but she holds a firm hand over my lips.

“Don’t even start. You’re my queen, and I respect you with every breath in my body, but this is non-negotiable.” Her eyes simmer, her voice harder than iron. “I’ve been beside you through every rise and fall. I’m not stopping now.”

She pulls back, and all I can do is smile because she’s right.

I can’t take this from her. If something happened to me, she’d never forgive herself for not having my back.

Just as I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to her, but we can’t live in fear of what might be.

That’s something she taught me long ago .

“We’ll see you soon,” I tell her proudly as she picks up the crate to continue passing out clothes.

Julian’s at my side the second she turns away.

He doesn’t speak, just guides me down the corridor toward our room with his hand placed gently on the small of my back.

The moment the curtain closes behind us, he takes the clothes from my arms, sets both outfits aside, and without warning, pins me to the wall with a quiet ferocity that steals the breath from my lungs.

His body presses close, his palm cupping my jaw, thumb brushing beneath my bottom lip. “Within the hour, you’ll be using yourself as bait,” he murmurs, voice rough.

I nod slowly. “It’s the only way.”

“I hate it,” he says, resting his forehead against mine. “But gods, I’ve never respected anything more than what you’re doing today. You’re walking into the fire to end this for all of us. For them.”

His fingers curl around my hip, anchoring us both.

“I believe in you,” he breathes. “But I swear to the moons and the stars above, if something happens to you tonight?—”

“It won’t,” I interrupt, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. “You’ll be right behind me. I’ll feel you in every breath, every heartbeat. And when this is over, we’ll have more than just these quick moments. We’ll have time. All of it.”

His kiss is fierce and unyielding. There’s no hesitance, no uncertainty. Only fire. Only love.

His mouth moves with a hunger that borders on worshiping, like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every sigh, every flicker of warmth.

His hands are firm on my waist then they slide upward, curling around my ribs as if he’s trying to anchor himself inside the space where my heart beats wildly, only for him .

The kiss deepens, and I surrender fully. My fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently as his body moves closer, heat radiating between us. He tastes like promise, like fire and desperation tangled with devotion. Every brush of his tongue against mine is a vow, unspoken, undeniable.

He holds me like I’m the last breath of air he’ll ever take, like I’m his salvation and his ruin all at once. There’s almost a hopelessness in the way our mouths meet again and again, like he’s terrified of letting go, like he’s burning this moment into his soul in case it’s the last.

My back presses into the wall and his lips trail down my jaw to the hollow beneath my ear, drawing a shudder from my throat.

My nails scrape lightly down the muscles of his back, feeling them tense beneath my touch.

The way he holds me—possessive, protective, priceless—makes my heart ache with the depth of everything we haven’t yet said.

When we finally pull apart, gasping and trembling, he cradles my face as he brushes his thumbs over my cheekbones like I’m something fragile. All the while, his kiss has just shattered me completely.

“Promise me,” he says, voice low and thick with emotion. “Promise me we’ll have more than this.”

“We will,” I vow. “There’s no other future I’m willing to accept, or even imagine, now that I’ve found you.”

His forehead rests against mine as he exhales. “Then I’ll see you at the end of this. And when it’s over, you’re mine, Sloane.” His voice breaks. “All fucking mine.”

“Forever.”

We stay like that for a moment longer, two warriors bound by something even war can’t tear apart. His touch still lingers on my skin, the phantom warmth of his lips a constant thrum over my own .

Reluctantly, we give each other space to dress for the evening.