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Luna kneels in the community garden, morning sunlight catching in her fiery hair as she demonstrates the proper way to harvest yarrow without damaging the plant.

Around her, a small circle of pack members watch attentively—including, surprisingly, Elder Roberts' wife Margaret, who until recently wouldn't even acknowledge Luna's presence.

"The flowers and leaves both have healing properties," Luna explains, her hands moving with practiced grace. "But you want to cut them before the heat of the day, when the essential oils are strongest."

I lean against the garden fence, content to observe without interrupting.

It's been a week since the Cheslem attack, since Luna nearly died protecting our territory, since I learned I was going to be a father.

The pack is still healing—physically and emotionally—but watching this scene unfolds a quiet satisfaction in my chest.

"Could we use this in the healing salve for Sarah's burns?" Margaret asks, actually deferring to Luna's expertise.

Luna nods. "Combined with comfrey and a touch of witch hazel, it would speed healing considerably."

The interaction is small but significant. No snide remarks about "witch remedies," no subtle undermining—just respect for knowledge that might help the pack. These small shifts have been happening all week, as if Luna's courage during the attack finally opened eyes that had been deliberately blind.

Later, I find her in our quarters in the pack building—formerly mine alone, but it seemed pointless to maintain separate spaces after everything that's happened. She's organizing her books on a shelf I cleared for her, humming softly under her breath.

"Need help?" I offer, sliding my arms around her waist from behind, careful of the still-healing bruise on her back.

She leans into me slightly, a gesture of trust that means more than any words.

A mere week ago, this would have been unimaginable.

But we’ve been taking time to explore one another, to get comfortable.

And I’m willing to wait as long as it takes for her to get comfortable with me, in every possible way.

"Just finished, actually." Luna turns in my arms, studying my face. "You look tired."

"Border patrol debriefings." I rest my forehead against hers. "Everyone's still jumpy."

"Understandably so." Her hand comes up to touch my jaw, a feather-light caress. "Did you eat?"

The simple domesticity of the question tugs at something deep inside me. How many nights had I returned to empty quarters, duty fulfilled but nothing waiting except silence?

"I grabbed something earlier," I assure her, though truthfully, food had been the last thing on my mind. "How are you feeling?"

Her hand drifts to her stomach, still flat but carrying our secret. Well, not so secret anymore—we made the announcement to the pack three days ago. "Better. The morning sickness seems to hit more in the afternoon now."

I cover her hand with mine, marveling again at the faint magical signature I can detect. Our child, growing stronger each day. My wolf rumbles with satisfaction, with the primal need to protect what's ours.

"The garden group seemed to be hanging on your every word," I observe.

Luna smiles, still surprised by her changing position in the pack hierarchy. "Apparently, saving everyone from corrupted wolves earns you some credibility in herbal knowledge, too."

"You've earned more than credibility," I say seriously. "You've earned their respect."

Her answering smile is worth every hardship, every struggle, everything the world could possibly put us through.

***

Two weeks after the attack, Luna stands at my side in the Council chamber, officially recognized as my equal in pack leadership despite the mating ceremony still being on hold.

Victoria's doing, mostly—she insisted tradition could adapt to circumstance when necessary.

The rest of the Council agreed with minimal grumbling, which feels like its own kind of miracle.

"The information from the Black Pine Pack confirms what we suspected about the Cheslem Pack and the origins of the corrupt magic that overtook them," Thomas is saying, pointing to marks on the territory map spread across the table.

"There's a concentration of corrupted magic in the eastern valley, about fifty miles from our boundaries. "

"The source of the Cheslem corruption?" Elder Victoria asks, though her tone suggests she already knows the answer.

Thomas nods grimly. "Their scouts found what remains of three other small packs in the area. All showing signs of the same corruption."

A collective unease settles over the room. Luna's hand finds mine beneath the table.

"Could it spread here?" James asks the question everyone's thinking.

"The boundary wards should protect us," Luna answers, her voice steady.

I cut in. "But we should warn other packs in the region. This isn't over just because we defeated one immediate threat."

Luna nods once. I squeeze her hand, pride warming my chest. She's stepped into leadership at my side with a natural grace that many born to the role never achieve.

"We'll continue monitoring," I decide. "And reach out to allied packs about creating a joint research party. But for now—" I look around at the faces still bearing the strain of recent battles "—we focus on recovery and strengthening our own defenses."

The council meeting disperses, members breaking into smaller groups to discuss assignments. Luna remains beside me, studying the map with a small furrow between her brows.

"What is it?" I ask quietly.

"Just thinking about what my mother would do." Her finger traces the area where the corruption was found. "Her journal mentioned something about purification rituals for tainted land. I should review her notes."

"Later," I say, gently turning her away from the map. "You've been pushing yourself too hard."

She gives me a look that's half amusement, half exasperation. "Says the man who's been sleeping four hours a night since the attack."

I shrug, unable to deny it. "That's different.”

"Is it?" But she's smiling as we leave the council chamber together, her shoulder brushing mine in comfortable familiarity.

“It is.” I attempt a joke. “Thoughts of fatherhood can keep a guy awake like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve been looking up baby names half the night.”

It succeeds in making her laugh. That sound could make flowers grow.

Outside, Silvercreek bustles with afternoon activity.

Pack members nod respectfully as we pass—to both of us, I note with satisfaction.

Near the training grounds, I spot Melissa watching Luna with poorly disguised curiosity.

My sister has been making awkward but sincere efforts to connect with Luna since the attack, bringing her tea when morning sickness is at its worst, asking hesitant questions about her herb work.

"She's trying," Luna murmured the other day, after Melissa left. "I can appreciate the effort, even if we're never going to be best friends."

It's more than I expected from either of them, given their history.

"Alpha," a voice calls, drawing my attention. One of the younger pack members—Brady, I think—jogs toward us. "The supplies you ordered from Harbor Springs have arrived."

Luna looks at me questioningly. I try to keep my expression neutral, though anticipation bubbles beneath the surface. "What supplies?"

"Just something I thought might make you feel more at home," I answer vaguely. "Want to see?"

Her curiosity piqued, Luna follows me to the small building behind the pack house that once served as a groundskeeper's workshop. When I push open the door, her small gasp is exactly the reaction I'd hoped for.

The space has been transformed. Fresh paint brightens the walls, new shelves line one side, and sturdy tables provide ample workspace. But what makes Luna's eyes widen are the contents being unpacked from crates—her supplies from Herbal Haven, her workshop recreated here in Silvercreek.

"You did this?" she whispers, moving to touch the familiar mortar and pestle, the jars of dried herbs, the reference books she'd left behind.

"Ruby helped coordinate what to bring," I admit. "I wanted you to have your work, your space. Something that's yours."

She turns to me, eyes bright with tears she refuses to shed. "Thank you."

The words are simple, but the emotion behind them is anything but. I've learned that with Luna, the most meaningful sentiments often come in the smallest packages.

***

"There," Dr. Reynolds says, turning the small screen toward us. "That's your baby."

Luna's grip on my hand tightens as we stare at the grainy image. The tiny form is barely recognizable as human yet, but the rapid fluttering heartbeat is unmistakable. My wolf surges forward at the sound, protective instincts nearly overwhelming.

"Everything looks perfect," the doctor continues, moving the wand slightly. "Strong heartbeat, good position, proper development for ten weeks."

Ten weeks. Our child has existed for ten weeks, conceived that day at Shadow Creek when everything between us was still broken and confused. Yet from that chaos, this miracle.

"Would you like printouts?" Dr. Reynolds asks, already knowing the answer.

Luna nods wordlessly, her eyes never leaving the screen. I press my lips to her temple, too overwhelmed for speech myself.

Later, as we walk back to our quarters, Luna says quietly, "It's real now."

I understand immediately what she means. Before, the pregnancy was knowledge, an abstract concept. Now we've seen our child, heard its heartbeat, have tangible evidence of its existence.

"Scared?" I ask, my arm around her shoulders.

"Terrified," she admits with a small laugh. "But not in a bad way somehow. You?"

"Same." I glance down at the printout she holds carefully, as if it might dissolve if handled too roughly. "I need to read you my list of names. You need to tear it apart.”