The Alpha's Secret Luna

Chapter 13

The heavy wooden door to the room creaked open, and a woman stepped inside without acknowledging anyone. Her movements were confident, purposeful, like she owned the space despite the hushed air filled with tension.

Lysander's sharp breath caught as he straightened up, the weight of her presence unmistakable. "Brynhild," he said quietly but with unmistakable relief, eyes flicking nervously between her and the others.

Sophia's gaze shifted to the newcomer, Brynhild. Even through the dim light, she was breathtaking. Her dark brown skin contrasted beautifully with the thick braids that framed her face, some strands pulled up into a tight knot while the rest cascaded down her back. Interwoven among the thick braids were colorful feathers and bits of cloth, subtle ornaments speaking of tradition and status.

Sophia's eyes couldn't help but wander lower, where Brynhild's pregnancy was unmistakable, a large, rounded bulge beneath her leather coat. She didn't dare speak of it, though, only wondering quietly how Brynhild moved with such grace despite the obvious weight she carried.

Brynhild's silver eyes, pale and almost luminous, swept the room with quiet authority, resting briefly on Sophia, though without a word of introduction. Sophia noticed the long, jagged scar running from just below Brynhild's left eye down her cheek, a mark that seemed less a flaw and more a testament to battles fought and survived.

Without glancing at anyone else, Brynhild's gaze immediately locked with Lysander's. Her tone was calm but demanding. "Why am I only just hearing now that she's awake? And that you let me sleep for so long?"

Lysander shifted under the weight of her stare, clearing his throat as he prepared to answer. "You needed the rest," he said simply.

Brynhild's lips pressed tightly together. "That's the only excuse you have?" She asked him.

Her sharpness did not go unnoticed by Ronan, who was seated nearby. His easy grin took over his face. If there was one person that could make Lysander cower, it was his wife.

"Really? But Lysander said you were already awake when he was asked." Ronan said.

Lysander glared at him, willing him to shut up but Ronan ignored him, his eyes dancing with mirth. Lysander was not getting out of this one.

Brynhild turned slowly toward her husband, who lowered his gaze as if avoiding the intensity of her question. Her silver eyes narrowed.

"Really? You lied to them?" She asked him.

"Baby…"

"Lysander, you don't need to treat me like an egg just because I'm pregnant." She said to him,

"It's the last trimester. You need to be careful."

"I've been careful for seven whole fucking months with you breathing down my back. The eighth shouldn't be that special."

Lysander's voice softened, but he kept his serious expression. "It's my duty to make sure you're safe. You're strong, Brynhild, but there's much at stake."

She shook her head, the remnants of a smile barely touching her lips. "I still feel fine, and you can stop treating me like a frail child."

Sophia watched them both, struck anew by how different they were physically. Lysander was tall and broad, muscles rippling beneath his worn tunic; his stature commanded respect without effort. Brynhild, in contrast, was lean and muscular but small, lithe, more like a dancer than a warrior, but with a lethal aura that might surprise anyone who underestimated her. Her two swords rested at her sides, each sheathed and cleverly hidden beneath her cloak.

As Brynhild finished speaking, she pulled her cloak tighter around her, the fabric falling smoothly over the hilts of her weapons, masking their presence.

Orion, who had been watching the exchange silently, spoke finally. "Brynhild, you're coming with us."

Without hesitation or protest, she nodded. "I'm ready."

"Wait," Ronan spoke up. "That's it?"

"What?" Brynhild asked him.

"You are just going to let it go?" He asked her.

"We'll settle it alone and without your nosy self." She said to him,

Ronan groaned in pain, while Orion fought a smile.

Sophia felt an odd mixture of awe and curiosity. Brynhild's voice, when she now spoke in a calm, low tone, seemed to wrap around her like the warmth of a hearthfire. It was soothing, rich with quiet strength, the kind of voice that made you listen even before realizing what you were hearing.

Orion, reading the unspoken questions in Sophia's eyes, gestured to her. "Put this cloak on." With no more explanation, he removed the heavy black cloak from over his shoulders and draped it around Sophia.

She shivered as the rough fabric slid over bare skin but was suddenly enveloped in warmth, not just from the wool, but from the scent. Earthy, smoky, and uniquely his; the scent pulled at her senses and, despite herself, a small part of her wanted to lose herself in it. It was comforting in a way she despised yet needed. She fought the temptation to breathe it in deeply, to hide in the familiar smell and forget the cold, the doubt, the emptiness.

Brynhild watched quietly, a subtle smile on her lips, as Sophia adjusted the cloak around her. "Better," she said simply.

The four of them moved out through the heavy doors and into the snowy morning. The air was crisp, biting at exposed skin, the faint sun veiled by thick clouds. The snow-covered trees stretched around the path like silent guardians.

As they walked, Brynhild continued speaking softly to Sophia. "I'm captain of the guards here. It's my responsibility to keep everyone safe. And I'm sure you already know my name since my big mouthed husband said it."

Sophia glanced up at her, caught between admiration and shyness. The woman's presence was calming, commanding respect without a word of command.

"Yes. But a woman is captain of the guards?" Sophia asked curiously.

"What? I look too weak?" Brynhild asked her.

Sophia laughed. "Weak?" She pointed at Orion. "Now that's weak, not you."

Brynhild chuckled at that. They walked together until they reached the shrine.

Before them, the Moon Goddess's shrine rose in pale stone, its surface glowing faintly in the weak sunlight. The structure was elegant and ancient, the smooth, curved walls etched with faded carvings telling stories older than memory. Around the shrine's base, vibrant flowers bloomed despite the cold, their petals dusted by delicate frost.

Sophia inhaled sharply. The sheer beauty of the place caught her whole attention. Stones worn smooth by centuries, arches rising like whispers toward the sky, and statues of women carved with serene faces that seemed to watch over everything with gentle grace.

The chill in the air deepened as if the shrine breathed with history, magic imbuing each crack and curve. It was a place both timeless and filled with quiet power.

Sophia continued to take in the beauty of the shrine and it wasn't until Orion spoke up that she remembered there was a reason why she was here in the first place.

"So?" Orion asked her, his deep voice reaching her.