The Wolfless Contract Luna (Grace and Ethan) novel Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: White Wolf Dream**

**Grace’s Perspective**

The moment Damien’s name blares across my phone screen, a rush of anxiety grips my stomach. It twists and churns, a sharp wave of nausea that hits me out of nowhere, making it hard to breathe.

With a deep breath, I answer, forcing my voice to remain steady, devoid of the turmoil roiling inside me.

An oppressive silence hangs in the air, stretching on for what feels like an eternity. I can hear him on the other end, his breathing uneven and hesitant, as if he hadn’t anticipated that I would actually pick up the call.

Then he asks me if Ethan is with me, and the question catches me off guard, sending a jolt of confusion through my veins.

I glance over at Ethan, who is sitting beside me, the remnants of blood still drying on his temple. He taps the wound lightly, a deliberate gesture, then shakes his head, signaling that he isn’t going to speak.

I relay to Damien that Ethan is currently being treated and is not here at the moment.

I can almost feel the palpable relief pouring through the phone line from Damien—unmistakable and almost pitiful in its intensity.

But then, just as quickly, his tone shifts. It hardens, morphing into something sharp and viciously familiar. He warns me not to utter a word to the Elder Council, threatening dire consequences if I do. He demands that I return to Darkrock immediately once this ordeal is over.

A blaze of rage ignites within me, white-hot and consuming.

Before I can muster a response, Lilith’s voice pierces through the background, laced with disbelief.

And just like that, the line goes dead.

I stare at the phone, hands trembling with a mix of anger and frustration.

He thinks I’ll crumble under pressure. He thinks I’ll crawl back to him like a beaten dog.

The mere thought makes my jaw clench so tightly that it sends a jolt of pain through my teeth.

Ethan’s hand covers mine, warm and steady, a grounding presence in the storm of emotions swirling around me. His other arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me against his chest, offering a sense of security that I desperately need.

“I heard everything,” he says softly. “Don’t let Damien get to you.”

I want to push away, to create some distance, to remind myself that this is merely a contract. But his scent envelops me—pine, smoke, and an inexplicable sense of safety—and I find myself unable to move.

I can’t bring myself to want to move.

My voice emerges as a whisper when I finally say, “Damien is going to fight this. He’s going to make everything harder.”

Ethan’s arms tighten around me. “I’ll handle it. All of it.”

A warm sensation unfurls in my chest—hope, perhaps. Or trust.

Both are dangerous feelings to entertain.

I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. His golden eyes are locked onto mine, fierce and protective, and for a moment, I feel invincible.

The word “thank you” barely escapes my lips, but it carries the weight of everything I’m feeling.

His hand reaches up to cup my face, his thumb brushing gently against my cheekbone. The contact sends a jolt of heat racing down my spine, igniting something deep within me.

Then, almost reluctantly, he shifts the conversation back to the contract. He explains how signing it would simplify everything, how it would allow him to protect me properly.

In an instant, the warmth dissipates, replaced by a chilling wave of dread.

The contract. Again.

An icy flood washes through my veins, erasing the sense of safety I had only moments ago.

I pull back slightly, creating space between us, and ask, “Why are you so eager for me to sign?”

His expression flickers with something unreadable. He tries to explain that he’s helping me, but I push further. I point out how he keeps bringing it up, demanding to know what he isn’t telling me.

Silence envelops us like a heavy fog.

His eyes hold mine, and I can see something flicker within them—frustration, perhaps guilt—but he remains silent.

Suspicion coils in my stomach, cold and poisonous.

What does he truly want from me? What secrets is he keeping?

I shift further away, crossing my arms defensively. “I need time to think. Alone.”

His hands flex on his thighs, as if he longs to reach for me but restrains himself. Finally, he nods, though I can sense the tension in the air.

The remainder of the drive unfolds in uncomfortable silence, each passing moment thick with unspoken words.

When we arrive at Stellarnight at nine o’clock, the manor looms before us, a magnificent structure against the night sky, resembling a fortress—massive, imposing, and breathtakingly beautiful. It speaks of generations steeped in power.

This is real power.

Not Damien’s petty cruelty masquerading as strength. This is something entirely different.

A man stands waiting at the entrance. I recognize him from the banquet—Ethan’s Beta.

Ethan introduces me, and the Beta repeats my title as though testing its weight, surprise flashing across his face before he welcomes me formally.

There’s something about being called Luna here—in this place—that makes it feel real, in a way it never did at Darkrock.

It’s as if I might actually be someone worthy of the name.

They briefly discuss the attack. Ethan orders investigations and demands increased security. I watch him command with an effortless authority that leaves me in awe.

He could have anyone. Any Luna. Any pack alliance.

The thought circles back to the same question: Why me?

His hand settles on the small of my back, guiding me inside, and I feel a flutter of warmth at his touch.

The guest suite is nothing short of spectacular.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook moonlit gardens, and the room is adorned with rich fabrics and polished wood—everything elegant without a hint of ostentation.

The way he says goodnight—low, rough, as if it costs him something to leave—makes my stomach flip.

The door closes softly behind him, and I am left standing alone in the center of the room.

What am I doing?

This man saved my life. He protected me. He brought me here when I had nowhere else to go.

And yet, I’m questioning his motives as if he were the enemy.

But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something he’s not telling me. Something crucial.

Something that explains why he is so desperate for me to sign that contract.

My gaze drifts to the nightgown lying across the bed, the silk gleaming in the soft lamplight—seductive and dangerous.

I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my face, still smell his scent lingering in the air.

My body aches with a desire I have no right to feel.

I need to focus on what truly matters: the Council hearing, the divorce, Aurorawisp.

I force myself to look away from the nightgown and move to the desk, pulling out my phone.

Legal documents flood the screen—werewolf divorce law, inheritance law, pack merger statutes.

I need to grasp every loophole, every precedent, every technicality.

The hours blur together as I read, my eyes burning as the words start to bleed together, losing their meaning.

I rest my head on the desk, just for a moment, allowing myself a brief respite.

In my mind, a wolf stands in a field of snow.

Its fur is pure white, unblemished and pristine. When it turns to look at me, its eyes are the color of emeralds—vivid, impossibly green.

My eyes.

The wolf takes a cautious step closer, then another. It doesn’t speak, but I hear a voice nonetheless, soft as falling snow.

“Soon.”

I try to move toward it, but my feet refuse to obey. The wolf watches me, patient and knowing.

“Soon,” it repeats.

Then, the snow begins to swirl, rising up around us, and the wolf vanishes into the white.

“No! Don’t leave!”

“Who are you?”