Two and a half years after her rejection, Luna stood in her clinic's garden at sunset, tending to the medicinal herbs she grew for her practice. The physical work of gardening helped quiet her mind after challenging days, and today had been particularly difficult.
She had lost a patient for the first time—an elderly alpha who had been brought in too late after a massive heart attack. Despite her enhanced abilities, despite pushing her powers to their absolute limit, she hadn't been able to save him. The man's devastated widow kept thanking Luna for trying, which somehow made the failure hurt even more.
"I should have been able to do something," Luna murmured to the evening air, pulling weeds with perhaps more force than necessary. "What good are these gifts if I can't save everyone?"
"Because you're a healer, not a god."
Luna spun around, startled to find Seraphina standing at the garden gate with two cups of coffee and a concerned expression.
"Sorry," Seraphina said, letting herself into the garden. "I called out, but you were lost in your own world. Dr. Moonwhisper told me about Mr. Peterson. I thought you might need a friend."
Luna accepted the coffee gratefully, sinking onto the wooden bench she had installed among her lavender plants. "I keep replaying it in my mind, wondering if there was something different I could have tried, some technique I missed."
"Luna, the man was eighty-seven years old and had ignored chest pains for three days before his family forced him to seek help," Seraphina said gently, settling beside her best friend. "Dr. Kim said his heart was so damaged that conventional medicine couldn't have saved him either. You gave his family extra time to say goodbye—that's not nothing."
"It feels like nothing," Luna replied, staring into her coffee cup. "These powers, whatever they are, keep growing stronger. I can do things now that should be impossible. But I still can't conquer death itself."
"Good," Seraphina said firmly. "The day you start thinking you can conquer death is the day you stop being the Luna I know and love."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the first stars appear in the darkening sky. Finally, Seraphina broached the subject Luna had been dreading.
"David Chen asked me to give you this," she said, pulling a small envelope from her purse. "It's his fourth invitation in six months, Luna. The poor man is starting to think you're avoiding him specifically."
"I am avoiding him specifically," Luna admitted, taking the envelope but not opening it. "Sera, I know you mean well, but I'm not ready for this. I may never be ready."
"It's been two and a half years," Seraphina said carefully. "Don't you think it's time to at least consider the possibility that not all men are like Marcus?"
Luna stood up abruptly, pacing to the edge of the garden where her grandmother's memorial roses bloomed in abundance. "You don't understand. It's not just about Marcus anymore. I've built a life that works for me—my clinic, my patients, my research into traditional healing methods. I don't need the complication of romance."
"Need and want are different things," Seraphina observed. "When was the last time you wanted something for yourself that wasn't related to work?"
The question caught Luna off guard. She tried to remember the last time she had felt genuine desire for anything—a vacation, a new dress, a romantic evening, even just a lazy day reading for pleasure instead of professional development.
"I want to save more patients," she said finally.
"That's still work-related. I'm talking about personal desires, Luna. Dreams that are just for you."
Luna couldn't answer because the truth was too frightening to voice. She had stopped allowing herself personal desires because desires led to hopes, and hopes led to heartbreak. It was safer to focus on things she could control—her skills, her knowledge, her reputation as a healer.
"I should go," Seraphina said when it became clear Luna wasn't going to respond. "But Luna, think about what I said. You're twenty-six years old. You have so much life ahead of you, so much love to give and receive. Don't let Marcus steal that from you too."
After Seraphina left, Luna remained in the garden until full darkness fell. The night air was cool against her skin, carrying the scent of her herbs and the distant sounds of pack life—children being called in for dinner, adults settling down for the evening, the comfortable rhythms of a community at peace.
She thought about David's invitation, which she knew without opening would be for another dinner, another attempt to get her to lower her guard and let him in. He was persistent, she had to give him that. And kind. And patient with her obvious reluctance.
The problem wasn't David. The problem was that Luna had built walls around her heart so high and thick that she wasn't sure she could tear them down even if she wanted to. The girl who had once loved with reckless abandon, who had dreamed of mate bonds and forever love, felt like a stranger now.
That night, Luna dreamed of her grandmother for the first time in months. Moira Nightwood appeared as Luna remembered her—silver-haired and gentle, with knowing eyes that seemed to see straight through to the soul.
"Child," her grandmother said in the dream, "you're so focused on healing others that you've forgotten to heal yourself."
"I'm fine, Grandma," dream-Luna protested. "I'm successful, respected, independent—"
"You're surviving," Grandma Moira corrected. "But surviving isn't the same as living. I gave you gifts to heal the world, not to hide from it."
"I'm not hiding. I see people every day, help them, connect with them—"
"As a healer, yes. But when was the last time you connected with someone as just Luna? When did you last let someone see your fears, your dreams, your heart?"
Dream-Luna looked away. "It's too risky. I won't be broken like that again."
"Oh, sweet child," her grandmother said with infinite compassion. "You think you're protecting yourself, but you're just imprisoning yourself in a cage of your own making. The heart that refuses to risk love is already broken."
Luna woke with tears on her cheeks and her grandmother's words echoing in her mind. Outside her bedroom window, dawn was breaking over the pack lands, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that reminded her of hope.
She lay in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling and thinking about walls and cages and the difference between surviving and living. Finally, she got up and padded to her kitchen, where David's invitation sat unopened on the counter.
With trembling fingers, she tore open the envelope.
Dear Luna, the note read in David's careful handwriting, I know you're busy, and I know you've turned down my previous invitations. But there's a traveling theater troupe performing in the next town over this weekend—a comedy about bumbling werewolves trying to start a restaurant. I thought it might make you laugh, and you have the most beautiful laugh I've ever heard. If you're not interested, I understand, but I hope you'll consider giving us both a chance. —David
Luna read the note three times, surprised by its thoughtfulness. He wasn't asking for a romantic dinner or an intimate evening. He was offering laughter, lightness, a chance to remember what it felt like to simply enjoy herself.
Before she could lose her nerve, Luna picked up her phone and dialed David's number. It went to voicemail, which was probably for the best—she might have hung up if he'd answered directly.
"Hi, David, it's Luna," she said to the machine, her voice shaky but determined. "About the theater performance... yes, I'd like to go. Call me back with the details."
She hung up quickly, her heart pounding as if she'd just performed major surgery. It was just one evening, she told herself. One small step toward remembering how to be something other than Dr. Luna Nightwood, miracle healer.
Maybe it was time to find out if the woman underneath the white coat was still capable of living, not just surviving.
As she prepared for another day at the clinic, Luna caught sight of herself in the mirror and was surprised to see something she hadn't noticed in years—a faint sparkle of anticipation in her green eyes.
It wasn't love, and it certainly wasn't the wild hope she had once felt for Marcus. But it was something. A tiny crack in the walls she had built, letting in the first ray of light she had allowed herself in over two years.
It was, perhaps, a beginning.
The question was whether she was brave enough to actually do it.