Chapter 8: The Luna's Choice

Amelia’s P.O.V

The days of decadent indulgence and emotional turmoil had created a fragile bubble of peace around me. I had begun to accept the strange, intoxicating reality of my life—the way I was cherished and consumed by three powerful men who were as dangerous as they were devoted.

I was learning to navigate the currents of Luca’s steady love, Marco’s electric passion, and Dante’s brooding intensity. But the world outside the estate walls hadn't forgotten me. I was still a commodity in the eyes of the men who had put me on that auction block, and the greed of traffickers is a sickness that never truly sleeps.

It happened on a Thursday afternoon. The estate was unusually quiet, the air heavy with the scent of impending rain. Luca had taken the brothers into the study to discuss business, leaving me in the sun-drenched conservatory.

I was wearing a sheer, white silk slip that Luca had chosen for me, the fabric clinging to my curves and leaving little to the imagination. I felt safe, almost foolishly so, wrapped in the lingering scent of their musk that seemed to permeate every inch of the house.

The first sign of trouble was the silence. The birds in the garden suddenly stopped singing, and the distant hum of the city seemed to vanish. Then, the screaming started.

It was a guttural, panicked sound, followed by the unmistakable crack of gunfire. My heart leaped into my throat, the old terror of the auction house rushing back with a violence that made me gasp.

I scrambled to my feet, my breath coming in ragged hitches, as the sound of shattering glass echoed through the hallway.

"Amelia!"

Luca’s voice roared through the house, sounding more like a command than a call. I didn't think; I ran toward the sound, my bare feet slapping against the cold marble floors. As I rounded the corner into the main foyer, I froze.

The grand entrance had been breached. A dozen men, armed with tactical gear and high-caliber weapons, had stormed the estate. At their head was a man I recognized—the lead trafficker from the auction, a sneering bastard named Vane. His eyes locked onto me, and a predatory grin spread across his face.

"Well, look at that," Vane drawled, his voice dripping with malice. "The little prize has been pampered. I wondered who had the balls to outbid me for such a rare piece. Moretti, you’ve made a costly mistake. We don't like it when our merchandise is stolen, and we certainly don't like being humiliated."

I backed away, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I felt small, naked, and utterly vulnerable. The men began to fan out, their weapons trained on me, their eyes roaming over my body with the same disgusting hunger I had seen at the auction.

"Get her," Vane commanded. "Carefully. She's worth more if she's not bleeding."

As two of the mercenaries lunged for me, a sound erupted from the top of the stairs that didn't sound human. It was a roar—a primal, earth-shaking sound that vibrated in my very marrow.

I looked up and saw the brothers. They weren't the men I knew. They were standing at the landing, their bodies convulsing, their muscles bulging and ripping through their expensive suits.

I watched in sheer, paralyzed awe as their bones snapped and reshaped themselves in a gruesome, fluid motion. Their skin sprouted thick, coarse fur; their faces elongated into powerful snouts; their hands became lethal claws.

In a matter of seconds, the three men I loved had vanished, replaced by three massive, monstrous wolves.

Luca was a titan of a wolf, his fur a deep, commanding silver-white beast, his eyes glowing with a strategic, golden fire. Marco was slightly smaller but leaner, a charcoal grey beast with an agile, predatory grace. And Dante... Dante was a nightmare in fur, a pitch-black behemoth with eyes like burning embers, his presence radiating a cold, murderous hunger.

The shift was the most terrifying and beautiful thing I had ever seen. The sheer power emanating from them was suffocating.

The mercenaries froze, their confidence evaporating in an instant. Vane’s grin vanished, replaced by a look of sheer horror. "What the fuck are those things?"

The answer came in the form of a blur of silver fur. Luca leaped from the balcony, a thousand pounds of muscle slamming into the first line of attackers. He didn't just bite; he decimated. He tore through the men with a calculated brutality, snapping necks and crushing chests, his primary goal clearly to create a perimeter around me.

Marco was a whirlwind of grey, darting between the gunmen, his movements so fast they were almost invisible. He ripped throats out with surgical precision, his playful nature replaced by a lethal, protective instinct. He was a blur of teeth and claws, laughing in a guttural, canine way as he shredded the men who had dared to touch his Luna.

But it was Dante who truly terrified me. The black wolf didn't hunt; he slaughtered. He charged through the center of the group, a juggernaut of rage. He didn't avoid the gunfire; he took the hits, the bullets sinking into his thick hide, only to fuel his fury. He lunged at Vane, who was frantically trying to reload his weapon.

Dante’s jaws clamped around Vane’s shoulder, the sound of bone snapping echoing through the foyer. The trafficker screamed, a high-pitched, pathetic sound that was cut short as Dante slammed him into the marble floor, pinning him down with a paw the size of a dinner plate.

I sank to my knees, sobbing, the smell of blood and ozone filling the air. I was terrified, yes, but beneath the fear was a profound sense of awe. They were monsters, yes, but they were my monsters.

The battle was short and bloody. The mercenaries were no match for the primal power of the Moretti brothers. Within minutes, the foyer was a slaughterhouse, the white marble stained a deep, visceral crimson.

As the last of the attackers fell, the three wolves turned toward me.

The sight should have been frightening—three blood-stained predators looming over me—but as they approached, their energy shifted. The murderous rage vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, desperate need to protect.

Luca reached me first. He didn't growl; he let out a soft, whining sound, nuzzling his massive head against my shoulder, his tongue licking the tears from my cheeks. He was checking me for injuries, his golden eyes searching mine for any sign of trauma.

Marco leaped beside him, rubbing his grey flank against my legs, his tail wagging in a frantic, anxious rhythm. He was practically vibrating with the need to ensure I was safe, his eyes wide and soulful.

And then there was Dante. The black wolf stood over me, his body acting as a living shield, his eyes scanning the perimeter one last time before he lowered his head to press his forehead against mine. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the heavy thrum of his heart beating in sync with mine.

In that moment, I realized the depth of the risk they had taken. They hadn't just fought to win; they had fought with a reckless abandon that bordered on suicidal. Dante had taken multiple bullets to the chest to get to Vane; Luca had thrown himself in front of a spray of gunfire to keep the mercenaries away from me. They had risked their lives without a second thought, their only priority being my safety.

Slowly, the shift reversed. The fur receded, the bones clicked back into place, and the three men emerged from the carnage, naked and breathless, their skin smeared with blood.

Luca was the first to reach me, pulling me into his arms and crushing me against his chest. He was bleeding from a shoulder wound, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Are you hurt?" he gasped, his voice raw. "Amelia, tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay," I sobbed, clinging to him, my fingers digging into his muscles. "I'm okay. You saved me."

Marco wrapped his arms around both of us, kissing my temple with a desperation that broke my heart. "God, I thought... for a second, I thought they might have touched you."

Dante stood slightly apart, his chest heaving, a deep gash across his ribs. He didn't speak, but the way he looked at me—the raw, unguarded vulnerability in his eyes—said everything. He looked like a man who had almost lost the only thing that mattered in the world.

I looked at the three of them—the leader, the rogue, and the soldier—and the last of my resistance finally snapped. I didn't care that they were monsters. I didn't care that they were possessive or that our bond defied every law of nature.

They had bled for me. They had turned themselves into beasts to keep me safe.

I reached out, pulling Dante into the embrace, and as the four of us stood there in the middle of the blood-stained foyer, I knew there was no going back. I wasn't just their Luna by fate; I was theirs by choice. I loved them—all three of them—with a fierce, consuming passion that mirrored their own.

As we walked back toward the bedrooms to tend to their wounds, I felt a strange sense of peace. The world outside was dangerous, and the ghosts of my past would likely return, but I wasn't afraid anymore. I had three alphas guarding my heart, and I would do anything to keep them.