Chapter 9 – Confirming His Luna by Eyes Novel

Filed to story: Confirming His Luna by Eyes Novel

That night, all the beauty and comfort of my room in Tristan’s villa can’t keep my demons at bay.

In my dreams, I was back in my uncle’s pack house, tending to the garden. It sounds strange, but I was at my happiest with soil under my nails and sweat on my brow, hunched over a flower bed. When I heard footsteps approaching, I set down the rusted old water tin, frowning at the familiar sound.

My cousin rounded the corner, followed by two of his friends. One of them was the girl that would become his future mate, and the other I recognized as the Gamma’s eldest son. He was a low-ranking lackey of the pack that liked to follow Oscar around like a lost pup, scrambling for scraps of his approval. One of the easiest ways to obtain that approval was by tormenting the one person in the pack who ranked even lower than he did, assuming I mattered enough to the Banes to rank at all.

I lowered my head, keeping my eyes trained on the flowers at their feet.

In dreams, time and season do not matter, and all the blossoms were in full bloom. Poppies flowered next to chrysanthemums and petunias, filling the air with a scent that became sickly rather than sweet as the dream became a nightmare, mixing with memories that were all too real.

“What do we have here? A witch tending to her weeds,” the Gamma’s son snickered.

“Oh please, don’t insult witches like that,” Oscar retorted. “The mutt doesn’t have any powers. At least if she were a witch, she’d be interesting.”

“Didn’t her mom go crazy and kill herself? Maybe she realized her baby was cursed, and that’s what drove her insane,” cooed the girl by his side, quirking her head to the side in a catlike motion, like a predator examining its prey. “Or was it the childbirth that killed her?”

“Either way, it was probably the mutt’s fault.”

The words cut deep, not just because of the malice behind them but because I could not refute them. No one knew for sure what drove my mother mad, and for all I knew, it could very well have been me.

You tell yourself that people are kind and decent, you tell yourself the world is good, and then life proves you wrong.

I tried to shrink away from them, but Oscar and his friends closed in, their laughter ringing in my ears. They thrived off of each other, their taunts becoming crueler and more cutting.

“Maybe her father knew she was a cursed freak, too,” said the girl, tapping her chin as if pondering the possibility. She took a step forward, stomping carelessly over the flowers. “That’s why he abandoned her and refused to mate with the mother.”

The petals were crushed underfoot, the stems snapped in two, and the soil churned up. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and my hands were shaking. I couldn’t take my eyes off the destruction, feeling like it was a reflection of my own shattered self-worth. My eyes stung with unshed tears for the soft, pretty things that grew from the earth.

Did it feel good? Did it make her feel beautiful to crush something pure? Did it make them all feel strong and safe to destroy that which is different from them?

The urge to fight back was there, muted and choked down but still burning like the last flickering ember of a fire that refused to entirely go out. But my voice was stuck in my throat. I was paralyzed by my own experiences, unable to move or speak.

The Gamma’s son stepped forward, eager to get a word in. He reached out and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me up from where I was crouched among the flowers’ remains. I winced in pain, but I was too scared to even cry out. I knew there was no point.

You can only get knocked to the ground so many times before you inevitably learn to stay down.

I could feel my cousin watching him in approval, which only egged him on further. My heart was pounding in my chest as he tightened his grip on my arm. I could feel bruises forming where his fingers dug into my flesh. I was trapped, and there was nothing I could do to escape.

“Aw, look, the mutt got dirt on her clothes,” he hissed, tearing at the hem of my shirt with his other hand. I tried to stagger away from him, but I tripped over the ruined garden. He yanked on the shirt as I fell backward, the fabric ripping as I landed in the battered soil. Surrounded by the broken petals of the daisies I had so carefully tended to, I wrapped my arms across my chest to cover myself.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, my cousin shifted into his wolf form. He bared his teeth and growled, his eyes glowing with malice. Behind him, Oscar’s girlfriend shifted uncomfortably, her expression growing distant. Her eyes glazed over with boredom. It was easier than seeing what was being done to me. Apathy is softer than horror, quieter than guilt and shame, comfortably close to numbness. They say sticks and stones are the worst of it, but I can tell you that I would choose words over teeth and claws any day.

Oscar was massive in his wolf form, his fur a dark, mottled grey. His eyes were a burning, rabid shade of yellow, and his muscles rippled under his fur as he moved, making him look even more fearsome. As he growled, his ears flattened against his head, and his elongated jaw revealed sharp fangs.

His breath came in frenzied pants, the sound sending shivers down my spine. There is nothing more frightening than a cruel predator, one that has abundant time to tear its victim apart and play with the pieces.

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the impact, but it never came.

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Tristan

She won’t even tell me her name.

I pace around my room. The space is open, with high ceilings and large windows that let in plenty of light during the day. The decor is practical and comfortable, with clean lines and neutral colors. A plush, king-sized bed dominates one wall, inviting and cozy, opposite a cluttered desk on the other side. A fire crackles in the background, filling the room with a pleasant warmth that doesn’t quite soothe the ice in my veins.

I can feel my frustration growing with each step, building as I pace back and forth, my arms crossed over my chest. This girl, with her haunting eyes and timid stance… she’s my damned destiny, and she won’t tell me her name.

I run my hand through my hair, fingers sliding through the wavy brown locks that fall just above my collar. After an insufferable amount of pacing, I stop in front of the window. The crescent moon casts a soft glow on the Rovers’ village, illuminating the quaint buildings and winding roads built into the mountainside.

There’s a knock at the door, and the wolf within me stirs at the sound, but I shove down its hope, scolding myself. The scent coming from outside my room is a familiar one, and it’s not my mate.

Before I can even answer the door, Amara lets herself in with a grave expression. “That could have gone better,” she says matter-of-factly, and I shoot her an unamused glare. “At least she ran to her room and not off the property entirely.”

Amara closes the door behind her, turning to examine me. Her words are of little comfort. Even if the girl tried to flee the villa, she wouldn’t make it far. Once she got out of town, she’d find the harsh and unforgiving terrain of Silvertooth Peaks. I’ve spent my fair share of time as a lone wolf, so I know these lands like the back of my hand, but she’d be lucky to make it halfway back to her old pack.

The idea that she’s trapped here makes something twist unpleasantly in my gut.

“You, on the other hand, don’t seem like you’re handling this whole mate business very well,” Amara points out.

Out of everyone that could have knocked on my door, I’m glad it’s her. Amara may be Mark’s mate, but she is as much my Beta as he is, if not more. She’s just as stoic as her husband and twice as clever. She has a quiet sense of authority; something ancient and nameless swims in the depths of her dark eyes.

“What am I supposed to do, Amara?” I growl, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. She’s not the one I’m mad at, but anger has a way of blurring lines. “She won’t talk to me. I don’t even know her name. Sophie said this girl is my destiny, but as far as I can tell, she can barely stand to be in the same room as me.”

“Are you sure Sophie is right about her?”

I arch a brow at Amara. Sophie is our Seer. Her visions have saved our pack countless times, and we all learned a long time ago not to doubt her premonitions. “You know Sophie. Has she ever been wrong before?”

“Maybe her vision was about another strange girl with violet eyes living with an enemy pack…”

I step away from the window, leaning on the nearby wall as I look at Amara with curious amusement. “Was that a joke? Are you making jokes now?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” she says with a catlike smirk. She walks along the edge of the room, the flames burning in the fireplace reflected in her large pupils. “You know you can just ask the house to heat itself, right? It’s the twenty-first century, and you have an enchanted mansion. You don’t actually need to light a fire.”

“What can I say? I’m an old-fashioned guy.”

She scoffs. “You, Trystan Lyall, are the least traditional male I’ve ever met, and I know Nico.”

Nico is an eccentric young man, the Rover’s Gamma. He’s not as strong and strategic as Mark, nor as cunning and resilient as Amara, but the boy is brilliant. Clumsy, awkward, and a little overeager, but brilliant nonetheless.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say.

She does not reply, instead turning her attention toward the window beside me. “Perhaps your new guest just needs a bit of time to adapt,” she says at last, her words slow and calculated. “Maybe, just maybe, that girl had her whole world turned upside down far more than you did. She’s been ripped away from her home, her family, her pack, from everything she’s ever known. She’s in a new land surrounded by a foreign pack and a brooding Alpha, and I daresay we haven’t made the best first impression.”

She’s not wrong. I rub the back of my neck, massaging the tensed muscles as I say, “I told Mark to behave. I’m going to kick his ass for this.”

“Let me handle my mate,” Amara coos, the ghost of a smile now dancing over her lips. Her patience and tenderness toward Mark will never cease to amaze me. “You worry about your own.”

That’s the problem— I am worried. But I just grunt in agreement, glancing back at the fireplace.

“Mark is just trying to look after you, you know. We all trust you have your reasons for what you did, but you have to understand that he doesn’t see you just as his Alpha. None of us do. You’re family, and if something were to happen to you…”

“I know,” I say softly, a hint of remorse seeping into my tone. She seems to note it with a curt nod before moving on.

“Mark will get over it. We all will, so just give the girl some time. She’ll warm up to you when she’s ready.” She makes her way toward the door, glancing over her shoulder before leaving. “You had a long journey, and it’s been a difficult day. Get some beauty sleep, my king. You look like shit.”

I chuckle as she winks before vanishing into the hall. “Lovely speaking with you, Amara, as usual,” I mumble, but she’s already closed the door behind her.

The room is quiet once more, save for the sound of the crackling fire and footsteps on the hardwood floor as I resume my pacing. Deep within me, my wolf lets out a growl, frustrated and restless. I refuse to acknowledge its stubborn urge, this persistent desire to protect this girl I barely even know. I pause in my pacing by the side of the bed, running a hand over my face. I need to calm down, to think. I can feel the tension in my muscles, the knot in my stomach. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind as I sit on the edge of my bed.

I’ll deal with this tomorrow.

With a reluctant sigh, I take off my shirt and get ready for bed, deciding that Amara was right. Some sleep will do me good, and my problems will still be here tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll have better luck facing them after some rest.

But then something gnaws at the back of my mind, and a sudden sound cuts through the night like the bow of a ship slicing through dark waters. In a heartbeat, I’m on my feet, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. Any trace of logic or self-control slips out the window as I realize what the noise is.

Somewhere in the house, that shy, silent girl with soulful eyes is crying out in pain.

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