Chapter 13 – Confirming His Luna by Eyes Novel

Filed to story: Confirming His Luna by Eyes Novel

Tristan

I shouldn’t have snapped at Mark. I’m glad it seems to have put an end to the discussion around my mate, but I shouldn’t have reacted that way. When I saw the look on the girl’s face when Mark spoke of her, when I noticed the way she shrank into herself, her shoulders sagging under the weight of shame and uncertainty, something inside me broke.

The sun is beginning to set over the mountains. After the girls went downtown and I went over some pack affairs with Nico and Mark, I’d gone for a run in the woods. I needed to blow off some steam or, at the very least, unleash my wolf long enough that it would settle within me.

By now, Amara, Lucy, and the violet-eyed girl must have returned.

I step out of the shower, feeling refreshed from the hot water after my run. Drops of water roll down the curves of my muscles, and my chin-length brown hair is slicked back, my skin glistening with moisture. I wrap a white towel around my waist as there’s a knock at the door to my room. Even from here, I can smell her, her scent like lilies and morning dew.

“Come in,” I call, stepping out of the bathroom.

She peers her head around the door, cheeks flushing when she notices my current state of undress.

Shit.

I should have thrown on some clothes first.

“What is it?” I ask as she hesitantly steps into the room and closes the door behind her.

She’s dressed in a terra cotta-colored blouse that has a relaxed and flowy silhouette, with billowy long sleeves that are gathered at the wrists. The neckline is scooped, allowing a hint of skin to show, and the hem is tucked into a pair of high-waisted khaki pants, which sit comfortably on her waist and hug her curves. The pants have a slim-fit design that tapers down to her ankles, showcasing a pair of brown ankle boots made from soft leather with a low block heel and delicate lacing up the front.

It fits her perfectly, and I can’t help but smile in approval at her appearance. “I’m glad Lucy didn’t go overboard getting you a new wardrobe,” I tell her as she lingers past the doorway. “You look good.”

She tucks a strand of golden hair behind her ear, glancing down self-consciously. “Oh, she did,” she says softly, her lips curling slightly with tender amusement. “She picked out over a dozen outfits for me, and… I just wanted to say thank you.”

My eyes narrow, though the faint smile remains. “For unleashing Lucy on you? I’m sure it made her day. I’m just sorry you had to put up with being her living dress-up doll.”

“No, it’s not that; I didn’t mind it,” she says quickly, her tone still gentle and breathy with delight. “Lucy said you paid for everything. And…” she hesitates again, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. “Earlier today, when Mark asked about my name, and before that—the other night—you came to check on me. You gave me my own room and let me work in the garden. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for any of it.”

I frown for a moment, unsure of what to say to that. I never expected her to thank me for any of it. I dragged the girl away from her home and into an uncertain future. Trying to make her feel at home is the least I can do. “What did you think I was going to do? Drag you to my pack and throw you in a dungeon?”

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine, and for a second, she looks like she’s about to say yes, but then she tears her gaze away and simply shakes her head.

Something nags at the back of my mind, and a very stupid idea begins to take form. “Mark had a point today, you know,” I say slowly, and her brows furrow. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, but he’s right about the fact that we don’t know anything about you.”

She takes an instinctive step back, folding her arms across her midsection. “What do you want to know?”

“How about we play Lucy’s game? I’ll trade you a question for an answer.”

She quirks her head to the side, considering my words. “Because the last time we played it, it went so well?” she asks, not with malice or sarcasm but with an innocent sort of dismay.

“Consider it a redemption round,” I counter, and she smiles.

I walk over and take a seat at the edge of my bed. She hesitates for a moment, eyes scanning the room as she weighs her options. Finally, she walks over and joins me, the mattress shifting under her weight as she sits beside me.

“Ladies first.”

“Why do they call you the Rogue Alpha? I know there are rogues in your pack, but when you first arrived at Oscar’s mating ceremony, they called you the Exiled King. Is it just because you lead an unconventional pack?” she asks at last.

“They call me that because I used to be a rogue wolf myself. When the Alpha of the Rovers died, things got… complicated,” I reply, rubbing the back of my neck as my muscles tighten uncomfortably at the memories. “I spent a few years on my own, and when I eventually returned and became the new Alpha, I opened the doors of my territory to all lone wolves and outcasts who longed for a pack.”

She looks at me with curiosity in her expression, her purple doe eyes narrowing slightly, but she does not press for more.

My turn.

“What about you, little flower?” I say carefully, my tone measured, “Everyone has demons, especially in a pack full of mutts and misfits. But the other night, when you screamed in your sleep…” I trail off. I take a slow breath, resisting the urge to curl my hands into fists, and finally ask, “What haunts your dreams?”

I expected her to stiffen. I expected her to hunch over and curl up or flinch and move away, but she just sighs as if she’s not surprised by the question, just saddened by it. “Bad memories make for bad dreams,” she mumbles, almost to herself. “I have nightmares about the past. My role in the Bane pack was… complicated.”

Something burns in my chest, and in the depths of my mind, my wolf growls at the thought.

It’s not a full answer, but then again, neither was mine. We’re both being careful, and though this is originally Lucy’s game, it does not feel like we’re playing.

“How did you end up living in a magic house?” she asks, her lilting voice sounding a little higher as she moves on to the next question. Anger still simmers within me at the implications of her answer, but it dulls at the flicker of awe on her face as she speaks. “The enchantment on the Villa du Lac is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

An easy question. This time, I give her the full answer. “My father was a merciful Alpha. When I was just a boy, a wounded witch wandered into his territory. His Beta wanted to kill the sorceress for trespassing, but my father chose to spare her. He believed it was a leader’s duty to protect those who could not protect themselves. He offered her shelter until she recovered. To thank him for opening his home to her, she cast a spell on it before she left, so this house would take care of itself while he took care of others.”

She nods, looking around the room as if she can somehow see the spell on the walls.

I lick my lips, the next question dancing on my tongue. “Why did you agree to come away with me?”

**************************************

I clench my jaw, wringing my hands at his question. I should lie, flatter him and praise the life he’s given me. But as his amber eyes peer into mine, I cannot bring myself to try. Somehow, I don’t have the energy, don’t have the will to deceive him.

“I didn’t think it was much of a choice,” I reply at last.

He frowns, and I can tell it’s not the answer he was hoping for. “I would not have forced you to come. If you had rejected me, I would have respected that and walked away.”

“I know that,” I say quietly but quickly, and it’s true. At least, I know that now. From the moment I met Tristan, I felt the urge to trust him, but I didn’t go with him because of that. “But Viktor wouldn’t have reacted well. He… he gave me to you, and even if you had let me stay, my uncle would not allow me to embarrass him like that.”

Something wrathful flashes through his eyes, but the anger in his expression is different. I get the sense that it’s not because of my answer; it’s not even because of me. He’s furious at what might have been done to me.

“I had no idea you were Viktor’s niece. When I saw his son raise a hand to you, I wanted to tear it off.”

“Hey,” I whisper, my hand instinctively reaching for his. When he doesn’t pull away, my fingertips brush the tops of his knuckles with a soothing touch. “It’s my turn,” I say softly, and some of the irritation softens on his expression.

“What do you want to know?” he asks, and he turns his hand so his palm is pressed against mine, looking down as our fingers entwine.

“You told the others my role here is simply as your guest, but… what does that mean? Are we going to have a mating ceremony?”

He tilts his head, pondering the question, and my heart skips a beat at his reply. “Do you want there to be?”

I blink in surprise and bite my lower lip. “I don’t know what I want,” I say finally. Honestly.

No one has ever bothered to ask me before.

He brushes his thumb over the back of my hand, and his eyes darken in a way that has nothing to do with anger. I can all but taste the words he’s biting back.

I think I can guess what he wants.

He tugs on my hand, and I shift on his bed beside him as he pulls me toward him. He turns to me, guiding me onto his lap, and I straddle him, wrapping my legs around him and letting my limbs naturally follow his movements. I’m painfully aware of the towel hanging from his hips, shivering at our closeness.

He drapes my hand around his neck, his gaze trained on mine the entire time. He’s warm against me, a few lingering droplets clinging to his tan skin. My pulse quickens, a flush spreading under my cheeks and lower in my body. His eyes flicker down from mine and linger on my lips, and I feel my breath quicken. His attention moves further down and he leans forward, burying his face in the nook between my neck and shoulder.

His mouth grazes over my skin, hot and silky. His lips part, and I tilt my head back, melting and swaying under his attention as he kisses my neck. Both of my hands are wrapped around the back of his neck now, my fingers tangling in his silky chestnut hair.

I nearly gasp as he drags his teeth gently against my skin, my toes curling, but then the pain returns.

There’s a burning sort of cold in my chest, sharp as an icy blade over my heart, and everything inside me stiffens in a sudden flare of fear. I pull back, palms pressed against his bare chest as I push Tristan away, sucking in air as I struggle to breathe through the stinging.

“What?” he asks, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. “What is it?”

I’m shaking slightly as I crawl off his lap, untangling myself from him. He makes no effort to hold me back, but he clenches his jaw as I stagger away from him.

“I- I can’t…” I manage.

“I would never have forced you to leave with me, but you did agree to it,” he says, strained and impulsive. “The moment I met you, I gave you a choice, but if you’re going to refuse me, then you should have just rejected me.”

“I should go,” is all I can muster up. My head is spinning as the freezing ache in my chest recedes, and before he can reply, I stumble toward the door, bolting out of his room.

I make my way back to my room, too dizzy and sore to process what the hell just happened. I close the door behind me and throw myself onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow. After a moment of silence in the blackness of the empty room, and roll over, scratching the crescent birthmark under my collarbone and staring at the ceiling while my heartbeat slows back down.

I don’t remember at what point the pain faded. I don’t remember crawling under the covers and falling into a dreamless, fitful slumber. But one way or the other, sleep crashes over me, and nighttime washes away the mixed emotions of the day.

****

The next morning, when sunlight streams in through the glass doors, I have to drag myself to consciousness, straining against the urge to let my aching bones melt into the bed. There’s a metallic aftertaste in my mouth that lingers even when Lucy comes to fetch me for breakfast.

I sit with her and Nico on the veranda, drinking fresh squeezed orange juice and savoring a buttery croissant. No sign of Tristan.

Even if I did see him, I’m not sure I’d know what to say. How can I explain what happened last night when I don’t even understand it myself?

For a second, it seemed like we were dangerously close to crossing a line I can’t quite define. As I smear jam onto the croissant while Lucy talks about the bakery downtown, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t felt that strange stinging in my chest.

For the first time in my life, someone asked me what I want… but what if I want what I can’t have?

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