His Banished Luna

Knife to throat

ALEXANDER

I’ve had my fair share of the shittiness life throws at you.

But the most remarkable one was five years ago.

A day that started out innocently enough, morphed into a day I’ll forever look back on with nothing but regret and utter sadness.

That was also the last time I set eyes on her.

The day Emmaline’s parents died, and their deaths couldn’t be helped

.

They couldn’t be saved.

In fact, the only reason she’s alive today is because of me.

Five people were there that day, and only two of us know the truth about what really happened.

And if that’s a burden I have to carry to protect her, then it’s one I’ll gladly bear till I take my last breath.

Because if she were ever to find out what really happened…

Then I’m certain she’d never forgive me.

Years have gone by, and I’ve forced myself to watch over her from the shadows, always at a distance, always unseen. My only duty is to protect her.

And that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.

Ruining a day that should have been the happiest of her life.

Her wedding.

I step into the chapel before the ceremony can begin, and the look that crosses her face when she sees me—

It’s like being punched in the gut.

The air shifts.

Everyone goes silent, breath caught, eyes darting between us.

Her brother pales instantly

.

Dante, though… he goes red with rage, his hands curling into fists, his glare cutting through the space between us.

I act before I think.

It’s not like I had a plan when I decided to crash this wedding, but now—

Now that she’s standing here, looking like something carved from light and defiance—

Instinct takes over.

Before anyone can react, before even I can second-guess it, I move.

And I mark her.

Now, she’s standing right in front of me.

My eyes follow her slender fingers as they touch the fresh mark on her neck—

my mark.

Disbelief floods her face.

I see it clearly against her pale skin, dark and claiming.

A symbol that she’s mine.

But her eyes—Goddess, those eyes—

They blaze.

Hatred. Disgust. Rage.

She doesn’t need to speak. Everything she feels is written there.

She hates me.

And that’s fine.

I’d rather she hate me than be completely shattered.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That her fury is worth it if it keeps her alive.

Because when I found out her brother sold her off to Dante Mancini—

That she was going to marry that monster—

I saw red.

I might be a monster myself, but Dante?

He’s something worse.

He hurts for fun.

And I wasn’t going to let him touch her.

Never.

“The disrespect,” Dante growls, stepping toward me once he finds his voice.

“You had no right! She was my bride. Mine to take.”

Without a word, I lift a hand.

Enzo moves immediately. The doors open, and our men enter—each one carrying a heavy box.

They stack them in front of Dante.

Then they open them.

Cash.

Stacks upon stacks of it.

More than he’s ever seen in one place. More than Emmaline could ever be worth on paper.

But to me, she’s priceless.

No number could ever measure what she means.

I meet his eyes, my voice flat.

“I’m sure that’ll suffice.”

His gaze flickers to the money. His jaw tightens. I can see the war inside him—his greed and his pride wrestling for control.

It doesn’t take long.

Greed wins.

“Nice doing business with you,” he mutters finally, waving a hand toward Emmaline like she’s some object he’s finished using.

I want to break his jaw.

But I don’t. Not here.

The priest is shaking when I turn to him.

“Start,” I say.

He stammers but obeys.

The ceremony begins—this time with me standing next to her.

Emmaline looks like she wants to run, but her legs won’t move.

She’s somewhere between fury and disbelief.

She tries to speak, to protest—

But I see it.

The moment the fight drains out of her.

The way her shoulders drop.

The second she gives in.

They pronounce us husband and wife.

Then comes the part I’ve waited years for.

“You may kiss the bride.”

I move in slowly, brushing my lips against hers.

For a heartbeat, she’s still.

Then her teeth sink into my bottom lip—hard and fast.

I taste blood. The metallic tang spreads across my tongue.

And I almost smile.

She still has the same fire. The same fight.

She hasn’t changed a bit.

Luca tries to stop me when I take her hand to leave.

Emmaline fights too, shoving at my chest, her fists hitting wherever they can.

“Let me go!” she yells.

Instead, I throw her over my shoulder.

She kicks, thrashes, curses. Her fists hammer my back.

I don’t say a word.

Enzo opens the door.

And I walk out with her like she weighs nothing.

In the car, I finally set her down.

She slides as far from me as she can, silent now.

The fire’s still in her eyes, but her lips are pressed tight.

She stares out the window like it’s the only thing holding her together.

I want to speak. To explain.

But what do I even say to a girl who thinks I murdered her parents?

Who probably dreams of putting a knife through my chest?

I tell the driver to go.

The ride is silent—so thick with tension it feels like it might choke us both.

Every time I look at her, she looks away.

By the time we reach the estate, the sky has gone dark.

I step out first and offer her my hand, but she jerks away, walking inside without a word.

Enzo gives me a look. I shake my head.

Let her have her space.

She’s stronger than most people I know.

I leave her in the room that once belonged to my late mother.

It’s been redone, warmer, softer, but traces of the past remain.

Pieces of her that I kept safe.

I don’t say a word as I close the door.

I just walk away.

It isn’t long before one of the guards appears.

“Sir,” he says carefully. “Your bride… she’s asked to see you.”

I straighten. My chest tightens.

“Did something happen?” I ask, already on my feet.

He shrugs. “She didn’t say. Just that she wants to speak with you. Alone.”

I move fast. Faster than I should.

Worry gnaws at me.

Is she hurt? Sick? Trying to run?

I reach her door and pause, hand on the knob.

One deep breath, then I push it open.

And freeze.

The room is empty.

Before I can process it, something cold and sharp presses against my neck.

She steps out from behind the door, knife in hand—

And she stands before me.

Stark naked.