Suddenly His Luna

His New Reality

Kieran

Peeling my eyes open is excruciating.

It feels like sand is lodged between my lids. I’m on my back, on cold, hard ground in a place I don’t recognize.

My body jerks up, and I freeze.

I’m naked.

My eyes dark left and right, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I squint against the harsh orange glow of the setting sun, hating the heavy weight of my tongue in my mouth.

I’m thirsty, cold, tired and irritated. Shooting up to my feet, I dust the sand caked on my bare ass. There’s bits of dried blood inches from where I was, a reddened piece of cloth and a bloody, silver arrow.

My jaw clenches, the memories flooding my mind. I was running from someone. The assailant was fast, unnaturally so. And I remember taking off into this clearing, it was a bare piece of land I’d diverted into, a shortcut to the Forrest. But for some reason, I can’t remember much after that.

I stare at the blood-stained arrow. My gaze darting between that, and the bloody piece of cloth on the floor.

I lean down, pick it up and press it to my nose.

The blood… is mine. But it scents of something else, something foul. Like what a poison or tonic would smell like. But it also smells of something else, faintly. Something feminine.

The scent, it’s deliciously sweet.

It makes my mouth water. And something about it, is oddly familiar.

I wrap the cloth around the silver arrow, lifting and inspecting it. It’s large, ridged. The sharp tip coated what I assume has to be more of my blood. I toss it back on the ground.

It clangs with a dull thud, and then another memory flashes in my head. Visceral, burning pain. I press a hand to my side, glancing down at myself. There’s no blood, no injury or scar.

My brows furrow. And then another image flows through my mind. A woman, a beautiful woman jerking something out of my side, her frustrated huff of breath.

I’m squeezing the damp cloth in my hand, wide eyes fixed on the blood dried in the sand as I’m hit with events I have no recollection of. I remember the feel of her hands on me, the magical energy flowing from her body into mine. The way it ebbed the excruciating pain. The way once I was free of it, all I could feel was pleasure, coursing through every inch of me.

And then I remember her face. f**k, her face.

It’s faint, blurry in my mind. But it’s beautiful. From the little I can remember, so beautiful.

The next memory is of her retreating, running, into the Forrest. And a deep, primal possessiveness seizes my body.

Mate.

I wanted to say it then, I wanted to shout it. My head jerks, spinning in the direction she fled to.

I could follow. The cloth in my hand isn’t fully dry, so all this couldn’t have happened too long ago.

But I’m not wearing any clothes, and I’m exhausted. Somehow I came out of this whole ordeal unscathed.

How did she do it? Better still, how did she find me? There was no one in the clearing when I arrived, and by the looks of things, I should’ve died from that shot. But the treatment came fast.

I sigh, dragging a hand over my face. It’s one too many things to deal with at once. I’m to fatigued to shift, so I grab the arrow, lingering for just a moment before deciding to make my way home.

I’m fresh out the shower the next morning, fastening the buttons on my shirt as I think, and think, and think. I must be out of my mind. If I weren't so curious, so enamored with the woman who’d found and saved my life, I’d call a spade a spade. I’d call all this s**t a f*****g fluke and occupy my time with something else.

But that’s the problem. I can’t.

I can’t think straight. I can’t get her face out of my head, I can’t get her lingering scent off my nose. It’s driving me crazy.

She’s my mate.

She’s my mate and she saved my life.

What are the goddamn odds?

I need to settle this storm raging inside me. I need to find her. And I’ll do just that.

Not an hour later, a dozen artisans fill the space of my personal quarters. Each of them with a sketchbook and a pencil.

I describe what I can remember, which if I’m being honest isn’t much, but I have no problem cuffing out an arm and a leg in form of payment to get what I want. What I need.

I describe what I can, getting into the details as much as my memory will allow. They're fast with their hands, working together to construct a clear picture of the woman I saw. Once its done, I’m given a sample.

And there it is again, that feeling.

Mate.

I grind my teeth, frustration and elation tunneling in my chest. She’s beautiful, whether it’s through blurred vision or a vague drawing on a piece of paper. She’s f*****g beautiful.

I thank the lot of them, paying and dismissing them from their work.

And then I pick up my phone, calling up the right person for the next part of my mission. Information.

He answers on the first ring.

“Hey, man.”

I get right into it.

I need an address, a name, something, hell, anything. I need to know who she is, where she lives, what she does. I need to see her again. I explain explicitly the situation we’ve got, and what exactly it is I want him to do for me.

“I got you.” He says, “I’ll let you know what I find.”

We get off the phone and I send him a picture of the drawing. He’s someone I trust. A friend of the family, and a wizard with technology. If you wanted someone found, robbed, hacked, he’s the one for the job. Now all I have to do is wait.

I go about the rest of my day as best as I can, trying to occupy myself with my pack duties.

I’m sorting through a bunch of paper work in my office, when the buzzing of my phone cuts through the silence.

I pick it up, answer.

“I got your girl.”