Kill The Luna

74

Michael took a long, slow drag from his joint, the glowing orange ember lighting up the sharp angles of his face for a split second. He blew a stream of thick smoke into the space between us, his cold eyes fixed tightly on mine. "Well, personally... I don't believe in that fated mate nonsense either," he muttered, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly rumble. "But that is absolutely all I am going to say on the matter."

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of my lips, breaking through my tense expression. I leaned my head back against the cushion, looking at him with a teasing glint in my eyes. "Well, that is honestly really nice to hear," I murmured, a soft chuckle escaping my throat. "A big, bad Alpha who completely prefers the simple life of casual, one-night stands over fairy tales. Who would have thought?"

He didn't answer right away. Keeping the rolled weed clamped firmly between his lips, he rose from his large office chair and walked over to the couch with slow, predatory steps. He reached down and gently took both of my bandaged hands into his massive, calloused palms. He turned them over carefully, his thumb brushing over the wrapped linen. "Your palms are finally starting to heal up," he observed, his jaw tightening as he inspected the skin. "That is at least some good progress. Even though your body definitely doesn't heal at a super-fast speed like a normal werewolf, your recovery is a little slow and honestly quite strange. Your legs aren't even showing any signs of healing at all."

Before I could even think of a reply, he shifted his weight to slide down onto his knees right in front of the couch, taking my ankles in his hands to closely examine the deep injuries hidden beneath the fabric. Moving with total focus, he gently spread the hem of my damp skirt and raised it up past my shins to get a much clearer look at the angry, red cuts scoring my skin.

He placed his large, warm hands flat against my bare laps, pressing down slightly to check the muscle tension. The very second his skin made contact with mine, a sharp, electric jolt traveled straight up my spine. A strangely cool, soothing sensation flooded through my entire body, completely washing away the throbbing pain of the wounds. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart began to hammer wildly against my ribs. It was an incredibly intense, confusing feeling that I couldn't even explain to myself. Every single nerve ending in my skin screamed for him to keep touching me, a desperate, hidden hunger bubbling up inside me that made me want more and more of his warmth.

Suddenly, Michael broke the contact, pulling his hands away from my legs and standing back up to his full, towering height. His face darkened with a brief flash of genuine regret. "I am deeply sorry that this horrible thing happened to you," he murmured, his deep voice softening just a fraction. "You are honestly far too young to be dealing with this kind of brutal violence."

I forced a loud, breathy laugh from my lungs, trying to shake off the strange tingling sensation still dancing across my thighs. I adjusted my skirt back down over my knees, rolling my eyes at him. "Well... I am definitely not too young at all, but thanks for the thought anyway," I countered, trying to sound as grown-up and unaffected as possible.

Michael shifted his heavy body back a little bit, leaning his hip against the edge of his desk as he crossed his massive arms over his chest. His expression turned completely stubborn, his dark eyes locking onto mine with absolute authority. "Yes, you are," he stated flatly, leaving no room for argument. "You are far too young."

I let out a soft sigh, realizing it was completely useless to argue with a literal King. "Fine, whatever you say," I mumbled, offering a small, genuine nod. "And... thank you."

He raised his head slightly, his thick eyebrows drawing together in a confused frown as he studied my face. "For what?"

I looked down at my lap, my fingers nervously playing with the hem of my dress as I forced the honest words out. "For coming all the way out into the woods to find me so early. I really, truly appreciate what you did for me. Even if you completely refuse to open your mouth and tell me how you actually knew where to find me... I am still very, very grateful that you saved my life."

Michael let out a low, tired grunt. He walked back to the couch and sank his heavy frame into the cushions on the opposite side, resting his head back against the leather with an exhausted sigh. He placed the joint back between his lips, taking another long puff as he stared up at the ceiling. "Do not bother thanking me," he responded bluntly, his voice flat and completely unbothered. "I didn't do it to be a hero. I just simply had to do it."

I watched the thick smoke curl into the air, a sudden wave of curious temptation hitting my brain. I leaned across the couch, pointing a finger toward the rolled paper in his hand. "Please... can I try to smoke some of that too? I have never actually tried it before in my life, but I would really like to have some right now to calm my nerves."

Michael didn't even hesitate for a single millisecond. He snapped his head toward me, his eyes flashing with a sharp, dangerous heat as he cut me off completely. "No."

I blinked in absolute surprise, my mouth popping open as I stared at his stern expression. "Wait... what on earth do you mean by no?" I questioned, my voice rising in annoyance.

"Yes, I mean exactly what I said: no," he clarified firmly, his jaw setting into a rigid line as he took the joint out of his mouth. "I am absolutely not going to sit here and let you smoke this herb just because you see me smoking it. It causes severe damage to the lungs."

I let out a loud, frustrated scoff, throwing my hands up in the air at the sheer hypocrisy of his words. "But that is completely insane and hypocritical!" I argued, glaring at him across the leather cushions. "It damages the lungs, yet you are literally sitting right there smoking it yourself!"

Michael turned his face to look at me, a cold, completely unbothered look taking over his features as he blew a tiny ring of smoke toward my face. "Exactly," he replied smoothly, his tone dead and final. "Just because my own lungs are already completely damaged doesn't mean your lungs should be ruined too. So my answer is still an absolute no."