The Luna's Entaglement

“Wait, is this a joke?” Rose asked as she looked at him, her face having more confusion than a jigsaw puzzle. She wasn’t just confused about what he had just said; she was confused about how to feel. Perhaps she should feel stupid for expecting so much from the date , but who can then blame her? She had not been on a date in a year—at least none that ended up with insane s*x or anything close to a kiss. He had met her at the Art Gallery the same day she was told her art would no longer be on display since it wasn’t selling. The Galileo Art Gallery decided to invest their space in what they described as ‘market moving paintings’. Rose was hurt not only because she lost her space to the market movers but also because she didn't know where else to promote her craft, especially since her grandmother had recently died, leaving more debts than inheritance, and her landlord had developed the habit of pinning quick notices on her door. She had until the end of the month to pay or to leave. Rose, angrily leaving the art gallery, stumbled at him. It was her fault, for she wasn’t even looking where she was going; how could she? Her eyes had gone blurry from hoarded tears. “I am so sorry,” he had said, helping her with the four A3-sized paintings that dropped when they stumbled at each other; she had sixteen more to move. He could have said, ‘Watch where you are going, but he didn’t. Instead, he was kind and gentle, and his voice was filled with compassion. His hair was black, and his blue eyes stared straight into the soul. His lips—hell, those were the parts Rose played around with the most in her head; she had imagined him kissing her, not just on the lips but everywhere, ungodly. But who could have thought? Who could have guessed that Mr. Perfect's blue eyes and handsomeness were even more delusional than she was? “I am not,” he replied, and his face looked serious—as serious as it could get. Rose wanted to laugh. Perhaps it was one of those date jokes that people share on dinner dates; she wouldn’t even know; most of her dates were always after one thing, s*x, and she wasn’t any different from them. Rose has always been a fan of cut the crap, so let’s get this over with. “Okay, umm, Stephen?” she said, unsure of his name. "Stefan,” he corrected her. "Okay, Staphan, you are saying that I am the daughter of a werewolf.” "Yes,” he answered. “And my father had hid me with my grandma to protect me from the rest of the group.” "Pack,” he corrected her. "Right,” she said, dragging her words, “pack, because my mother was a human.” "Yes,” he replied. “And now you want me to do what?” Rose asked, with her head tilted a little, “Follow you to go and marry a man I don’t know?” "Yes,” he replied again. He is serious; he is damn serious. Rose took a deep breath, fighting all of the negative thoughts that were streaming through her mind. This is far from what she needed at the moment: she would be homeless in two weeks, and she already lost her space at the gallery two weeks before the Annual Art Exhibition, and now she’s sitting down with a psychopath telling her the funniest of things. “Okay, umm, I think you need to calm down and, like, breathe,” she suggested. “You think I am crazy, don’t you?” Stefan said, smiling. If you weren’t so handsome, yes!, she thought, but instead she said, "no.” “I know and understand how it feels. But this is true; you are destined to be the mate of our Alpha,” he added. "Okay, can you just stop?” Rose said. She couldn’t keep up with his madness anymore. “You should just stop, please.” “Listen to me,” he said, leaning forward, and his face was even more serious than it had ever been throughout the evening. “This is important, Rose; it’s almost full-moon, and you may turn.” “Turn to what?” she asked, dragging her words. “Turn, like, turn,” he said. He sounded like she was meant to know. "Okay, I don’t even know what that means.” she added. He exhaled, giving off the kind of vibe that says, You should know. “Your birthday is in two days, isn’t it?” he asked. “And?” she queried, almost vexingly, yet she wondered how he knew that. She had not mentioned her birthday to him yet. "Now, typically in true breeds, turning comes at an early age, say, sixteen or seventeen, and at worst, eighteen. But for half breeds, you might experience it in your early twenties.” “What are you even saying?” She asked because she had never been more confused. “What I am saying is that I can sense it in you already; I can smell it. Your wolf, she’s coming. She’d come this year.” “Okay, thank you for the meal; it was a pleasure meeting you,” she said, but of course she didn’t mean it; it was the most stupid decision she had ever made. She stood up, took a little bow, and started to leave. Stefan stood up too. “You have to listen to me,” he said. “You have to leave me alone before I call the cops.” Rose replied. Stefan didn’t want to cause a scene, so he followed her until they left the restaurant before he started to talk again. “You don’t have to do that; just give me a moment,” he said, still scurring after her. Rose halted; she was already by the road, so getting a taxi shouldn’t be difficult; all she needed was to raise her hands. “What else do you want to say, huh?” She asked, facing him. “That my mother is a vampire? Or that grandma was a witch?” “I know what this sounds like, but I am very sure you'll soon start to experience some changes in your body.” “For f**k sake,” she said, rolling her eyes. “When you do, don’t stay at home; it’d be too dangerous,” he added. “Really? Do you ever call it quits?” "Please,” he said, "go to the Maplewoods; I’d be there to protect you.” "Okay, that's it," she said before turning to the road and stopping a taxi. … Her temperature started to increase, and her heartbeat started to race like an Arabian stallion. She wasn’t even sick, at least not until an hour ago. She checked her time, and it was ten p.m. His words came to her like flashbacks in the movies: “I am very sure you’d soon start to experience some changes in your body.” Rose shivered at the thought of it. At the thought of being a werewolf and howling in silhouette at the moon till eternity. Now she found herself laughing at her own ridiculousness. “I am losing it,” she said with a chuckle. She was wearing her bumshots and her tanktop standing in front of the mirror; she could see her own n****e from the tanktop, and that made her wonder. She wondered what it’d have been like to have Stefan to herself, as a matter of fact. Dizziness hit her, and her legs started to shake, almost like they were breaking. Rage; she felt angry, but she didn’t know why; she fell to her knees and couldn’t shout; her belle hurts too. She raised her head a little, and the mirror gave her a tour of her face, but it was her face that was distinguished. They were blue. Blue as an ocean, blue as in vicious too, blue as a... she stumbled back. As a wolf, she thought. “What is happening to me?” she whispered in fear. She checked her time, and it was already thirty minutes after ten. She wanted to shout for help, but she was too weak to do that, and besides, there’s nobody to help. Rose managed to get the keys to her old scooter. She put on a jacket, and in five minutes she was outside, riding the scooter as fast as it could. Now the fresh air that blew towards her face helped, for it made breathing easier, but she couldn’t help the heartbeat or the pain from her spinal cord themselves. Maplewood was just five minutes away, maybe less. She could see it from afar. But then. Her heartbeat felt like it stopped, her eyes became blurred as the dizziness knocked her for good this time, and slowly she felt herself falling off the scooter.