Homecoming Luna

Chapter 7: Forbidden Fruit

• •• •••Merlara's POV••• •• •

On sharp reflexes, my grip on the gun tightens just as my index finger repetitively hard-presses the trigger to return fire. I run a couple short steps and take cover just in time to miss the bullet that whizzes past.

Son of a b***h!!

Beyond my thundering heartbeat, I hear shots get fired all around. In my direction and in Yorke's.

My nostrils flare as I let a sudden fear seize me.

In front of me, I see nothing but the gun in my hand as I deftly reload and c**k it with shallow, controlled breaths. Adrenaline pours through me to the ends of my hair and toes, every overlapping thought in high definition.

I remind myself lives are at stake here. Not just mine and Yorke's alone. And if any of those bullets so much as hit me, exit wound or not, I'd disintegrate into charred dust and essence, and there will be no saving those kids. And I'll be damned if I let that happen.

I bid my time just right and with a drawn breath and in a blur, I meander through the heavy fog putting all my werewolf senses to use as my fingers twitch endlessly on the trigger. I feel my wolf emerge, no doubt coloring my otherwise grey eyes sharp gold.

Bodies drop as I go, spinning and rolling away to stand a moment later and continue my assault. I don't stop until I hear the screeching beep signalling the end of the shooting practice.

The mock gunfight lasts for scant minutes and by the time the last programmed dummy drops to the ground cluttered with solid hurdles, Yorke and I stand panting like we've just fought hard for our dear lives. Two against an undying hundred.

Yorke walks over to the windowless wall behind us and hits the switch, killing the eerie red lights and flooding the entire one storey warehouse in bright lights and with that also dissipates the fake fog smoke we used to impede visibility. All part of the shooting drill.

I look down at the now paint splattered cellophane vest I've got on over my uniform to see that I got hit. For the first time ever.

"Oh f**k my life."

"You didn't let me win on purpose, did you?" Yorke comes to stand next to me. He's got a little paint on his left arm and a huge splatter on his vest, enough to be equivalent to seven or so paint pellets. Stark contrast to my two. "This practically qualifies as a win cause I'd usually take a dozen more hits than this while you'd come off looking like you've just had brunch."

"Ha, ha!" I return dryly. "Very funny. Way to gloat. That last one was overkill, Show-Off."

"Just checking if you were paying attention."

He walks over to the long stretch of steel table by the corner.

I wrinkle my brows, looking up from the dripping paint to follow behind him.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You tell me." His tone is light as he eyes me sideways, dismantling his weapon of choice. An automatic submachine. "You've been elsewhere all afternoon."

I say nothing as I too make a quick work of dismantling, cleaning and reassembling my firearm, a post-drill ritual we indulge in.

After some moments filled with the clanging sound of metal on metal, he cheekily adds, "I believe it has something to do with your hair. I've never seen you let your hair down. And never while training,"

"What's that even mean?" I give him a look that says 'he's making a null point'. "Of course, I let my hair down."

"No, you don't. And is that . . ." His hand lifts my hair a fraction, fingering the ends. Tilting my head away, I quickly swat at his hand and try to salvage my hair.

"Did you curl your hair?" I hear a trace of amusement in his voice.

"Nope. I did not. I get natural curls sometimes."

"No shit." His lips gradually upturn into a smile. "Very natural looking curls. I have sisters, you know. Three sisters. Three and none have had curls that natural."

"Shut up!"

My uniform may be neater than usual too. Paired with my boots, I look like I'm lined up to receive a decorative medal of honor. As for my hair, the curler had just been there, temptingly calling my name.

"Oh well, whoever he is, I'm grateful."

I pretend not to hear him as I get swept up trying to log in the weapons into the thick cover register. No one mans the warehouse but there are cameras all around.

I wonder who watches them. Wonder how they deal with cases of missing firearms. Then I wonder how soon those reports will be made to the Alpha. Weirdly, I wonder if he's watching right now. If he's watched me get hit for the first time ever, all because my head was up my ass.

And before I know it, series of mindless thoughts are floating in my head.

You say thanks twice when you're supposed to say it just the once, then I'm definitely gonna put my eyes on you. I'm definitely gonna overthink it. I'm built that way.

So overthinking is what I've been doing these past few weeks. Overthinking about a certain out-of-my-league man way high on the hot-o-meter.

After that fateful day of making a total ass of myself in front of Alpha Daen, he didn't show for two whole days, then he did. And then he kept coming until we fell into a routine. I would finish my trainings then rush over to my spot, the one not too far from the Creek. And after a couple minutes of anxious warm ups, he'd show up looking delectable as ever. We'd train hard while I made sure to keep my fantasy thoughts to myself.

Nevertheless, the tension was always ever there and small talks couldn't lift it because we barely talk and for some reason the tension got heavier each day. Either as nervous or s****l energy, whatever it was, I didn't want to give life to it so I did my best to be on my best behavior but his scalding hotness always made mockery of my effort.

Then one day, he suddenly stopped coming. And that one day has stretched into weeks now.

"So who is he?" Yorke asks, head c****d to the side.

At my height, I literally have to look up to meet his eyes. "Huh?"

Taking off our soiled vests, we toss them in the trash can next to the exit as we walk out and make our way around the building, heading towards the shade the trees provide.

The warehouse is far away from the pack's residential areas. With how big the pack is, it's quite possible to go long years without ever stumbling upon it. I'd a couple of times gotten lost locating some of my duty posts.

"Who is who?"

"Try again, Mer. You're more creative than that."

His hand produces two apples. Typical Yorke always carry food on him, no matter how little. He holds out one to me and I shake my head 'no' at his silent offer.

Absentmindedly, I rub at the milk-white scar on the outside curve of my left wrist bone, as I habitually do after most guns or hand-to-hand combat. Yorke eyes my hand but says nothing. He once asked how the scar came to be and I clammed up, refusing to talk about it. A scarred werewolf is as rare as a wolf with no fur. So that alone says something.

I'm double handed. I mostly use my right hand but for some reason, my best shots are on my left. Though, after a drill, it leaves me rubbing at my scar.

My legs dangle free as I come to sit on the hammock hanging from the lower trees while Yorke leans against the nearest tree. I ignore him and busy myself trying to free my imaginary hair caught on my zippers.

"I'll still be here whenever you're done fiddling."

He folds one sinewy arm against his chest, crossing his booted ankles while his other arm holds the apple to his mouth.

I bite out a small curse, abandoning my zipper. "Don't you have practice or something?"

"Nope. Not until later today."

"Some poor girl to ask directions? A date with your hot new girlfriend?" I wag my eyebrows, hoping to deter him. Didn't work, but it gets his lips quirked up.

"She's not my girlfriend. She's just a friend."

"Ouch, poor girl. But well, she's not your mate."

He raises a brow, and asks in a serious tone. "And how do you know?"

I shrug noncommittally. "I don't know."

And I sincerely don't, though I'm convinced it's true.

"You said the same thing to Luca and Amerie and they were just days away from choosing themselves as mates, only for Luca to find his fated mate the next day."

"Just a lucky guess."

"Hm,"

After a beat and so he wouldn't get back to his earlier question, I start yapping about scents and hunt strategy and wolf science and everything in between.

My desperation to get him off the topic must be obvious because he just gives me a knowing look.

"That bad, huh? Forbidden fruit?" He says, making reference to our compound's bonfire discussion last night. "No one's forbidden unless mated."

He grins and his eyes become two flat lines with dark lashes.

Yorke's eyes are these tiny slits, slightly drawn up at the corners. I've always teased him saying he has Chinese eyes. Almost like his eyes are shy. Paired with his straight nose, he looks too cute for his tall frame. And girls seem to love it.

I scrunch up my face to give him a look, even as a tiny smile breaks through. Usually, Yorke isn't one to pry or hold long conversations. If there was five people in a room and thirty things are said, his first input would be the thirty-first thing.

"Funny thing is you're usually one to share. You barely hold back. Though I do know you do that to keep ninety percent of things close to your heart. But this right now is making me really curious. You should see your face right now." He playfully gets out his phone as if to capture the epic look on my face.

I flip him off and flare my hands in front of my face. "Thanks Prof. Duly noted."

I know what he's saying. Both my hot face and my divulging tendencies. People are less likely to want to crack a nut if the nut already appears open.

"You do know it's obvious, right? Even without your hair telling on you, you've been acting off lately. Always looking around when we train. And that's saying something cause you're not easily distracted. So who is he?"

I evade the question. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"You mean apart from the fact you have the most unusual hair colour combo of red and blonde? And your 'natural curls'? It's shinier than usual."

"Shinier?"

"No, not exactly shinier. More like you dyed it a brighter shade of red which I know you wouldn't do. For one, it's a wasted effort since it won't last past a shift. And I've never known you to care. Hell, you barely even know you've got hair."

He ducks as I throw a jab at him.

"So that's to say your hair is glowing and we both know it's not something you put on it, so fess up? Who is he?"

"No one. There is no he." As a werewolf, keeping certain secrets are wasted efforts. But as a female, it was a lost cause as is my case right now where shinier hairs are known to depict excitement, especially in females.

"She then?" A teeny smile continues to dance on his face.

"Nope. There's no one." The hammock swings as I make room to lift my legs onto it.

"Really? As someone who's got more than the five senses, I'd assume you'd be a better liar than the rest of us."

"Awww!" I palm my cheeks with my palms and make a cute face at him, blinking like a doll. "Thanks for the compliment. Innocent and pure me."

Thankfully, he finally gives up.

"Well then, are you coming tonight? Charl's party."

"Nah, I think I'll pass."

"Round Simon will be there?"

At that, I laugh. "Why am I not surprised? The moron never misses a good chance to practice his one liners on unsuspecting girls." Round is a joy to be around when he isn't bouncing his lines off me.

"Oh well. Ehh. . . Trevano will be there. Wik too"

"Uh, okay?" I return, a bit unsure.

"What about Bray? I'm sure he'll be there."

"Ehh. . . Yorke, what are you doing?" My eyes go squinty with confusion, only to roll it a second later as understanding dawns. "Are you . . .oh goddess! I told you there's no one. Leave it alone."

"Yeah, well I tried." He shrugs a shoulder and abandons the tree to claim a hammock for himself too.

"Bray though, seriously?" I snort, shaking my head. "Why would you even think I'd have anything to do with him. The guy hates my guts."

I suspect it's got to do with him being kept in the dark about the motive behind my extra trainings. Well, amongst other things.

While Alpha Daen oversees the entire Red-U in charge of actual wars, Bray is the leader of the Black Units but even at that, Bray has to go through three superiors before he gets to the Alpha. The Black-U is ninety percent in charge of our trainings so we answer to Bray. Some find him irresistibly hot. I find him to be a gigantic pain-in-the-ass asshole.

"Had to check. You she-wolves can be weird. Unrequited tough love and shit."

I go quiet as I mull over his 'tough love' analogy. My distraction lately has been a worry on its own. It's a setback to my budding plans and only earns me bruises I'm not proud of and disapproving frowns from my trainers.

I'm not delusional to think the Alpha fancies me or that I'm more than a black uniform. Yeah, I may seem valuable and with potentials but anyone is replaceable. Least of all me so I need to work extra hard, prove my worth and being distracted is no way to do that.

"You need to quit doing that."

I turn to find Yorke looking at me. "Doing what?"

"Always worrying about the upcoming Unit Assignment ceremony."

That wasn't all that had brought the look on my face but I don't correct him. Yorke's graduated and has been working under the Pack-house Unit. Something we celebrated by sneaking out to get plastered on strong alcohol by the creek.

"You shouldn't. You're practically a shoo-in. You're an asset. You know it. They know it."

I flash him an appreciative smile. "Thanks Yorke. Really needed that."

Yorke knows all about the men whose fight skill sets I absolved and my private trainings but he knows nothing of how intense they really are and of the secret missions they're intended for. With me as a secret Operative.

"Sure about not coming tonight? Be good to take your mind off things." That's to say he also knows about Kinser. "Who knows? The 'he' that does not exist might be there."

Big fat chance. If Yorke knew who 'he' is, he'll tell me all about she-wolves and tough love. Then he'll give me a day's worth redefinition of 'forbidden fruit'.