Luna Lost

13. Luna’s Encounter

Luna told herself she wasn’t looking for him. It had only been a day since Damien climbed out her bedroom window, which made it considerably more irritating that she kept checking faces in the street anyway. Every time she turned a corner or caught movement ahead, some annoying little part of her wondered if it would be him.

The flowers and pastry had helped. Slightly. She’d found them outside her door with Damien’s infuriatingly vague promise that he would find her again soon. She’d read the note several times since then, although she refused to examine why she’d kept it. Twenty-four hours. She barely knew the man, and somehow twenty-four hours felt longer than it should have.

“That’s concerning,” she muttered, adjusting the bag over her shoulder as she continued home. The centre of town was still busy, light spilling from shop windows and voices drifting from the tavern whenever someone opened the door. Her body still protested slightly from training. The worst of the soreness had faded, but bruises remained beneath her clothing where her father’s staff had found her. He still hadn’t answered a single one of her questions. Apparently beating her into the dirt had been easier.

The streets grew quieter as she continued along the same route she always took. Houses still lined either side, but most people had settled inside for the evening. Then she saw him. A man stood ahead where the light from one streetlamp failed to quite reach the next. Large. Still.

Luna stopped, her hand slipping instinctively into her pocket. “Oh, you have got to be f*****g kidding me.” For a second, the alley flashed through her mind. Hands grabbing her. Bodies closing in. Her fingers closed around the small knife she carried.

Click.

A flame appeared, illuminating a familiar face for only a second. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Eyes lowered toward the cigarette between his lips. Luna released the knife.

Damien.

Relief hit first. Then the pull. That strange ache beneath her ribs awakened, warmth spreading through her chest as Damien lifted his head and their eyes met. Luna could turn around. Take another street. Tell him standing in the darkness on the exact route where she’d been attacked was an exceptionally stupid way to approach her. Instead, she stepped toward him. The pull might have encouraged her, but the rest was entirely her. She had missed him.

“Damien?”

His reaction was immediate. His shoulders tightened, his breath catching as something flashed behind his eyes. A visible shiver seemed to move through him, except Luna didn’t only see it. She felt it. A thrill raced through her body, warm and sharp, like an echo of whatever had just passed through his.

“Say it again.”

Her eyebrows rose. “What?”

“My name.”

Luna’s mouth twitched. “Absolutely not.”

A slow smile spread across his face. There it was. That delicious f*****g smile.

“You came back,” she said.

“I said I would.”

“You also said soon.”

“It’s been a day.”

“I know.”

His smile widened, and Luna immediately realized her mistake.

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“You knew exactly how long.”

“Oh, shut up.”

His quiet laugh sent warmth through her stomach. “Come on, Luna.”

She stopped. Her name in his voice landed strangely, a warm rush moving beneath her ribs before common sense caught up. “How do you know my name?”

Damien paused. “You brought a bleeding stranger into your bedroom.”

“So?”

“I was in there for a while.”

Her eyes widened. “You snooped?”

“I observed.”

“That’s a prettier word for snooping.”

“Your name was there.”

Luna narrowed her eyes but started walking again. What Damien didn’t tell her was what seeing that name had done to him. Luna. A word woven through the oldest traditions of his kind. Their matriarchs. The women at the heart of a pack. Strength. Balance. And his human mate carried the name. Seeing it written in her bedroom had hit him like a fist to the chest. His wolf had been considerably less surprised. Luna. As if fate had decided subtlety was unnecessary.

Damien fell into step beside her. “Are you walking me home?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did I invite you?”

“No.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

He took a drag from his cigarette, and Luna eyed it. “You know those will kill you.”

Damien looked at the cigarette, then at her. “That’s the least of my problems.”

The cheeky look he gave her sent butterflies fluttering through her stomach. Luna looked ahead. Great. Apparently mysterious men with questionable survival instincts were a thing for her now.

Her gaze dropped toward his side, and Damien noticed. “How’s the couch?”

“Still traumatized.”

“I apologized.”

“You bought flowers.”

“And a pastry.”

“You snooped.”

“I observed.”

“You went through my garbage.”

“I saw the box.”

“In my garbage.”

“I didn’t touch it.”

Luna laughed, and Damien turned toward her. Something in his expression made her laughter fade. “What?”

“I like your laugh.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Don’t get attached to it.”

“Too late.”

Her heart gave one heavy beat, and Luna looked ahead. “You could have left your number.”

“I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I told you I’d find you.”

Luna stopped walking. Damien made it another step before turning back toward her. “Do you hear yourself when you speak? You waited for me in a dark street and your defence is that you told me you’d find me. That’s incredibly creepy.”

Damien stared at her, then laughed. A real one this time.

“This isn’t helping your case.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No.”

Luna tried not to smile. Failed.

They continued walking, and surprisingly, the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. There was something strangely easy about being beside him, which made no sense. She barely knew anything about Damien beyond his name, his irritating sense of humour, his apparent inability to use doors when windows were available—and the fact that he healed from wounds no human being should survive.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You’re going to anyway.”

“Probably.” Luna watched him carefully. “How did you heal?”

His expression barely changed. “People heal.”

“Not like that.”

“I’m healthy.”

“You had a hole in you.”

“A small hole.”

“Damien.” He looked at her, and Luna held his gaze. “I watched your skin close.”

Silence settled between them. Luna searched his face, but instead of fear or guilt she found caution. “You’re not normal,” she said quietly.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Neither are you.”

Her stomach tightened. “What does that mean?”

Damien’s gaze dropped to her wrist. Luna instinctively pulled it closer. “Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me.”

For the first time that evening, Damien looked genuinely uncomfortable. Not frightened. Conflicted. Luna thought about the books scattered across her table, the stories about impossible healing, changing eyes and men becoming wolves beneath the moon. The question sat behind her teeth. Are you a werewolf? It sounded ridiculous, except so had watching his skin close beneath her hand.

“Fine.”

Damien frowned. “Fine?”

“Don’t tell me.” She started walking again.

“You’re not going to keep asking?”

“Oh, I’m absolutely going to keep asking. I’m just giving you the opportunity to eventually make the intelligent decision and tell me voluntarily.”

“That sounds threatening.”

“It is.”

Damien smiled.

They reached her street far too quickly. Luna could already see her home ahead, and the disappointment she felt about it was more concerning than she cared to admit.

Damien stopped beside her. “You’re safe from here.”

“So that’s it?”

His eyebrows lifted, and she immediately regretted it. “You want me to stay?”

“No.”

His smile returned.

“Stop looking so pleased with yourself.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You absolutely can.”

Damien took one final drag from his cigarette before putting it out beneath his boot. Luna hesitated, suddenly aware that if she walked away, she had no idea when he might appear again. “Will I see you again?”

Something softened in his expression. “Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

She groaned. “Your definition of that word is unacceptable.”

Damien laughed and pulled out his phone.

Luna stared. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You have one.”

“A phone?”

“Yes.”

“Most people do.”

“You asshole.”

He held it toward her. Luna looked between him and the phone. “You’re giving me your number?”

“No. I’m getting yours.”

She snatched it from his hand. “I liked you better when you were bleeding.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Luna entered her number and handed the phone back. Their fingers brushed, and heat raced up her arm. Damien went completely still, darkness seeming to deepen in his eyes. For one suspended moment neither of them moved, until Luna forced herself to step back.

“Now you don’t have to lurk in dark streets.”

“I might anyway.”

“Then next time I’m stabbing you.”

“You’d have to catch me first.”

Luna narrowed her eyes. Another piece. The healing. His eyes. His speed. The way he looked at her wrist. He knew something, and she was increasingly certain it had something to do with her.

She backed toward her house. “Goodnight, Damien.”

His breath caught again, and once more Luna felt the echo of his reaction beneath her own skin.

“Goodnight, Luna.”

Her name from his mouth sent that same warm rush through her. Luna turned toward home before he could see her smile.

Halfway to her door, her phone vibrated. She pulled it out.

Unknown: Soon.

Luna smiled and looked back.

The street was empty. No silhouette. No glowing cigarette. Damien was simply gone.

She looked down at the single word again, and something inside her settled. It wasn’t trust, not yet. She barely knew him, and there were too many impossible things about Damien she couldn’t explain. It was only a feeling, quiet and steady, like if she ever needed to reach for him, somehow he would be there.

Luna slipped the phone back into her pocket and continued toward her door. For the first time since the alley, she felt a little safer walking home alone.