Luna’s Stranger
962 Words
The cab smelled faintly of rain, old leather, and someone’s forgotten coffee.
Luna barely noticed.
His head slipped onto her shoulder as the cab turned the corner.
Luna stiffened.
“Are you okay?”
No answer.
She looked down at him. His eyes were still closed, his breathing slow and heavy, his weight warm against her side.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Just…stay there.”
She had no idea that beneath his lowered lashes, he was fighting the urge to smile.
Her scent surrounded him now—warm skin, shampoo, something soft and distinctly her. His wolf settled deeper inside him, utterly content.
Closer.
He ignored it.. mostly. Instead, he let himself sink a little more heavily against her shoulder. Luna sighed and adjusted herself so he was more comfortable, and that tiny act of kindness nearly undid him.
He memorized the feeling of her beneath his cheek. The warmth of her, the rhythm of her heartbeat. Every breath she took. He had no intention of forgetting a single second of it.
Luna swallowed hard.
She had absolutely no idea what she was doing.
She should have called an ambulance.
Probably.
But something about leaving him alone in that alley had felt impossible.
So now she was sitting beside a bleeding, unconscious, ridiculously attractive stranger while the cab carried them toward her apartment.
Perfect. Just perfect.
What Luna didn’t know was that he wasn’t unconscious, not entirely. His eyes remained closed, but every other sense was wide awake.
Her scent continued to fill the small space between them.
Warm. Sweet. Alive.
He breathed her in slowly, carefully, committing it all to memory. His wolf was practically purring.
Ours.
The thought came with such certainty that he almost opened his eyes. Almost. Instead, he let his head remain against the window.
Luna shifted beside him. He felt the movement immediately. Every tiny adjustment, every nervous glance, every time her fingers twisted together in her lap.
He could hear her heartbeat.
Fast.
Worried.
Beautiful.
He had no business noticing how her body moved when she reached for her phone, or how the loose strands of hair slipped over her shoulder. But he noticed. He noticed everything.
By the time the cab stopped outside her building, his wolf had memorized the sound of her breathing.
And he had memorized the way she looked at him. Worried. Curious. And, occasionally, when she thought he wasn’t looking…
A little too interested.
⸻
Getting him upstairs was an ordeal.
“Okay,” Luna muttered, struggling beneath his weight. “You’re officially the worst injured person I’ve ever rescued.”
He groaned convincingly.
She froze.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
She somehow managed to get him through the door and onto her couch, and then just as quickly as he found her, she disappeared.
He opened his eyes, just a sliver.
Her apartment was small but warm. Bookshelves, soft lighting, a blanket thrown over the back of the couch.
And her.
She was digging frantically through a cabinet.
“Bandages. Bandages. Why don’t I own normal medical supplies?”
She came back carrying half the contents of her bathroom.
“I have gauze. Alcohol wipes. Tape. Some questionable painkillers…”
She stopped.
He was sitting up.
Luna stared.
He stared back.
“You’re awake.”
His voice was rough. It scratched an itch she didn’t know she had. Something crawled up her spine and she didn’t hate it.
“Apparently.”
“You were unconscious.”
“I guess I’m better now.”
She looked down at the blood soaking his shirt.
“You’re bleeding everywhere.”
He glanced down.
“Yeah.”
“Take it off.”
His eyebrow lifted.
Luna immediately realized what she’d said.
“I mean—your shirt. It’s ruined. And I need to see the wound.”
“Right.” He slowly pulled the torn shirt over his head.
Luna forgot how breathing worked.
Oh.
Oh, no.
She had expected some random injured guy, she had not expected that.
Broad shoulders, hard lines, firm muscle stretched beneath warm skin. A scattering of scars that somehow made him look even more dangerous.
She slapped both hands over her face.
“Nope.”
He almost smiled.
“What?”
“I am being professional.”
“Clearly.”
“I am.”
She peeked between her fingers.
He caught her.
Luna immediately covered her eyes again.
“You saw nothing.”
“I saw you looking.”
“I was checking for injuries.”
“Of course.”
She lowered her hands a fraction.
He was still watching her.
Something in his expression had changed.
The humor was gone. His gaze had settled on her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for her wrist.
Luna froze.
His fingers closed gently around her hand and slowly, gently, he pulled it away from her face, but never let go of her hand.
Neither of them spoke.
For one suspended moment, the apartment seemed impossibly quiet, as if suspended in time.
She could feel his warmth, could hear his breathing. Could feel her own heartbeat pounding against her ribs.
His eyes moved over her face.
Not casually. Like he was studying her, memorizing her. Luna swallowed.
“You’re… fine.”
He glanced down at the wounds she’d been so certain were killing him. The bleeding had stopped, the once torn flesh was already closing.
Her eyes widened.
“What the hell?”
His gaze snapped back to hers.
And for the first time since she’d found him, Luna had the distinct feeling that the stranger on her couch wasn’t helpless at all.
He was watching her.
Waiting.
And suddenly, Luna wasn’t sure which one of them had brought danger into the apartment.
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