Coming Back as Enemy's Luna

18. Dinner

= Amara =

I set the book aside and rose from my chair the moment I heard footsteps approaching the cabin. A second later, the door swung open, and Mikael stepped inside as if the place belonged entirely to him—which, unfortunately, it did.

His gaze swept the room before settling on the table. His brows lifted in open surprise at the sight of the dinner I had prepared, and a slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.

“Well, well,” he drawled as he walked closer, clearly enjoying himself. “Looks like you’re already easing into your duties as my Luna.”

I let out a long, tired sigh. “I ran out of things to do,” I said plainly. “And I’ve already finished most of the books Lorne has given me.”

As soon as I remembered Lorne, like a reflex, my hand pressed lightly against my chest as I bent forward in a respectful bow. It was an instinct ingrained too deeply to question—a gesture of acknowledgment, of submission, of tradition.

I had barely straightened when Mikael moved to my side, his presence sudden and unmistakable. The moment I completed the pack’s gesture, his hand closed around my arm, firm but not harsh, as if grounding me there.

Startled, I look up to him, my brows knitting as I searched his face in quiet confusion.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, his voice low but certain. “I’ll allow it this once—but when you become my Luna, you are an exception.” His grip loosened slightly. “You will be my equal. So…”

He didn’t finish the thought, didn’t need to. The weight of his words settled between us, heavy and undeniable. Realization dawned, warm and unsettling all at once.

“Oh,” I murmured, withdrawing my hand from his grasp. “Okay.”

His attention shifted to the empty chair beside the table, where the stack of books now sat neatly piled. He picked one up, flipping through the pages as if seeing it for the first time—or maybe trying to confirm I wasn’t exaggerating.

“You’re done with this already?” he asked, disbelief threading his voice.

I nodded as I sighed deeply. “Yes. I think I have a decent understanding of your pack’s culture now.”

He looked up at me then, amusement dancing in his eyes. “As expected of the highly praised Luna of the Gravemire Pack.”

My face twisted into an immediate grimace. I shot him a sharp glare, but it only made his grin widen, as though he’d just discovered his new favorite way to get under my skin—and intended to use it relentlessly.

“Would your pack even accept me,” I asked quietly, “if the first thing they did was mock me with words like that?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, I turned away and began setting the table for him, my movements automatic, almost rehearsed. He took the chair I had occupied moments earlier, watching me in silence as I placed the plates and utensils in front of him with practiced ease. It felt routine—too routine.

Because it was routine. Or at least, it used to be. Back in Gravemire.

The realization struck too sharply, and I forced myself to push the thought away. I shouldn’t be thinking about that life anymore. That pack was no longer mine. I was no longer theirs. Yet my hands betrayed me, remembering what my mind was trying so hard to forget.

“Is that how things are done in Gravemire?” Mikael asked, his voice calm but curious.

I bit down on my lower lip and let out a slow, heavy breath. Of all the things I was trying not to think about, Gravemire sat at the top of the list—and yet here it was again, slipping into the space between us.

“Yes,” I answered after a moment. “In Gravemire, it’s tradition. The Luna prepares the Alpha’s meals.”

I straightened, forcing my voice to remain steady. “It’s considered part of her duty—aside from standing beside him, supporting him in everything he does.”