The Shattered Moon

Chapter 3 – The Secret Escape

Layla

The only place in the world that didn’t feel sorry for me was in the woods. I stumbled into the forest as everyone left, running blindly through the night toward the trees beyond the outer gates, the eastern patrol point, away from the lights of the packhouse that disappeared behind the trees. It was so cold, my skin stung, but I embraced the sting — it made me feel like I was still among the living. It was cleaner out here, the silence. No whispers. No judgment. No shiny floors to bleed on.

My legs gave way and I sank in a heap at the foot of the pine. The leaves were damp. I went down on my knees and held out my hands to the scratchy ground. I knew I shouldn't have hoped today would be any different. I should’ve kept my mouth shut the way I had always done. But that second in which Damian had inserted himself between Marcus and me had felt like breathing after drowning. And I hated that I wanted more of that breath.

My tears were hot and silent as they spilled down my cheeks and seeped down the back of the collar of my blouse. I crossed my arms around myself, curling down at the base of the tree and allowed the sobs to shake through me. I’d become an expert at crying quietly. So good at breaking in only places that nobody could see. But not tonight, I didn’t care who saw tonight.

I didn’t hear him at first. The woods hid his foot steps. But I sensed it — the change, the turn in the air. The prickle down my nape. The instinct from my bones that told me I wasn’t alone. I sat up and held my breath, every muscle taught.

“Don’t run,” someone whispered. I spun around, my heart pounding painfully in my chest.

Damian.

He walked into the moonlight as if it were his home. His coat was undone, his boots covered in mud, his hands at his sides. He didn’t move closer. Didn’t make any sudden motions. He only stood, eyeing me with eyes too sharp and too still.

“Did Marcus send you?” I asked, my voice sounding completely off key. He didn’t answer right away. Then he glanced at my knees, covered in my pants, which were covered with dirt and blood. Then to my still quaking hands.

“No,” he said. “He didn’t.”

I looked away. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I followed your scent.”

That made my stomach twist. “So you were… tracking me?”

He tilted his head slightly. “I was worried. You left in a hurry. And it’s not exactly safe out here alone for a Luna.”

I laughed—a bitter, broken sound. “You think I’m more safe in there?”

He didn’t smile. He stared at me for a good second or two, and I absolutely f*****g hated how vulnerable it made me feel, standing there under that gaze. As if he were peeling away all the layers I’d carefully stitched together to keep myself from unraveling.

“How long has this been going on?” he finally brought the subject, his voice low, almost a whisper.

I shook my head. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Don’t lie to me, Layla.” Hearing my name in his mouth made me tremble. I looked at him again, really looked, noticing the way his hands were balled at his sides. Not in anger. In restraint.

“I’m fine,” I grunted, gripping my teeth and pushing the words past them.

He stepped closer. “You’re not.”

“Please,” I whispered. “Just go.”

He was now only a few feet from me but it seemed as though he covered the whole of the forest with his gigantic aura. He squatted down to my level, his face completely inscrutable.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said.

I closed my eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“I know more than you think.”

“No you don’t!” I snapped, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve. “You have no idea what it’s like to walk on eggshells. To flinch at every footstep. To see yourself fade a little more each day and be put on a big show.”

His jaw tightened. “Then tell me.”

“I can’t,” I whispered. “Because then you will try to fix it. And you can’t fix this, Damian. You can’t just storm into that house and throw your weight around because you saw something you didn’t like. That’s not how we do it here.”

“Everything I saw, I didn’t mind,” he added, in a sharper voice now. “I saw someone being hurt.”

“It’s fine,” I snapped back, louder this time. “Here, it is. And if you try to turn this into something that it’s not, you’re just going to screw it up for me.”

His eyes burned. “So what? You want me to forget? To walk away? To act like I didn’t see the bruise on your cheek or notice how you winced when he yelled?”

“Yes!” I cried, my voice cracking. “Please. Just forget it. If you push Marcus, he wins. He always wins. And if he does not, the Council will protect him. They always do.”

He rose then and walked a few steps away from where he’d been standing, as if he could no longer stand still. His jaw caught the edge of the moonlight, and I saw he looked as if he were hewn from something ancient. His fists were tight. His entire body vibrated like a taut wire, coiled and waiting to burst like a storm barely contained.

Standing up unsteadily and dusting myself off, I looked away from his gaze. “I know what this looks like to you, but I’m asking you not to get involved. Please. I’m trying to stay alive the best way I can.” There was a beat of silence. Then he turned to me again.

“I am not starting a war, Layla.” I stared at him as the breath caught in my throat. He stepped closer, then closer, until he was standing in front of me again—near enough that I could smell the sweet hint of pine and something muskier that lay just beneath.

His voice was soft but firm. “I don’t start wars.” I swallowed hard. He looked right into my eyes. Then he said it—

“I finish them.”