Dancing Bears, Painted Wings
1514 Words
LUNA
“I… my name is Gloria Rhodes. Luna Gloria Rhodes. You may call me Gloria.”
She delivers it like a decree, expecting me to react, bow, bare my throat—whatever wolves do. I say nothing. I just stare. She hates that.
“Can you leave for this next part, Mal? I think it’s important the girls have a chat.”
Girls. Like we’re children.
Don’t you f*****g dare, Mal. I shove the words through the mind-link like a blade. His inhale is sharp, shoulders jumping. He hasn’t heard me like that in weeks.
“Nope,” he answers, jaw tight. “Say what you have to say, Mom.”
Her face stays calm, regal, but her eyes burn. A queen being disobeyed by her heir.
“Lu—” she starts, then glances at him.
“Luna. My name is Luna,” I snap.
“Yes, dear, I know your name.”
“Then say it.”
Mal doesn’t hide his grin. He loves it when I burn.
She mind-links him silently. Her fury is loud in everything she doesn’t say. But Mal wins. I see it in the tiny, furious shift of her shoulders.
“Luna,” she grits out. “I am sorry for how I reacted in the woods. I was unaware you didn’t know our customs, and I will make it my mission to prepare you for your future role as the Luna of this pack.”
That role again. Ownership. Possession. Duty.
As if the apology is actually a promotion.
“And what about the doctor’s office?" I ask. "When you thought I enchanted your son? Is that why the warlock’s waiting outside like a guard dog?”
Her face moves through irritation, shame, control—all in one breath.
“Yes,” she admits. “I’m sorry for that, too. My history with your… parents is not a kind one. They were vicious and cruel. They almost killed my husband and me. And you growing up with them, I assumed they groomed you as their heir, rather than as a captive. Now that I know better, we want to help you and your wolf.”
Help. She says it like a gift. I hear it like a leash.
Outside, rain clouds hover, heavy and promising. I want to run out, feel the first drop hit my muzzle, wash everything off.
“Thank you for the apology, Luna Gloria,” I say stiffly. “I accept.”
Relief floods her features—too quickly. Not because she’s forgiven anything—because she hasn’t lost Mal.
“But I do not accept being treated like a VIP captive.”
Her spine is a spear again.
“This is a formality. It happens with all new wolves.”
“Like the g******e bootcamp?”
“That was not our fault.”
“And yet I didn’t get an apology for it.”
“Because it never went wrong until you—”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Mal roars. His voice reverberates, ancient and holy. Gloria shuts up instantly. My heart should leap, my wolf should howl—Jade should claw—but everything inside me feels numb.
“I don’t want to be treated by Ethan ever again," I say. "I want Selena.”
The name hangs like a spark. Dangerous.
“She’s been no-contact since the attack,” Mal says carefully.
“You haven’t heard from her, or she can’t be found?”
“She’s gone,” Gloria answers, tone flat. “Her husband was found in the mass of bodies.”
Bodies. Red eyes. My white fur soaked in—
I swallow.
“They might be selling her,” I whisper. “They were going to sell me.”
Both heads snap toward me.
“They said that?”
“That was the plan. But I think they were going to sell me back to my parents. I don’t know about Selena.”
“Well, knowing Selena, she’s definitely giving them hell. She tortured me enough growing up to know she can hold her own.”
Heat flickers through me. Not s****l—just relief. Faith.
Someone believing she survives.
“From what I saw, I absolutely agree.”
I smile. Awkward, foreign. Mal looks stunned—like my happiness is a rare animal.
He sits next to me, close, hand hovering—but not touching. Waiting for permission.
Jade practically screams in my head: touch him.
Fine. I reach.
Heat explodes through me, molten and addictive.
I gasp.
He swallows hard.
Gloria sighs, not irritated—delighted. Like she’s watching a prophecy unfold.
“I remember when Henry and I first felt the bond,” she says softly. “His first mate had passed. I was the Moon Goddess’s second choice, which resulted in Mal.”
Her face softens—unguarded. A woman, not a ruler. And Mal blushes—real, vulnerable.
“Well, I kind of like your creation,” I tease, giving his hand a squeeze.
He squeezes back, thumb stroking my skin deliberately slow. Heat curls low in my stomach.
“I can’t wait to see your wolf,” Gloria says. “And the pups you two will make.”
Pups. Already. Jade perks up; I internally slap her.
Gloria stands. “Rolf can come later. We’ll have tea soon. And I’ll speak to Henry about releasing you soon, dear.”
Releasing. Not freeing.
She walks out. I catch sight of the warlock leaning in the shadows. His skin is gray-pale, eyes ringed in darkness like bruises. But there’s something else—something older. Faultlines of magic etched beneath the surface.
For a split second, he lifts his gaze.
Recognition burns through me like acid.
I know him.
But from where?
Childhood?
A nightmare?
A dream?
A pain rips through my skull. Violent. Restrictive. Like something inside me warns, stop digging.
Memories flicker—stations of darkness, chanting, blood. A hand on my head. A voice whispering my name.
Then nothing.
“Hey,” Mal says softly. “You good?”
No. Not even close.
“So, your mom is planning our babies already?”
He laughs, flopping onto the bed. His shirt rides up, exposing skin and abs sculpted for sin.
“I cannot believe how WELL that went!”
“Well? Your mom thinks I’m an incubator.”
“Relax.” He stretches, muscles bunching. “She likes you. She just doesn’t like unknowns. Now she knows you, even a little. She’s always been good at reading people.”
He shifts and suddenly he’s crawling into my lap, his arms looping around my waist, cheek pressed to my stomach. His heat sinks through fabric and flesh, igniting every nerve.
“Mal, that might not be a good—”
My stomach lets out an ungodly monstrous growl—directly in his ear.
He looks up, eyes wide.
I stare down, mortified.
And we both explode into laughter. Loud, helpless, stupid laughter, the kind that shakes your ribs. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this. If ever.
---
Eventually, hunger wins.
Mal cooks—of course he does—and I sit at the table like a feral animal pretending to be civilized.
He plates tacos like he’s presenting a feast.
“I can feel your excitement from here,” he teases.
If he knew how close I am to moaning at melted cheese, he would never let it go.
He sits next to me, thighs brushing mine occasionally—accidentally on purpose. I feel every inch of him. His scent wraps around me, smoky, wild, electric. It should be overwhelming. Instead, it’s home.
“You’re staring,” he says, smug.
“I’m hungry.”
“For… food?”
His smirk is sinful.
Heat floods my cheeks. Traitorous body.
Jade preens: mate.
I shovel food in my mouth to shut her up.
He laughs, delighted.
For a moment—just a fragile, fleeting moment—it feels simple.
Warmth. Safety. Full stomach. Full lungs.
Mal’s foot brushing mine beneath the table like a secret.
I don’t deserve it. I don’t trust it. But God, I want it.
Later, when the plates are empty and the laughter fades, the silence thickens.
Mal leans back, eyes half-lidded, studying me like a puzzle he intends to solve with his mouth.
“You okay?” he asks softly. “Really?”
I open my mouth to say yes—but out of the corner of my eye, I see movement under the front door.
The warlock.
Still there.
Still watching.
Not a guard.
A sentinel.
A witness.
His presence is cold. Heavy. Familiar in a way that terrifies me.
Blood. Chains.
Someone chanting.
Someone laughing.
Someone whispering a name that isn’t mine.
Or maybe it was.
Mal touches my hand.
I flinch.
“Luna?”
I look at him, drowning in heat and hunger and fear.
There are pieces of me missing.
Buried.
Stolen.
And the warlock stands in the doorway, silent, patient—
like he put them there.
- Writer
