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1539 Words
LUNA
I stand under the shower for what feels like forever, letting scalding water pound into my skin. It’s not just cleaning me; it’s burning away the last two weeks, stripping off blood, fear, humiliation. I wish the water could dissolve the heaviness lodged somewhere between my ribs. It doesn’t. But it helps.
When I finally emerge—clean, exhausted, softer than I’ve felt in months—I pull on fresh clothes. Nothing here belongs to me. Not the shirt. Not the sweatpants. Not my freedom. Even the bathroom lacks a laundry basket, like they’ve erased any sign of permanence. Or maybe they don’t expect me to be here long enough to need one.
The moment I step into the main room, I freeze. Mal stands in the kitchen, cooking. Actually cooking. He’s flipping vegetables in a skillet like some domestic god, wearing fitted dress pants and a crisp shirt with the top buttons undone.
I don’t know whether to laugh, gawk, or run.
“Well, hello, gorgeous,” he purrs—too smooth, too confident. Not the same boy who bit me until I saw stars.
He pulls me in, wraps his arms around me, breathes me in. My body reacts before my mind does, easing into the warmth, the scent, the familiarity. But I stay stiff, watching him like he’s a stranger. He kisses the top of my head, like he owns rights to it.
Shadow hums beneath his skin—content, possessive, hungry.
He releases me, humming some song I swear I know, and goes back to stirring vegetables. I perch at the island counter, staring at him in bewilderment, like this version of him doesn’t compute.
“Mal,” I say slowly, “what are you wearing?”
He spins, showing off. “Had a few pack meetings this morning. Another with my parents. Business attire is mandatory. You know how they are.”
I glance at the closet we raided earlier. Eight million suits. This wasn’t a one-time thing.
“And where am I, exactly?”
I sense everything in him tighten. Not physically—more like mentally. Shadow gnashes unseen teeth.
“Luna, can we wait on questions until after you’ve eaten? You’ve been out for days. You and Jade are probably starving.”
That should concern me. Days. As in plural.
The words slip before I can stop them. “Yeah? And why did you make me sleep, Mal?”
Everything stops.
His head turns toward me, slow, deliberate, dangerous. Eyes mostly black, swirling gold. Shadow. Of course.
“I did what I had to do,” he says, voice lower, darker than anything human. “My mother was going to kick you out. I wasn’t going to lose you. Not again.”
The words hit me in the stomach—hard. A threat disguised as devotion. Or devotion disguised as threat.
“Shadow,” I say, voice shaky, “let Mal talk. Please.”
His voice detonates. “I AM HE AND HE IS ME!”
The sound slams into me—into Jade—like a psychic punch. Something primal inside me answers it, furious and terrified.
“We won’t lose you again,” Shadow snarls. “You won’t suffer again.”
“You can’t promise that!” I scream back. “You can’t just bite me, force me unconscious, then pretend everything’s okay! I’m not okay!”
Before I can move, he turns off the stove and comes for me. Fast. Too fast. He drags me against him, arms like steel bars locking around my torso. I fight like a feral animal—kicking, clawing, hitting—anything to get free, anything to hurt him even a little.
He doesn’t budge.
He just holds me while I break.
I scream until my throat shreds. I sob until my chest feels hollow. Every trauma, every terror, every humiliation that’s been piling up for two weeks rips out of me raw.
And he lets me.
Like he expected it. Like he’s been waiting for me to finally break, because he broke long before I ever did.
When there’s nothing left, when my muscles hang limp and my mind feels scraped clean, he picks me up like it costs him nothing and carries me back to the bed. He tucks me in, brushing hair from my forehead with infuriating tenderness, and watches as exhaustion drags me under.
---
When I wake again, I’m wrapped in him. Tight. Too tight. His whole body shakes—shivering, growling, making small wounded sounds I’ve never heard from him before.
Shadow’s dreams bleed into reality. Terrifying. Broken. Possessive.
Jade claws upward, urgent.
Let me.
I release control. She flips us around with one smooth motion, forcing his head onto our chest, his ear pressed to our heartbeat.
He’s dreaming about losing us again, she whispers.
Again? I echo, heart cracking.
He hasn’t really slept since we got back. Shadow keeps taking over because Mal’s too exhausted to fight him. He’s terrified of failing us.
My throat tightens. Gods. Mal—the nerdy, awkward boy I fell for—has been drowning this whole time. And I’ve been too consumed by my trauma to see it.
His shaking finally eases. He breathes in our scent, clings tighter, and melts into sleep like he trusts us to keep him safe.
I run my fingers through his hair—soft, long, messy. I’ve wanted to do that for years. Before fate. Before prophecy. Before wolves and mates and blood.
Before all of this ruined us.
---
“First of all,” Mal announces, standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed in baggy sweats and his nerd glasses back where they belonged, “I want to deeply apologize for Shadow.”
He rubs his face, mortified. “He’s going to be the death of me.”
I sit silent. Cross-legged. Cold. Because sorry isn’t going to fix the last two days. Hell, the last few weeks.
“The biting,” he mumbles, staring at the floor. “The medbay. Yesterday. Literally everything. None of that was how I wanted you to start here. When I woke up and realized what he’d done, we had a… stern conversation.”
“So your apology is basically: ‘not my fault’?”
“No!” His hands fly up. “I still feel awful. Especially marking you in front of my mother. That was a massive breach of trust. And locking you in my room—”
“Wait. I’m locked in here?”
He winces. “Well… yeah.”
Something cold slithers down my spine. Captive. Again.
“Until when?”
“Until my parents deem you not a threat.”
I laugh. Dry. Bitter. Broken.
“And who’s judging me? Your creepy uncle? Your dad, who hated me on sight? Your mother, who acts like she wants to skin me alive? That’s my approval panel?”
He nods.
“But I’m working on them,” he says quickly. “You being my mate helps. They can’t legally make you leave. And if they try, I’ll go with you. No hesitation.”
My heart stutters. I hate that part of me melts when he says things like that. I also hate that another part of me feels trapped—tethered to him by fate, by biology, by bite marks.
I whisper, “Mal, I’m a prisoner. Again. This is just a prettier cage.”
He shuts down. Completely. Like I stabbed him somewhere lethal. We sit in silence so thick it eats all the oxygen.
A knock explodes against the door.
Mal stiffens. Doesn't look at me. Doesn’t breathe.
He cracks the door open. “Now’s not a good time, Mother.”
Her voice slides in, velvet over blades. “I’d like to see how she’s faring. After her… very powerful heat. I brought our warlock.”
Mal’s whole body flexes, wolf-ready. “Mother—”
“Let her in,” I say.
His head whips toward me—shock, warning, fury.
His mother enters like smoke—slow, elegant, predatory. Her eyes, though polite, are lethal. She sits at Mal’s desk, posture regal, stare sharp enough to skin.
I hold the gaze. I don’t flinch.
She looks away first.
Something inside me—Jade, maybe—smirks.
She speaks with a brittle calm, every word measured to hide the violence simmering beneath. “I would like to apologize. And start fresh. I did not understand the role you would play in my son’s life.”
She waits for forgiveness. I give her nothing.
Mal shifts anxiously, sensing danger. Shadow rumbles beneath his skin, wanting to rip throats.
Mal’s mother’s jaw tightens when I stay silent. A twitch in her eye. A hint of the wolf beneath the queen. Dangerous. Controlled. Lethal.
She repeats, colder, “I am sorry.”
“Say my name,” I growl.
Mal’s head snaps toward me, shocked.
Her lips peel back, ever so slightly. Rage flickers hot in her eyes, quickly leashed. “Luna,” she spits, like swallowing poison. “I’m sorry.”
I arch a brow.
“Good. Now we can talk.”
- Writer
