From Rejected Slave to Second Chance Luna

Leaving

Spurn’s POV

I did not know what going home was supposed to feel like.

The black SUV carried us away from Moon Howlers, and every mile felt too quiet. I kept waiting for someone to shout for the driver to stop. I kept waiting for Blake’s hand to close around my arm, for Morgan’s voice to snap my name, for Alpha Amos to order everyone to drag me back inside because slaves did not leave. The pack house disappeared behind us, then the gate, then the road that had marked the edge of everything I had ever known. Still, I could not make myself breathe like it was over.

Damon sat beside me with his hand wrapped gently around mine. His thumb moved in slow circles over my skin, soft and steady, like he was trying to teach my body a rhythm other than fear. Dr. Cross rode with us, his medical bag close, quiet but watchful in the way he had always been when he was worried about me. Tessa sat beside Jacob in the row ahead, her shoulders tense, her fingers twisted together in her lap. No one spoke much. Maybe they were giving me silence because they thought I needed it. Maybe they were afraid one wrong word would break whatever fragile thing had carried me out of that house.

We did not drive for hours like I expected. Instead, the SUV turned through a private gate and followed a narrow road toward a small airstrip. My fingers tightened before I could stop them. A sleek white jet waited beneath the afternoon light, its windows dark, its stairs already lowered. Near the door, painted in rich gold, was a crescent moon resting above the words Golden Moon Resorts.

I stared at the letters for too long. Gold like wealth. Gold like sunlight. Gold like something that belonged in a world where people had choices and clean clothes and rooms above ground. I had never been close to a plane before. I had never imagined touching one, let alone walking inside one. My first thought was not wonder. It was fear. I did not know where to stand. I did not know what I was allowed to touch. I did not know if someone like me was supposed to be this close to something that looked expensive enough to punish me for breathing wrong beside it.

Damon noticed. Of course, he did. He slowed beside me instead of pulling me forward.

“Do you have a question, Little Star?” he asked softly.

My throat tightened. Questions had never been safe in Moon Howlers. Questions meant back talk. Back talk meant punishment. I almost shook my head, but Damon’s hand stayed warm around mine, patient and steady, not forcing, only waiting.

“What is Golden Moon Resorts?” I whispered, so softly I barely heard myself.

Damon’s expression softened. Not with pity. I was starting to learn the difference, though the lesson still felt new and fragile.

“It is my company,” he said. “Hotels, resorts, private estates, and safe locations for wolves who need privacy when they travel. My family started with one property. I built it into something much bigger.”

I looked from him to the jet.

“You own this?”

“Yes.”

Heat crept into my cheeks, and my eyes dropped at once.

“I am sorry. I should not have asked.”

Damon stopped walking. Not sharply. Not angrily. Just enough that I had to notice. He turned toward me and brushed his thumb across my knuckles.

“Spurn, listen to me. You never have to be afraid to ask me anything.”

The words hit something small and bruised inside me.

“Anything?” I breathed.

“Anything,” he promised. “I may not always have a perfect answer, but I will never punish you for wanting to understand. I want you to ask questions. I want you to know me. That is how you learn your mate. That is how trust begins.”

I did not know what to do with that. In Moon Howlers, silence had kept me alive. Asking had only ever handed someone a reason to hurt me. But Damon was looking at me like my voice mattered, like every question I had swallowed over the years deserved a place to go.

So I held his hand a little tighter and looked back at the golden moon painted on the jet. For the first time, I wondered if leaving did not only mean surviving. Maybe it meant learning how to live.

Damon did not rush me up the stairs. He stayed beside me, one hand in mine and the other hovering near my back without touching, as if he was ready to catch me but still wanted the choice to be mine. The inside of the jet was quiet and bright, all cream leather seats, polished wood, and soft gold accents that matched the moon painted outside. I froze at the doorway, certain for one dizzy second that I had stepped into a place meant for everyone except me.

“You can sit wherever you feel most comfortable,” Damon said gently.

That only made my panic worse. Wherever I wanted. Whatever I chose. Those kinds of words did not fit inside me yet. My eyes moved over the seats, the folded blankets, the small table set with glasses of water, and I could not make myself step forward until Damon squeezed my hand once, soft enough to be a question.

I finally chose the seat nearest the window because the glass gave me somewhere to look when the room felt like too much. Damon sat beside me, close enough for warmth but not close enough to cage me in. Dr. Cross took the seat across from us, his medical bag tucked carefully by his feet. Tessa sat across the aisle with Jacob beside her, his body angled toward her like he could shield her from thoughts alone.

The door closed with a soft sound that should not have made me flinch, but it did. My fingers curled around the edge of the armrest. Damon noticed and slid his hand beneath mine instead of pulling it away. His thumb began those slow circles again, steady and patient. Across from me, Dr. Cross leaned forward just a little, keeping his voice low.

“Spurn, look at me for a moment,” he said. “You are safe. This plane belongs to Alpha Damon. No one from Moon Howlers can come through that door. No one here is going to punish you for sitting, resting, asking questions, or being afraid.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted the words to settle inside me and stay there, but fear had roots. It had lived in my bones longer than kindness had lived in my hands. So I nodded because that was easier than speaking, then turned my face toward the window as the runway stretched beside us.

The jet began to move. My stomach tightened as the world outside slid backward, faster and faster, until the ground disappeared beneath us. I pressed closer to the window without meaning to. Moon Howlers shrank into trees, roads, and distance. For eighteen years, that place had been my whole world. From above, it looked small enough to hold in one trembling hand.