The Broken Luna

I woke up to streams of summer sunlight pouring through the blinds, bathing the room in gold. I watched as dust danced lazily in the rays, not quite ready to face the day myself. I sat up and put my feet on the cool, softly worn wood floor, stretching my muscles and cracking my joints. I shuffled over to my pedestal sink and looked in the old, dirty oval mirror and plucked a few stray eyebrow hairs before throwing my platinum hair into a high ponytail. When it was down, it reached just below my breasts, so I usually wore it up unless there was a special occasion. I hastily brushed my teeth and then went to my closet to get ready for the day. I dressed in all black, as usual: black leggings paired with a black, soft cotton, crop top that ended just below my belly button. I laced up my Doc Marten boots and walked out of my small room. I turned to look at it, my college twin sized bed was pushed into the top left corner, the soft white quilt on it was the last gift from my parents. I had a chest of 3 drawers with my undergarments haphazardly stuffed into it that doubled as my nightstand, and the small sink with the mirror over it. My closet had about 10 days worth of clothes hung up in it. It wasn't much, but it was mine. I had no idea at that moment how much was about to change. I tried to walk down the hall quietly. My room was one of many in the pack-house's guest wing. I was one of three orphans that lived in the pack house. Damien, who was a couple of years older than me, lived in the room at the end of the hall. Faye, who was my age, lived in the room across from me. We had all lost our parents to a territory dispute 8 years ago. They were enforcers (think policemen/pack military, basically responsible for enforcing our laws and protecting our lands and Alpha) and lived closest to our eastern border where the neighboring pack had invaded from. We had lost about 15 wolves over the course of two weeks of fighting, but had taken out over half of their pack before the rest surrendered and agreed to swear their loyalty to our Alpha, Riez. Our pack strongly believed in protecting our own and the pack house was home to anyone that needed it, but not necessarily for free. Each of us had taken on one of the responsibilities for maintaining the house. Faye cleaned pretty much everything except for people’s personal rooms, I cooked all of the meals, and Damien washed all of the laundry. We each had been left large sums of money, but needed it to last until we could start working, so we lived pretty frugally. As I was tiptoeing down the hall towards the kitchen to start on breakfast, a familiar scent washed over me: blackberries with a hint of burning wood. f**k, Fallon. Fallon was Alpha Riez's only son and exactly who I was trying to avoid. Every time he was near me, my head felt fuzzy and that spot in my abdomen that felt like a rubber band being stretched to its limit finally felt like it was being released as I got closer to where it was trying to go. He made it impossible to think and I needed to be able to think today. "Fallon, what are you doing here?" I asked. "Um, I live here. I'm hungry, so I was coming to see if you'd make my plate a little early," he said sheepishly, barely meeting my eyes. Damn, why was he so gorgeous. He was as pale as the moon, but not in a sickly way. His curly, dirty blonde hair always made it look like he had a halo. His eyes were the color of forest trees with beautiful drops of sunlight peeking through. He had high cheekbones and a round but strong jaw. And those lips, I could write poems about those lips. He had a perfect cupid's bow and his bottom lip was so full it was like it was begging to be tasted. His sharp canine teeth peeked out as he tried not to grin. I imagined those teeth biting into my own lips and stifled a groan. "Oh, um, of course, just follow me to the kitchen. What did you want me to make for you?" I asked, praying beyond belief that he had allergies or a cold so that he couldn't smell my arousal. Why was he so damn intoxicating? "You know those little pastries you make? With the apples and the um…" He trailed off, snapping his fingers as he tried to think of the word. Why was he so nervous? "Cinnamon?" I offered. "Yeah, the apples and cinnamon. I love those things," he breathed. I nodded my head, too afraid to say anything else, and motioned for him to follow me. I got out everything I needed and started to make the puff pastry dough. I tried really hard to focus on what I was doing, but Fallon was looking at me with those eyes and I was starting to feel dizzy. Before I knew it, I was falling to the floor. The last thing I remembered before the oblivion of sleep was Fallon's muscled arms surrounding me and my head falling into his lap.