The Fake Luna

Chapter 11

Killian.

As I ate, she kept gawking at me, blinking like an owl.

“What?” I asked.

“I pushed our wedding to tomorrow night,” she said softly. “I have this launch… and it’s clashing with our original date. I really need this collection out. Pretty please?”

I took a long gulp of cold water. She was trying to sound so sweet and innocent. You wouldn't even know this is the same woman— who has some dark fantasies with me as the main character, swirling in her mind.

“Whatever. I honestly don’t care,” I said.

“Yaay!” she chirped, practically bouncing in her seat.

Why is she so excited about this?

Before her memory loss, she treated the wedding like a chore. Always pushing it back, making excuses. Now she’s acting like it’s prom night and I’m her crush.

I’m the Alpha. I’m obligated to marry this big-eyed, blue-eyed Luna. That’s the job.

Still… something’s off.

Before the yacht accident, I saw a sneak peek of her dress. Hideous is a kind word. It looked like lace threw up on itself. But hey—her circus.

The thing I can’t stop thinking about though?

Earlier in her office, when I went down on her…

She was too tight. Like… vïrgin tight.

Which makes no damn sense. Wasn’t she the one rumored to be hooking up with her half-brother?

Unless that accident… did something like also make her tight.

I went to bed trying to forget it. Just sleep. Simple.

Except when I woke up in the middle of the night, there she was. Curled up beside me. Wearing my shirt. Sleeping like she belonged there.

I should’ve kicked her out. Should’ve told her to sleep in her own damn room.

But instead, I stared at her.

I glanced lower.

Her shirt had hiked up a bit. Her thigh was peeking out of the covers. Skin soft and glowing in the moonlight. I moved without thinking, leaning in—just to check. No touching. Just close enough to confirm what I already suspected.

That scent? It was too sweet.

Her legs twitched as if she was dreaming.

I reached out, resting a hand near her thigh. Not on. Just near. I know a virgin when I see one. If I could just part those sweet looking thighs, spread those saucy lips and get a peek I'd have my answers. Nestling between her legs I softly touched her thighs.

Sleeping with no pänties huh? Isn't she too trusting? Her legs instinctively parted, my fingers got to work. I spread her psy lips.

Just a little more… she was already dripping. Funny how her juices taste like her scent. Sweet and fruity. I kid you not, her juices do taste like how she smells and I crave to have a taste of it but not now.

Almost… there. Spread those lips a lil bit. I could see her sweet hole. I licked my lips. I'm just checking, I will not be tempted to dive my tongue inside that moist, warm sweet—

She stirred. Mumbled something, and woke up.

Her eyes snapped open—then widened when she saw me crouched between her legs.

“What the fück, Killian?!” she yelled, scrambling back like I was a monster under her bed. “You hørny creep!”

I held up my hands. “Relax. I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were practically nosediving between my legs!”

“I was… confirming a theory.”

She threw a pillow at me.

“Get out of my room!”

I got up, grumbling—and paused at the door.

“Wait. This is my room. Why the hell am I walking out?”

I turned around and climbed back into my side of the bed. She scowled and placed a wall of pillows between us like we were ten-year-olds at a sleepover.

“You sleep there. I sleep here,” she snapped. “No more psy peeking. It’s bad manners.”

“Why the hell are you even in my room?” I muttered.

She yawned, already pulling the covers over her head like I was yesterday’s problem.

“Because your bed is softer. And warmer. ”

~~~~~

Sia.

The stylists showed me the gown Marilyn had originally picked, and I nearly burped on sight.

“A suit?” I squinted. “Who wears a white suit to her wedding? With a cape? This looks like something a grasshopper would wear to a board meeting.”

They let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m sorry, but this is gross. No offense but I’m not walking down the aisle dressed like a fashion intern at a sci-fi convention. I want ball gowns. Mermaid cuts. Something dramatic. Fairytale. Maybe even illegal in three states. Bring me magic.”

The head stylist cleared her throat and gave a polite nod. “Yes, noted… Luna Marilyn.”

They took my measurements with the speed of people who feared I might roast their next suggestion, then vanished.

Later, I was still swinging from side to side in my office chair when Blair walked in, iced coffee in hand.

I told her about last night—Killian’s little midnight pervy k!nk while I slept.

She cackled. “He must’ve missed that püssy so bad, he had to confirm it still existed!”

I groaned. “You have no idea how creeped out I was. And he wasn’t even ashamed. He just smirked at me like it was completely normal to sneak between a sleeping woman’s thighs.”

Blair shook her head, laughing. “Girl, you need cameras in that room.”

I sipped my drink and gave her a look. “Okay, but seriously—what even is a werewolf wedding like?”

Blair perked up like I’d asked her to spill celebrity tea.

“Ohhh, buckle up, Luna Barbie. Okay so…It’s done at midnight,” Blair started, flopping dramatically onto her seat. “The priest chants some gibberish shyt about moons and fate and sacred bonds—it’s very ‘cult but with snacks’ energy. Especially your vows.”

I blinked. “Sounds like I should bring sage.”

She snorted. “You say your vows. He says his. Then comes the mark. The real one.”

“I have no idea what the vows are,” I admitted. “I’m terrible at cramming. I could barely memorize a menu, let alone lifelong promises.”

Blair waved her hand like it was no big deal. “Relax. You’ll wear an earpiece. I’ll whisper everything—line by line. I’ll tell you when to blink, breathe, even smile at the old ladies in row two. You’ll be fine.”

I exhaled. “Thank Neptune for you.”

“Damn right.”

“Go on. What’s next after the vows?”

“He marks you,” she said, sipping her drink like she wasn’t casually dropping life-altering statements.

I arched a brow. “But… he already marked me. The other night. When he was being weirdly hørny.”

“That was the pre-claim,” she said. “Like a warning shot. A scent stamp. He was warding off other guys, not finalizing anything.”

“And the second bite?”

“That's the full bond. The real deal. It’s public and symbolic. Moon-approved. That’s the one that binds your souls and makes your bond official in the eyes of the pack.”

I nodded, mentally noting how werewolves treat biting like paperwork. Complicated, exclusive, and layered.

“There’s a tiny problem, though,” I added.

Blair paused mid-sip. “Oh no. What now?”

“I get turned on by biting. Especially by him, he does it so sensually. Like he's making love” I said it flatly, like confessing a crime. “Like... It really turns me on. What if I accidentally… you know... make people go into heat?”

Her eyes widened.

“Well, damn.”

“Yeah.”

She blinked, then snapped her fingers. “Okay. We can handle that. You’ll have your earpiece. When it’s bite time, I’ll start singing something distracting in your ear. Like an annoying pop song or... a Gregorian chant. You’ll focus on that, not the sëxy teeth-in-neck situation.”

“Won’t that throw me off?”

“Exactly. By the time he’s done biting, you’ll be too busy trying not to laugh or sing along. Mind control, baby. We’re using siren brain hacks for good.”

I nodded. It wasn’t the worst plan.

“Will you be there?” I asked.

She gave me a look. “Omegas aren’t allowed at the actual ceremony. Pack politics. It’s all ‘noble wolves only’ and I’m not high enough on the furry food

chain.”

“But you’ll still be in my ear?”

“Front-row seat to the chaos,” she grinned. “I’ll be your hørny-wedding guardian angel.”

I grinned. “Best role ever.”