Husbands Swapped, But I Am Still the Superior Luna

CHAPTER SIX

ARDEN

I watch them from across the reception hall.

Krue has his hand at the small of Daphne's back, guiding her through the steps of something slow and formal. She looks just as beautiful as she did the night of the engagement party—maybe more so now.

Thinking of it, I hadn't planned on going to the engagement party. I was only going to show up for the wedding itself, but something just made me dress up and head over.

And I'm glad I did. A smirk takes over my face as I relive hearing Sophia's voice doing that thing it does, and there was Daphne, standing alone, taking it without flinching.

I told myself I was just watching. Assessing the situation.

Then the words came out before I could think them through.

My woman. No one gets to bully her.

I don't act on impulse, but something about the way she stood there—shoulders squared, completely alone in a courtyard where she should have had someone in her corner—it got under my defenses before I could stop it.

And then she slapped Sophia.

No hesitation. No glance at me first to see if I'd approve or try to stop her. Just her hand, and the c***k of it, and Sophia's face snapping sideways.

I'd had to work not to grin like an i***t in front of everyone.

The moment replays now as I watch Krue spin her carefully through a turn. Daphne wasn't some fragile thing that needed protecting from every sharp word. She had teeth. She knew how to use them.

Fully worthy of being the pack's Luna.

That's what I'd thought then. That's what I'm still thinking now, watching her move through the reception like she was born knowing exactly how much space she was allowed to take up and had decided to take more.

The music shifts. Krue's hand stays exactly where it is.

This morning, I'd seen her before she saw me. The bridal suite doors were open, and she stepped into the light wearing that dress—ivory silk, silver embroidery, the whole thing tailored so precisely it moved like it was part of her. The jewelry threw fragments of light back across the room.

I'd stopped walking.

I don't know how long I stood there. Long enough that someone noticed. I didn't care. I was busy recalibrating something I thought I'd already worked out.

I'd built a profile of her in my head. Sharp, composed, self-sufficient. Someone I could respect from a distance while we figured out how to coexist in the same pack. Someone who didn't need looking after.

I had not factored in this.

Then Sophia opened her mouth about cold men and womanizers and fancy clothes, and I was already moving before I'd decided to. Krue was three feet away, and I caught that look on his face—the particular stillness that comes right before he says something devastating without raising his voice.

We've done this before. Not often. Only when someone made it necessary.

I'd leaned in and kissed his cheek.

The sound of it rang out across the suite—loud, deliberate, ridiculous. The whole room turned. Krue's face did exactly what I needed it to do, and by the time we were done, Sophia had gone red and the moment belonged to us instead of her.

It was clean. Tactical. The kind of coordinated move we'd pulled off a dozen times.

Except when I turned back to Daphne, she was watching me with something I couldn't quite read—careful on the surface, something deeper underneath. Like she hadn't decided what to do with me yet.

And when Crux walked in and I saw him start to calculate his next move, I clapped him on the shoulder and steered the conversation somewhere he couldn't follow. Then I'd glanced across at Krue falling into place on Daphne's other side, and it should have felt like coordination—exactly according to plan—

But the thing that moved through me wasn't tactical.

It was considerably more inconvenient than that.

They turn again on the dance floor. The light catches the silver thread in her dress, and I see Krue's expression shift—just slightly, just enough. That same look he had this morning when she stepped into view.

Awe.

I've seen my brother calculate a thousand things. I've watched him carry the weight of this pack without flinching, make impossible decisions without blinking. I know every tell he has, every c***k in the armor.

And right now, looking at her, he's not calculating anything.

My jaw tightens.

The song ends. He steps back, says something that makes her nod, and then he's walking toward the edge of the hall where the pack elders are waiting.

She stands there for a moment, alone in the center of the floor, and I'm already moving before I decide to.

I reach her just as the next song begins.

"My turn," I say.

She looks up at me, and there's that same careful assessment from this morning. Then she places her hand in mine.

I pull her close—closer than Krue had her, close enough that I can smell whatever they put in her hair, close enough to feel the way her breath catches just slightly when I settle my hand at her waist.

"You're staring," she says quietly.

"You're worth staring at."

Something flickers across her face. Not quite a smile. Not quite anything I can name.

"Your brother said the same thing."

The irritation spikes sharp and immediate, and I realize with perfect clarity what's been building all day—from the moment I saw Krue's face this morning, from the instant I watched him guide her through that dance.

I don't want to share her.

"He's not wrong," I say finally.

She tilts her head. "Is that jealousy I'm hearing?"

"Would it bother you if it was?"

"I haven't decided yet."

The corner of my mouth lifts despite myself. "Fair enough."

We turn slowly through the next measure, and I can feel every place we're touching—her hand in mine, my palm pressed against the silk at her waist, the small space between us that feels both too much and not nearly enough.

"I didn't plan on defending you yesterday," I hear myself say.

"I know."

"How do you know?"

"Because you looked surprised when you did it." Her eyes hold mine. "Like you'd just done something you couldn't take back."

She's right. That's exactly what it felt like.

The song ends. I should step back. Let her go. There are a hundred other people here who'll want to offer congratulations, make small talk, do all the things you're supposed to do at a wedding reception.

I don't let go.

"One more," I say.

She doesn't pull away.

The next song starts, and I pull her closer still, and somewhere across the room I can feel Krue watching us the same way I'd watched him.

Good.

Let him feel it too—this inconvenient, impossible thing that's going to make everything we planned considerably more complicated.