Stepbrother’s Luna

The Bond Under My Skin

The engagement brunch was set for nine the next morning. Emery stood in front of her father’s bathroom mirror at seven, the pale blue dress clinging to her hips like a whisper of a promise she hadn’t meant to make. Jackson loved her in blue. It made her look innocent, pure, sweet enough to serve up to his mother on a silver platter alongside the eggs and the expensive champagne he’d ordered just for show.

She dabbed concealer under her eyes, trying to hide the truth that she hadn’t slept at all. Every time she closed her eyes, Roman’s scent slipped through the cracks in her mind — smoke and pine and the sharp, animal warmth that made her toes curl under the thin sheets.

She’d lain awake for hours, pulse pounding, imagining his mouth still ghosting over her throat, the way his teeth scraped her skin like he was tasting something only he could find. The ring on her finger felt too tight. The band itched against her knuckle like a mark that didn’t belong to her anymore.

Downstairs, the smell of coffee and bacon drifted through the vents. Claire’s voice rose and fell in that soft, polite way she had, smoothing over the sharp edges of her new family like icing on a cracked cake. Her father laughed at something — loud and happy. Emery leaned her forehead against the cool glass and let the laughter dig into her chest like a splinter.

She was supposed to be good. Supposed to be grateful. Supposed to pretend that her skin didn’t still buzz where Roman’s hand had rested, hot through the thin cotton of her blouse.

The stairs creaked under her bare feet when she finally descended. Jackson was already there, suit jacket draped over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows in that effortless way that made her father say he’s a real man, Em, a provider, the kind you marry.

He rose the moment he saw her, the bright, boyish grin flashing like polished brass. He was handsome, clean-cut, chin smooth, hair slicked back just so. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, lips dry, breath minty with the fancy mouthwash he carried in his car.

“Baby, you look perfect,” Jackson murmured. His fingers brushed her waist — a touch that should have been comforting. Instead, her skin prickled where his hand landed.

His eyes flicked up the stairs. “Roman here?”

She stiffened. Too obvious. Too sharp. Jackson never said Roman’s name before. He’d barely listened when she told him, years ago, about the boy who left without goodbye.

“Upstairs,” she said, voice flat. She didn’t know if he was still up there. She hadn’t heard his door all night — but that didn’t mean he’d slept. Wolves didn’t sleep like men did, did they? The thought came unbidden, so wild and stupid she wanted to laugh at herself.

Jackson’s hand slid lower on her back, pressing her gently toward the table where Claire was laying out silver forks and crystal glasses she’d unpacked just for the occasion. Her father beamed when they joined him, eyes crinkling at the corners like he couldn’t see the tension knotted under Emery’s collarbone.

“Big day,” he said, clapping Jackson on the shoulder. “So glad you could make it, son.”

Jackson’s smile tightened just a fraction at the word son. He didn’t like being reminded that Emery’s father had a new family now — new blood that didn’t belong to the neat world he’d carved out for them both.

Emery sat. She folded her hands in her lap. She felt Jackson’s knee press against hers under the table — a silent claim, a warning she couldn’t mistake.

⸻

The door creaked behind them. The hair on the back of Emery’s neck rose before she even turned her head.

Roman leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes hooded, a smirk playing on lips that looked like they’d been bitten raw. His black t-shirt stretched across his shoulders, the tattoos peeking out like shadows moving under skin.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His gaze slid to Emery first — a slow, burning sweep that made her thighs press together under the tablecloth — then flicked to Jackson like a blade drawn in a dark alley.

Jackson’s fingers tightened on her knee. She forced herself not to flinch.

Roman pushed off the doorframe and sauntered closer, boots thudding heavy on the hardwood. He looked out of place in the bright, tidy kitchen — a wolf slipped inside a porcelain dollhouse.

Claire fluttered up to him, fussing with a wrinkle on his shirt that he didn’t bother fixing. He didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on Emery like a secret no one else could read.

“Morning, sunshine,” Roman drawled. The nickname dripped poison and honey all at once.

Jackson bristled. “Roman, right?” He stuck out his hand, the perfect gentleman, teeth bared in a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

Roman ignored the hand completely. He leaned in — too close — his breath brushing Emery’s ear as he reached for a cup on the counter behind her. The scent of him poured over her — smoke and cedar and that wild, primal thing that scraped under her ribs every time he came near.

His lips brushed her hair. “You didn’t tell your boy how you woke me up last night, Firefly?”

Her heart stopped. Jackson’s hand twitched on her thigh. The entire room went too quiet. Claire froze beside the toaster, her smile flickering like a blown light bulb.

Emery forced a laugh — brittle, sharp. “Ignore him. He’s always been an ass.” She shoved her chair back, scraping the floor, and twisted out of Jackson’s grasp.

Roman just grinned. His teeth looked sharper in the morning light.

⸻

She fled to the hallway, hands shaking, heartbeat loud in her ears. She pressed her palms to the cool plaster, eyes squeezed shut. Breathe in. Breathe out. Remember the script. Good girl. Good daughter. Good fiancée.

A warm shadow swallowed the sunbeam from the window behind her. She didn’t have to look. She knew.

Roman’s chest pressed to her back, heat rolling off him like a furnace. His nose brushed the curve of her neck, his breath rougher than it should have been.

“You smell like fear,” he murmured, voice low, dangerous. “And you smell like mine.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, eyes burning. “Please, Roman. Not here.”

His hand slid around her hip, palm flat against her stomach, pinning her to the wall. She felt every line of him pressed to her back — the hard lines of muscle, the faint rumble in his chest like a growl trapped behind clenched teeth.

“You’re going to pretend you don’t feel it?” His nose skimmed her jaw. “Pretend you didn’t wake up smelling like me? Pretend you’re not wearing that little blue dress for him when your wolf’s under there begging for me?”

Her knees buckled. Roman’s arm locked around her waist, holding her upright when her own bones betrayed her. She hated him for it. Hated herself more for the way her body leaned into him, soft and desperate and hungry.

She could smell it now — the sharp, electric scent under his skin. The scent that wasn’t human.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hissed.

Roman laughed, low and dangerous, teeth brushing her ear. “You think Daddy’s new wife didn’t tell him what you are? You think he’d let you marry that limp d**k human banker if he knew what’s under your pretty skin?”

“Stop,” she begged. She could hear Jackson’s voice in the dining room, Claire laughing too loudly to cover the awkward silence Roman left in his wake. Her father would come looking if she didn’t move.

But Roman didn’t care. He turned her to face him, caging her in with his arms braced on either side of her head. His eyes glowed — just for a heartbeat, a flicker of gold like wildfire trapped in a storm.

“You think you’re going to stand up there in white, let him put his hands on you, his mark on you?” Roman snarled. “No, Firefly. That’s not how this ends.”

“You don’t get to decide,” she spat back. The words surprised even her — the bite, the edge that wasn’t hers alone. Something old and sharp pushed up behind her ribs.

Roman’s grin turned feral. “Don’t I?”

He bent. His mouth crashed against hers — not gentle, not sweet, but claiming. Her gasp let him in, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a kiss that burned through every promise she’d made to herself, to Jackson, to her father’s clean new life.

Her hands flew to his chest — to push him away, she told herself, but her fingers curled in his shirt instead, pulling him closer. His knee pressed between hers, forcing her legs apart until she felt him everywhere — heat and teeth and that dark scent that made her head spin.

He broke the kiss first, teeth tugging her bottom lip until she whimpered. His nose brushed her cheek, breath rough.

“You’re mine,” he growled. “You always were.”

A door slammed in the dining room. Jackson’s voice, closer now.

Roman stepped back just as the hallway filled with footsteps. Emery’s hands dropped to her sides, palms trembling. Roman’s smirk was gone — replaced by a flat, dangerous calm that made her heart stutter.

Jackson rounded the corner. He took in Emery’s flushed face, Roman’s too-calm stance, the way the air seemed to crackle between them. His eyes narrowed, jaw ticking once.

“Everything okay here?” His voice was smooth. Too smooth.

Roman clapped a hand on Jackson’s shoulder — too hard, too friendly. “Just welcoming my new sister properly,” he drawled. The word dripped with poison.

Jackson’s arm slid around Emery’s waist, fingers digging in too tight. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Better watch that mouth, brother,” Jackson said, his grin sharp enough to cut. “Don’t want people to get the wrong idea about you two, do we?”

Roman’s smile matched his — wicked and dark. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

⸻

Back at the table, Jackson’s hand stayed on her thigh the whole time. Roman leaned against the counter, sipping black coffee, watching her with that wolf’s grin that promised this was only the beginning.

And under her skin, something new and old at once unfurled — teeth and claws and a hunger that whispered that this would burn them all down before it was over.