Stepbrother’s Luna

The Wolf at the Table

The crystal clink of champagne glasses rang through the Hayes’ new dining room like distant bells at a funeral — bright and hollow and painfully polite. Claire fluttered around the table pouring bubbly into tall flutes no one really wanted, her silver hair pinned back so tight it pulled the corners of her smile sharper than usual.

Emery’s father beamed from the head of the table, cheeks flushed with pride, his hand draped over Claire’s as if holding her in place would keep this fragile dream from slipping through the cracks Roman had started to hammer in just hours before.

Jackson’s thumb drew slow circles on the inside of Emery’s wrist, right where the pulse fluttered too fast to hide. She kept her eyes on the bubbles rising in her glass, pretending not to feel the ghost of Roman’s mouth still pressed against hers — teeth and heat and the taste of something that wasn’t quite human.

Jackson leaned close, lips brushing her ear, a kiss that didn’t warm her skin at all. “Smile, baby,” he murmured, voice soft as poison. “Your dad’s watching.”

She smiled. Good Emery. Obedient Emery. The perfect fiancée in the perfect dress, playing her part like she hadn’t just let her soon-to-be stepbrother back her against a wall and kiss her like he wanted to swallow her whole.

Roman sat at the far end of the table, one boot braced against the leg of an empty chair, shoulders sprawled like he owned the space. He didn’t touch his champagne. Didn’t touch the neat piles of croissants Claire kept shoving toward him like they could bribe him into pretending he belonged here.

His eyes — gold shot through with something darker — stayed on Emery’s throat every time she spoke. Every time Jackson’s fingers pressed a little harder, like a leash he liked reminding her she wore.

⸻

Claire cleared her throat, bright and brittle. “So! Tell us more about the honeymoon plans, Jackson. Emery mentioned Paris?”

Jackson beamed — all white teeth and practiced charm. “Paris for two weeks, then maybe Italy if we have time before the new house closes. I want Emery to see the world. She deserves the best.”

His hand slipped lower under the table, palm splayed over her knee, fingers creeping up until they pressed just above the hem of her dress. The bubbles in her throat fizzed into acid.

Roman’s boot hit the floor with a thud. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice so casual it made her stomach twist. “Planning on showing her off to the whole world, huh?”

Jackson stiffened, but his smile didn’t crack. “Why wouldn’t I? She’s beautiful. Sweet. The perfect wife.”

The word perfect sliced down her spine like a blade. Emery shifted her knee but Jackson’s hand clamped tighter, thumb digging in just hard enough to make her wince. Roman’s eyes flicked to the tiny flinch she tried to hide. The corner of his mouth twitched — not a smile this time but something darker, sharper.

“Perfect,” Roman repeated, voice low. “Funny word for a man who doesn’t even know what he’s got his hands on.”

Jackson’s grin faltered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Emery’s fork clattered against her plate. “He’s just messing with you,” she cut in, voice too bright, brittle enough that her father’s head snapped up from his plate. “Ignore him, he likes to—”

Roman’s laugh was soft, a rumble that felt too big for the pretty room with its fresh paint and new tablecloth. His eyes burned holes into hers. Say it, Firefly.

Claire cleared her throat again, too loud. “So, Jackson, are you still considering that promotion? The one at your father’s bank?”

The conversation spun away like a coin rolling off the edge of the table — safe topics, neat stories, the illusion of a family that belonged together. Jackson’s hand stayed planted on her thigh the entire time, a brand she couldn’t shake off no matter how many times she shifted.

Under the surface, something else coiled — not fear exactly but a sharp, electric edge that made her tongue itch behind her teeth. Her skin felt too tight, her heartbeat too loud, each breath scraping her throat raw.

Every time she looked at Roman, it got worse. His gaze crawled under her skin, sinking teeth into a part of her that had been sleeping for so long she’d almost convinced herself it didn’t exist.

⸻

After the plates were cleared, Jackson’s mother called. An emergency brunch change, she said — could they come early? Jackson squeezed Emery’s hand so tight she felt the bones grind together.

“Gotta keep up appearances, baby,” he whispered in her ear, sweet as rot.

Roman watched them stand. His eyes flicked to Jackson’s hand like he was memorizing exactly where to break it later.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, voice flat. He didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t wait for Jackson’s polite protest. He just fell into step behind them, boots echoing on the polished floor like a warning no one wanted to hear.

⸻

Outside, the air bit cold and sharp against Emery’s flushed skin. Jackson opened the passenger door of his silver truck and pressed her back against the frame when Roman couldn’t quite see. His mouth dropped to her neck — not a kiss but a test, lips cold, tongue flicking over the spot Roman’s teeth had grazed only hours ago.

He pulled back when she flinched, eyes narrowing. “You’re jumpy today,” he said. He smiled but his hand curled around her jaw, thumb pressing hard under her chin. “Something you want to tell me, Em?”

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder. Roman leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed, head c****d like a wolf scenting blood.

Jackson’s grip tightened. “Go inside,” he snapped over his shoulder.

Roman didn’t move. His mouth curved into a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “Go ahead, princess. Tell him.”

Emery swallowed. Her voice barely crawled out. “We’re going to be late, Jackson.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes flat and bright. Then he kissed her, hard enough to bruise, hand fisted in her hair like a warning. She didn’t kiss him back. She didn’t have to — he only wanted the picture of it.

When he finally pulled away, he smiled at Roman. “Enjoy your new family.”

Roman’s answering grin showed too much tooth. “Oh, I plan to.”

⸻

The truck door slammed. The tires spat gravel as Jackson pulled away, leaving Roman and Emery alone on the porch that smelled too new to be real.

She pressed her back to the siding, heartbeat stuttering against her ribs. Roman stalked closer, boots scraping over the steps, shadows pooling behind him like he dragged the forest with him wherever he went.

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. The heat rolling off his skin pulled hers tight like it wanted to crawl off her bones and settle under his instead.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

She shoved off the wall, every nerve buzzing. “Stay away from me.”

His laugh rumbled in his chest, dark and amused and so familiar it made her vision blur. “You don’t want that.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “You don’t know what I want.”

Roman’s eyes gleamed, sharp and gold in the cold morning light. “I know exactly what you want, Firefly.”

He stepped in, so close she could see the faint pulse at the base of his throat, the dark stubble tracing his jaw, the wild thing behind his eyes that no human mask could ever hide.

“You think I don’t smell it?” he murmured. His nose brushed her hair, his lips ghosting her ear. “Your wolf’s awake, baby. You’re leaking it all over this porch like you want me to bend you over right here and mark you where he can see.”

Her stomach flipped, heat punching low and sharp between her thighs. She hated it — hated how true it felt. Hated that she wasn’t sure who she’d be if she didn’t want him to ruin her.

His hand lifted — stopped just short of her throat. His thumb hovered over the spot he’d bitten last night, not quite touching but close enough she felt the echo of it burn under her skin.

“When he puts his hands on you again, does it feel like this?” he asked. His mouth curved, too sharp to be kind. “Does he make you wet like this?”

Her breath caught. She pressed her palms to his chest, meaning to push him away — but her fingers curled in his shirt instead. His heartbeat thudded slow and steady under her palm, too calm for the wildfire roaring under her ribs.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

Roman bent his head. His mouth brushed her ear, voice soft and lethal all at once. “I’ll stop when you stop pretending you’re not mine.”

He pulled back, slow and deliberate, eyes dragging over her like claws scraping bone. Then he turned and walked inside, boots echoing on the hallway floor like the closing of a cage door behind him.

⸻

Emery stood frozen on the porch, the gravel still trembling under Jackson’s tire marks, the cold wind cutting through the heat Roman left coiled tight in her belly. She pressed her fingers to her lips — the ones he hadn’t touched this time — and tasted ash and pine and secrets she couldn’t bury anymore.

Under her skin, the wolf stirred again — teeth and claws and a promise that this wasn’t over.

Inside the house, Roman’s low laugh drifted through the open window — dark and wicked and hungry enough to wake the storm she’d tried so hard to outrun.