His Possessive Luna

This Is Life

Chapter 5 — Jane's POV (edited)

I'm furious and heartbroken, but I put on my happy face and smile at everyone. It's both a blessing and a curse that no one can tell when I'm not okay. Whenever I wear that mask, no one reads through it — not my family, not even my closest friends. Helpful, on days like today, when I don't want to talk about it. But sometimes I wish someone could see past the smile, feel the pain underneath, comfort me without needing to be asked. I've never really had that. No one who truly sees me.

"Finally done with exams — let's go on vacation!" Ray says, loud as ever.

"How? We don't have any holidays. I wish we did — we actually need to relax after all that," Jo sighs, rubbing her forehead like she's the one who studied.

"Since when did you start working for exams?" Amelia teases, and Jo glares at her.

"Fine, let's go out this weekend. A nightclub," I suggest, desperate for a distraction — anything.

Everyone agrees. Saturday night. We'll dance, laugh, pretend everything's normal. Perfect.

When I get home, I lock my door and ignore my parents entirely. I'm still furious with them. I know they think this is for my own good — a werewolf who can't shift is a liability to the pack. Someone to protect because she can't protect herself. Weaker. Slower. Useless.

But I'm not useless. I have Alpha potential — people can feel it, feel my presence. There's still a chance I shift. Maybe they're rushing this. But what if I don't? Then I'm always their weakness. Always the reason they worry instead of lead.

If I become Luna of Bluemoon, even without a wolf, no one would dare touch me. That's security. Maybe they're right. Maybe they just want me safe, in a way they can't otherwise guarantee.

Without really deciding to, I search Gabriel Axe online. He's everywhere — i********:, YouTube, articles, blogs. Millions of followers. Tall, at least six feet, tanned, ash-blond hair, icy blue eyes, the kind of body every gym poster promises and never delivers. Rich. Powerful. Deadly in a fight — there's a clip of him during a border war with a neighboring pack, ruthless and fast. A monster to some, a hero to everyone else.

From his posts, it's obvious he loves flaunting his body and his wealth. Typical flashy rich guy. Not remotely my type — I keep my accounts private, don't flaunt my dad's money or my body, don't even dress up much. Jeans-and-shirt person, through and through. He's either in a tailored suit or barely wearing anything.

We're going to be a disaster together.

Actually, I've met him before — last year, in London, during one of Dad's business trips. We ran into him at a restaurant. Brief, but memorable. Better-looking in person, if that's possible. Every woman in the place stared like he was a god. And he stared back at me for a while, too — an intense, unreadable look.

Maybe I'll just accept this. Maybe I can keep studying after the marriage. Start my business too. He probably won't mind. Right?

A soft knock interrupts my spiral. "Coffee, sweetheart?" Mom asks through the door.

"Okay."

We sit together, sipping in silence. It's heavy, awkward. Mom looks guilty, turning her mug in her hands. I decide to ease the tension myself.

"I understand why you're doing this. I know it's for my own good," I say softly.

Her eyes well up instantly. "I knew you'd understand. I'm not happy about this either, believe me. It breaks my heart. But I want you safe, and happy. Gabriel loves you. He'll take care of you."

Since when did he start loving me? Doesn't matter, I guess.

"But I have a condition." She looks up, surprised.

"I want to finish high school as a single she-wolf. No engagement until after graduation. Don't say yes to anything until then."

She's clearly caught off guard. I'll turn eighteen before graduation, but if Bluemoon already knows I haven't shifted, it shouldn't be an issue for them.

"I'll talk to your father," she says.

"Okay."

She squeezes my hand. "It's life, honey. Sometimes we make hard calls to avoid something harder."

"I know, Mom. I know."

Chapter 6 — Jane's POV (edited)

Mom talked to Dad, and they've agreed to my condition. I finally feel a little more in control — not entirely cornered, even if the peace is fragile.

I'd already made plans with my friends to hit the club tonight, and honestly, I don't feel like going anymore. I'd rather stay in bed and stare at the ceiling, or cry without having to explain myself to anyone. But I suggested this plan in the first place, so backing out now would be pathetic — and they'd definitely notice something's off.

If my parents ever found out we sneak into clubs underage and drink, they'd lose their minds completely. It's strictly off-limits, and we know it. We've gotten away with it a few times so far — by some miracle.

I spend nearly an hour deciding what to wear, which I hate. I want something simple and comfortable but don't want to stand out either — not in a bad way. After discarding four outfits like a tiny tornado, I land on a black off-shoulder crop top and tight black jeans, high heels, red lipstick, soft waves in my hair. I grab a jacket on the way out — the autumn air outside is freezing, but oddly refreshing, like a cold slap that wakes you up.

The club is packed by the time we arrive, music blasting loud enough that my heartbeat syncs with the bass. I regret coming almost immediately. Too crowded, too chaotic, and the music isn't even good tonight.

Still, we order our first round. I don't usually drink — don't want to make it a habit — but tonight I need to shut reality out for a while.

"Let's get drunk! Who knows when we'll get another shot at this?" Ray shouts, already on her second drink.

"We're not dying, Ray. You're acting like this is our last night alive," Amelia says, eyebrow raised.

"Right, we're not dying," I chime in, "but we won't all be together like this much longer either. You'll all move off with your mates, and we'll go our separate ways."

That's just life. People come, people go. But the thought of losing this — losing them — hurts more than I can put into words.

"Then let's enjoy it while it lasts," Ray says, finishing her drink in one gulp.

Jo and Ray vanish into the crowd, dancing to some upbeat Spanish track. You have to hand it to the Spanish — their songs are impossible not to move to.

I order another drink, and so does Amelia. We sip in silence for a while, and I remember the conversation we never finished a few days ago.

"Why have you been so out of it lately?" I ask gently. Her face falls almost instantly, and for a moment I think she'll shut down again. Then she opens up.

"I've been feeling strange. Restless. Like there's a hole in my chest I can't fill. It's driving me insane, and I don't know why."

Her voice shakes, and she looks more confused than scared.

"Maybe it's just nerves," I offer. "Leaving the pack, moving somewhere new — that stuff messes with people. It messes with me too."

"I hope that's all it is," she says quietly. "But it feels different. People I've talked to said it sounds like what you feel right before meeting a fated mate."

Crap. This is bad. She already has a chosen mate, and both families are close. If a fated mate shows up out of nowhere, it's going to be an absolute disaster.

"I really don't think so, Amelia. Fated mates are basically extinct. It's probably just the stress of exams and leaving everything behind at once."

She doesn't look convinced. I really hope it's just anxiety — because if she's right, she's about to walk into a mess, and as her best friend, I can't stop worrying about it.

The night goes on, and eventually we're all drunk. Honestly, I needed it after what she told me — too much to process sober.

I don't remember much after that. I must've made it home somehow, because the next thing I know I'm passed out in my own bed. Thank the Moon Goddess no one caught me sneaking in.

If Dad ever finds out I went clubbing and got wasted, I'm done for.

My alarm rings and I feel like I've been hit by a truck. I can't move. Thankfully it's Sunday, so I slam the alarm off and go straight back to sleep.

In the dream, I'm walking through a snow-covered forest. Bitterly cold, each step crunching beneath me, but I keep moving. Then a scent hits me — sweet, smoky, warm, indescribably alluring. I follow it through the trees until I reach a wide, open clearing.

A massive wolf stands there — jet-black fur, piercing grey eyes. Majestic. Powerful. Something about him pulls me in, and I walk closer, unable to stop myself. All I want is to touch him, stay near him, forever.

Just as I reach him, a low growl sounds behind me. I turn and see a second black wolf, this one with icy blue eyes and gold fur along his neck. His scent is just as powerful, just as irresistible.

Before I can process any of it, the two of them charge at each other.

I wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, heart pounding. What the hell was that? A dream? A warning?

It's 3 p.m. I drag myself to the shower. The warm water helps a little, but I can't shake the dream loose.

Once I'm done, I practically sprint to the dining room, starving.

Mom's already there, sipping coffee. She gives me a concerned look and tells Stella to bring me breakfast.

"You slept a long time. We were worried," she says. "I checked on you twice, thought you might have a fever. You only sleep like that when you're sick."

"Big research project," I lie smoothly. "Stayed up late working on it."

"It's okay to work hard," Mom says, "but don't run yourself into the ground. Health first."

"I know, Mom. I'll be more careful."

She smiles, but the worry doesn't quite leave her eyes.

If only she knew what was really going on.