Luna Aurora‘s Second Chane

Chapter 8

Aurora's POV

"Why." I'm already across the threshold, already moving toward him. "Why does she have access to the administrative building? Why was she able to change the lock on my office? You told me last night — she would not touch pack operations. You said that. And the next morning she's at my safe."

"Aurora—"

"Answer me."

Logan steps forward. "You need to calm down—"

"I am calm." I'm not calm. "I am asking you a direct question and I want a direct answer."

We're closing the distance between us from opposite sides and neither of us is stopping. He puts his hand up. I don't stop.

"This is not—" He exhales sharply through his nose. "This is such a small thing. Do you hear yourself right now?" His eyes move over my face, flat with something close to contempt. "You're completely unhinged over a locked door."

He still hasn't looked at my hands. My bloody hands...

"You promised me," I say. "Last night."

"I did." He says it without hesitation, without any weight behind it at all. "And then Eileen told me she wants to learn from you. How you run the office. How you manage the administrative side." He shrugs — an actual shrug. "I don't see the problem. Why are you making this into something it isn't?"

"Learn from me." I stare at him. "Logan. This is a woman who put something in food at an inter-pack banquet and let me take the blame for it in front of every allied Alpha we have. You think she walked into my office to learn? You think someone like that is capable of leading this pack?"

His eyes go sharp.

"That," he says, "is an Alpha's concern. Not yours."

I open my mouth.

"And while we're on the subject—" His voice hardens. "You pulled a gun on her. My mate. In pack offices." He takes one step toward me. "I haven't even addressed that yet."

The laugh that comes out of me has nothing to do with anything being funny.

I cross my hands in front of me, a hard X, and step back. "We are done here. I cannot talk to you."

"Aurora—"

"No." I shake my head. "I'm done. I'm done."

Logan's expression shifts. The hardness drains out of it and something else takes its place — something practiced, something warm. He moves toward me slowly, like I'm something that might startle.

"You've had an incredibly hard few days," he says, his voice dropping into a register I used to find reassuring. "You need rest. Real rest." He takes another step. "Your position isn't going anywhere. You are always going to be my family — that doesn't change. You never cared about the power of the Luna title anyway, did you? So why does any of this matter?" His hand comes up toward my face. "As long as I love you — isn't that enough?"

I push his hand away. "What are you doing."

"Do you remember the surprise I mentioned?" He holds my gaze. "Tonight is the new round of the moon. It's the right time, Aurora. To mark you. Properly. Like I should have years ago."

Everything in me goes very still.

Before I can speak he pulls me toward him — one arm locking around my back, fast and hard, his other hand coming up to grip my jaw.

"No." I turn my face away from his. "Logan, no."

"Aurora—" His grip tightens.

"I said no." I get both palms flat against his chest and push. He absorbs it without moving. I push again, harder, and his arm just pulls me back in, closing the distance I'd made.

"You've wanted this for years—"

"Let go of me." I twist sideways, trying to get my shoulder between us, trying to create any space at all. His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my head, fingers closing in my hair, and I feel his breath against my cheek and I shove with everything I have.

"Logan." My voice is shaking now — not from crying, from fear. "Let. Go."

He doesn't.

I dig my elbow into his forearm. I wrench my head back.

His grip follows every movement like he isn't registering any of it, like my no and my hands and my whole body pulling away from him is something he's decided not to hear.

His lips brushed across my neck as he pressed himself tightly against me.

"Stop—"

He turns my face back toward his.

I slap him.

The sound of it fills the room.

His head turns with it. He goes completely still.

I'm breathing hard. My hands are shaking.

After a moment, he looks back at me. His expression is unreadable.

"This is what you've wanted," he says. Quietly. "You've wanted it since the beginning. A real bond. A real mark. I'm giving that to you right now."

Something cracks open in my chest, but it's not grief. It isn't.

"You betrayed me," I say. "And now you want to betray your fated mate too. Using what I wanted — what I used to want — as if it's something you can just offer me tonight to make me shut up." I step back from him. "You make me sick."

His mouth opens.

"I don't want it." My voice stays even. "I don't want any of it. Not from you. Not anymore." I look at him — this man I have known my entire life, this face I have watched for five years across every dinner and every crisis and every night I lay awake and told myself this was enough — and the words come up from somewhere I've been pressing down for a long time.

"I wish I could reject you. I wish I could say those words and have them mean something. I only hate that I can't."

Because we are not fated. There is no bond to sever. There are no words that exist for what I am to him.

I stand with that for three seconds.

"Let's get a divorce."