The Sacred Luna

Chapter 13

(Sanya's POV)

"You need to go," Aaron whispers urgently. "Now."

He opens the door just enough for me to slip through. I peek out. The hallway is empty now. Whoever was there is gone.

I turn back to Aaron one last time. "You need to leave."

"I know," he says. "But not now. I came back to fix everything, and until I do, I'm not going anywhere."

I'm tempted to slap him. But remembering the situation I'm in, I slip out of his room and hurry back down the hallway.

My heart is racing. My mind spinning.

What is Aaron on about? Why is he doing this?

Doesn't he realize how much risk his presence in this house is placing me in?

I reach the bedroom I share with Tyron and pause outside the door, pressing my hand against the wood.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly open the door, and silently creep back into bed.

I wake to find him watching me.

Tyron sits on the sofa across from our bed, his body perfectly still, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. Those ice-blue eyes are cold. Empty. Like looking into the eyes of a predator deciding whether to toy with its prey or simply devour it whole.

My heart races. Memories of the beating flood back in vivid, horrifying detail. The belt cutting into my skin. The cold water drowning me. His voice roaring accusations I couldn't defend myself against. The jeweled gown weighing me down like chains as I lay bleeding in the garden, abandoned by everyone, left to suffer through the night alone.

I scoot back on the bed instinctively, my body moving away from him before my mind can even process the action. My spine presses against the headboard. There's nowhere else to go. I'm trapped.

He notices my retreat. A smile curves his lips. It's not a kind smile. It's the smile of a man who enjoys seeing fear in someone else's eyes. Who feeds on the power he holds over another human being. And finds pleasure in the knowledge that he strikes fear in them.

He stands slowly, deliberately, each movement calculated to make me more uneasy. He walks to the bed with that predatory grace he always has, the way an Alpha moves when he knows no one can challenge him, when he's certain of his absolute dominance over everyone and everything in his territory.

I want to run. I want to scream. But I'm frozen in place.

He reaches out, his hand brushing my hair from my face. His touch is gentle, almost tender, the kind of touch a husband might reserve for his beloved wife. But his eyes tell a different story. They're anything but gentle.

They're fiery. Hungry. Not with desire, but with the need to break.

"What's the name of your lover?" he asks.

The question hangs in the air between us. His voice soft, quiet, conversational even. As if he's asking about the weather or what I'd like for breakfast. But I know better. I've learned to read the danger in his calm moments, the way a storm hides behind clear skies before it hits.

I freeze. My throat closes up. I can't speak even if I wanted to.

"Where does he live?" He caresses my cheek with his thumb, the gesture warm, loving. If you didn't know the violence those same hands are capable of. "I want to know who this man is. The man who got to you before I did."

His words are like knives. Each one cuts deeper than the last. The man who got to you before I did. As if I'm property. As if my past, my feelings, my very existence before him is a crime I committed against him personally.

I can't speak. Can't move. My body has turned to stone.

His grip tightens on my chin, fingers digging into my jaw hard enough to bruise. The gentleness evaporates like morning dew under a scorching sun. "Tell me."

I stay silent. I have to. If he finds out Aaron is Jake, his new Beta, the man he hired just yesterday, the man he praised for saving his life and called "the best"... I can't even imagine what he'll do. To Aaron. To me. The punishment I received for simply having loved someone in my past would be nothing compared to what he'd do if he discovered that man is living under his roof.

No. I can't tell him.

"Tell me!" His voice rises, patience evaporating.

I keep my mouth shut, pressing my lips together so hard they hurt. I won't speak. I won't give him Aaron's name. I won't be responsible for whatever horror Tyron inflicts on him.

His face twists with rage. The mask of civility he'd been wearing shattering completely.

He grabs my hair in his fist, yanking so hard I feel strands rip from my scalp. I scream. The sound rips from my throat before I can stop it, as I claw at his hands, my nails raking across his skin, trying desperately to make him loosen his hold.

But he's an Alpha, and I'm just a woman, and the strength difference between us is like comparing a hurricane to a gentle breeze.

He drags me off the bed. My body hits the floor hard. Pain shoots through my hip, my shoulder. But he doesn't stop. He keeps dragging me by my hair, pulling me across the bedroom floor like I'm nothing more than a sack of garbage he's taking out to the curb.

"Please stop! You're hurting me!" I cry out. "Tyron, please let go!"

He ignores me completely, as if my pain and my pleas mean absolutely nothing to him. Maybe they don't. Maybe to him, I really am nothing more than a used object that offends him by existing.

He drags me to the door, yanks it open, and continues pulling me down the hallway. My nightgown rides up. My skin scrapes against the floor. I try to get my feet under me, try to cover the parts of my body that get exposed in the struggle.

But he's moving too fast and pulling too hard that I can't get my balance.

We reach the stairs. Oh God, the stairs.

He drags me down them. Each step sending a jolt of agony through my body as I bump and crash against the rails. I'm screaming now, begging, crying so hard I'm gasping for breath. But he doesn't slow down, doesn't show even a flicker of mercy or hesitation.

Finally, when we finish the last step, he throws me into the center of the living room with such force that I slide across the polished floor. My body comes to rest in a heap in the middle of the open space.