Don't Call Me Luna

Chapter Seven

DAVE

Confessions and Chicken Parm

The Council's call came through on my secured line at exactly five-thirty, right when I was thinking about what vegetables would pair best with the chicken I'd planned for dinner. Because apparently the universe had a sense of humor about timing.

"David." Ruben Lopez's voice carried the weight of someone who'd been managing supernatural politics since before I learned to walk. "How are things progressing?"

I settled into Harold's former chair, the ghost materializing in the corner with what looked like interest in eavesdropping on official business. Outside my window, Kentucky evening painted the compound in shades of gold and amber, everything soft and peaceful in a way that made the Council's deadline feel like a countdown to apocalypse.

"Better than expected. The pack shows significant potential for integration."

"Potential." Ruben's tone suggested he found potential less compelling than concrete results. "David, you have eighty-one days remaining. The Council grows impatient."

"Eighty-one days is plenty of time to—"

"To what? Transform ninety-seven rogues into model supernatural citizens? These people have been operating outside Council authority for years. They run guns, manufacture illegal substances, and their leader is an unmated female alpha with authority issues."

The dismissive way he said 'unmated female alpha' made my jaw clench. Through the window, I could see Katana moving between buildings, her stride purposeful and graceful, every movement radiating the kind of quiet confidence that made lesser wolves step aside without thinking.

"Suzy Lightfoot has built something remarkable here. They're self-sufficient, protective of their own, and they've created stability for people who had nowhere else to go."

"Admirable. Also irrelevant." Papers rustled on Ruben's end, the sound of bureaucracy grinding forward with mechanical precision. "The quickest path to legitimacy is male alpha leadership. Find a suitable candidate within the pack, help facilitate a challenge, and this integration becomes manageable."

"You want me to help someone overthrow Katana."

"I want you to help establish proper pack hierarchy according to Council standards. Traditional leadership structures that we can work with." His voice dropped, taking on the tone he'd used when I was twelve and deliberately threw a fight set up by my father to his beta's thirteen-year-old son. "David, I know your nature. I've always known what you really are, even when your family chooses not to see it. The Council sent you there for reasons that go beyond your legal expertise."

My blood went cold. Ruben had known me since I was six years old, had watched me grow up in the shadow of my father's expectations. He'd been there when my siblings manifested their first dominance displays, when they'd started showing the kind of alpha traits that made Westwoods proud.

He'd also been there when I hadn't. When I'd shown different gifts entirely.

"Ruben—"

"Your mother was very persuasive about this assignment. She believes in your unique qualifications for this particular situation. She also believes you've been hiding from yourself long enough." His chuckle held decades of fondness mixed with exasperation. "Your father thinks you're finally ready to claim your birthright. Your mother thinks you've already found it. And I think you know exactly what you are, even if you've spent years pretending otherwise."

The words hit like revelation and terror combined. I'd known my mother orchestrated this. She'd known exactly what would happen when they sent me here, known I'd see what Katana had built and want to protect it. Known I'd fall for a woman who needed someone strong enough to stand beside her without needing to stand in front of her.

"The family knows what I'm doing."

"Of course they do. They knew when you accepted the assignment." Ruben's voice softened with something like affection. "David, you've spent your life pretending to be something you're not, the beta son who couldn't live up to Westwood standards. But some gifts run deeper than dominance displays and territorial posturing. Some power works through healing instead of breaking."

"And you?"

"I believe you have eighty-one days to prove that integration doesn't require destruction. But understand this—if the pack cannot be legitimized through integration, disbandment is not negotiable. These people will be scattered to other territories, and those territories may not welcome them with open arms."

The euphemistic language couldn't hide the reality. Disbandment meant death for rogues with no legal standing. Absorption by stronger packs who'd use them as disposable resources. Erasure of everything Katana had built.

"I understand."

"Good. Weekly reports, David. And consider what I've said about leadership transitions. Sometimes the best leaders are the ones who never wanted the job."

The line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone and fighting the urge to throw it through Harold's window. The ghost gave me a sympathetic look before fading back into whatever dimensional pocket he called home.

Eighty-one days. Less than three months to prove that Howling Pines deserved to exist as it was, not as the Council thought it should be.

I speed-dialed Lamar's number, needing the familiar efficiency of my were-raccoon paralegal to ground me in practical solutions.

"Westbrook and Associates, this is Lamar speaking."

"It's Dave. I need you to research a property ownership situation."

"Hold on, let me grab my notepad. Okay, shoot."

"Three selkies named Coral, Pearl, and Shelly. Inherited land in Kentucky, approximately two hundred acres, agricultural use. I need to verify clean title, tax status, any potential complications that might affect legitimate business operation."

"Selkies, Kentucky, agricultural. Got it. How deep do you want me to dig?"

"Deep enough to build a court case on. This needs to be bulletproof."

"When do you need it?"

"Yesterday."

"I'll have preliminary findings by tomorrow morning. Dave?" Lamar's voice carried the concern of someone who'd worked with me long enough to recognize crisis management mode. "Everything okay out there?"

"Just building a case for people who deserve better than they've been given."

"Our law firm's mission statement. I'll get right on it."

I ended the call and sat in the trailer's gathering dusk, watching shadows lengthen across the compound. Through my window, I could see Katana moving between the distillery and the main building, her efficiency masking whatever worry she carried about tomorrow's pressures and yesterday's awkward chocolate-sharing.

An hour. I'd told her I'd meet her in the kitchen in an hour, which gave me time to shower off the day's farmers market adventure and figure out how to cook chicken parmigiana for ninety-seven people without revealing that I was slowly falling apart under the weight of wanting to protect something I might not be able to save.

Katana was already in the kitchen when I arrived, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed and that particular expression that meant she was thinking too hard about something. She'd changed into dark jeans that fit her like they'd been tailored by someone with very specific ideas about showcasing feminine curves, paired with a soft green shirt that made her eyes look like aged whiskey in candlelight.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself." She pushed off the counter, moving toward the prep area with a hip-swaying saunter . "So what's this simple dinner you had in mind?"

"Chicken parmigiana. With goat cheese from Billy Ray and Johnny Ray's operation."

"Goat cheese?"

"Fresh cheese is another legitimate product you could sell at farmers markets. Expand the business beyond decorative vases."

Her smile was sharp, appreciative. "Always thinking like a lawyer."

"Always thinking like someone who wants to see this place thrive."

We worked in comfortable synchronization, her washing vegetables while I prepared the chicken. The kitchen filled with the scents of garlic and basil, the sizzle of meat in hot oil, the particular domestic magic that transformed ingredients into sustenance. Every time she reached across me for something, her body brushed against mine, sending heat straight through my nervous system.

"You're good at this." She handed me cleaned tomatoes, her fingers lingering against mine in the transfer. "The cooking thing. It's not just necessity for you."

"I like taking care of people."

"Most alphas prefer being taken care of."

The casual way she said 'alphas' made me pause mid-chop. "What makes you think I'm alpha?"

"Please." She bumped my hip with hers, a casual intimacy that made my wolf stir restlessly. "You might hide it well, but you've got that thing. That presence that makes other wolves want to follow you home."

"And you?"

"And me what?"

"Do you want to follow me home?"

The question hung between us, loaded with implications neither of us was quite ready to address. She looked up at me, honey-gold eyes dark with something that made my chest tight and my blood run hot.

"I am home."

Simple words that rearranged everything. Not following me anywhere, but inviting me to stay where she was. To be part of what she'd built instead of asking her to be part of what I'd left behind.

"Suzy."

Her name in my mouth felt like claiming territory, like stepping across lines I'd been dancing around for nine days. She went still at the sound of it, the way she always did when I used her real name instead of the armor she'd built from consonants and attitude.

"What?"

"Thank you. For letting me be here."

"You're only here for another eighty-one days."

"What if I don't want to leave?"

"What if wanting doesn't matter?"

"It matters to me."

She turned fully toward me, close enough that I could count the gold flecks in her eyes, smell the scent that was purely hers under soap and kitchen spices. "Dave."

"Yeah?"

"Don't say things you might not mean tomorrow."

"I mean them right now."

"Right now isn't forever."

"Sometimes it is."

We stared at each other across a kitchen full of half-prepared dinner and nine days of accumulated tension. The space between us crackled with possibility and the kind of danger that had nothing to do with Council deadlines or pack politics.

Dinner happened in a blur of serving dishes and pack conversation. Ninety-seven people eating chicken parmigiana with fresh goat cheese, the flavors earning approval that felt like victory. I watched Katana across the converted chapel, noting the way she listened to pack concerns, mediated disputes, made decisions with the quiet authority of someone born to lead.

The dishes afterward felt like ritual. Washing and drying in comfortable silence while the compound settled into evening routines around us. When our hands met in the soapy water, neither of us pulled away. The simple contact sent heat shooting up my arm, making me hyperaware of every place our bodies weren't touching but could be.

"The butterflies." She said it quietly, not looking at me. "And the birds. The way animals gravitate toward you. That's not normal, even for our kind."

"I know."

"What are you?"

"Blessed." The word came out honest, unguarded. "My mother's gift, not my father's. Magic that heals instead of destroys. Builds instead of breaks."

"Is that why you can talk to them?"

"Part of it. They recognize something in me that sees them as equals instead of resources."

She handed me a plate, our fingers tangling briefly. "Must be nice. Being recognized for what you really are."

"You're recognized."

"I'm tolerated. There's a difference."

"You're accepted. By me."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, carrying more weight than I'd intended. She looked up at me, something vulnerable flickering behind her usual defenses.

"Dave."

"I see you, Suzy. Exactly what you are. Exactly what you've built. And it's extraordinary."

The dish towel fell from her hands. I reached for it at the same time she did, and suddenly we were closer than breathing, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the subtle perfume that clung to her hair.

"We shouldn't."

"Probably not."

"This is a bad idea."

"Terrible idea."

But neither of us was backing away. If anything, the space between us was disappearing like it had never existed. Her eyes dropped to my mouth, then back up, and the hunger I saw there sent blood rushing south so fast it left me dizzy.

When her lips met mine, it was like coming home to a place I'd never been but had been searching for my entire life. She tasted like possibility and defiance, like everything I'd never known I wanted until this moment.

The kiss started soft, questioning, then caught fire like kindling meeting spark. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I was lost. Completely, utterly, irrevocably lost in the taste of her, the feel of her pressed against me.

She backed me against the counter, all focused intensity and purpose, her mouth moving against mine with increasing urgency. My hands found her hips, settling there like they belonged, and she made a sound that went straight through me and settled as heat below my belt.

"Suzy."

"Shut up." She bit my lower lip gently, which sent lightning straight down my spine. "Don't think. Just feel."

Her hands slipped under my shirt, fingers tracing patterns on skin that had never been touched with this kind of intent. I shivered at the contact, overwhelmed by sensations I'd only imagined. When her nails scraped lightly across my chest, I couldn't suppress the groan that rumbled up from somewhere deep.

The sound seemed to ignite something in her. She pressed closer, her body flush against mine, and I could feel every curve, every place we fit together. The pressure sent blood rushing straight to my c**k, which was already hard and straining against my jeans.

"Wait."

She pulled back slightly, eyes dark with want and confusion. "What?"

"I should probably mention..." I caught her hands in mine, needing the anchor point. "I've never done this before."

"Done what?"

"Any of it. All of it." The confession came out rougher than intended. "I'm twenty-nine years old and I've never been with anyone."

She stared at me for a long moment, processing information that probably should have been embarrassing but somehow felt like relief. Like finally admitting to a secret I'd been carrying too long.

"Anyone?"

"Anyone."

"Why?"

"Because it never felt right. Because casual doesn't work for me. Because I was waiting for someone who mattered."

"And now?"

"Now I know what I was waiting for."

The words hung between us, honest and terrifying and completely true. She studied my face like she was reading fine print, looking for deception or doubt and finding neither.

"Dave."

"I know it's a lot. I know it changes things."

"It doesn't change anything." Her thumb traced my jawline, gentle as butterfly wings. "It makes them matter more."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I haven't decided yet."

But she was smiling when she said it, and when she kissed me again, it was with the kind of focused attention that suggested she was determined to help me catch up on everything I'd been missing.

This time when her mouth met mine, there was nothing gentle about it. She kissed me like she was claiming territory, like she was writing her name on my soul in ways that would never wash off. Her tongue traced the seam of my lips, requesting entrance I granted without hesitation.

The first touch of her tongue against mine sent shockwaves through my entire nervous system. I'd kissed people before—awkward fumbling at college parties, polite goodnight kisses that meant nothing—but this was something else entirely. This was hunger and need and the kind of desperate wanting that rewrote your understanding of your own body.

Her hands mapped territory I'd never let anyone explore, each touch a revelation and a promise. When she pressed closer, I could feel every curve, every place we fit together like puzzle pieces finally finding their match. The pressure against my erection was almost unbearable, sweet torture that made me want to grind against her like a teenager.

"Suzy." Her name came out broken, desperate.

She seemed to understand exactly what I needed. Her hips rolled against mine, creating friction that sent stars exploding behind my eyelids. I was hard enough to cut glass, straining against denim that suddenly felt like a prison, and the way she moved against me suggested she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

"You feel that?" She whispered it against my mouth, her voice rougher than I'd ever heard it. "You feel what I can do for you?"

I couldn't speak, could barely think past the sensation of her body pressed against mine, the heat of her seeping through layers of clothing. When she ground against me again, more deliberately this time, I had to grip the counter behind me to keep from falling.

"I can feel how hard you are." Her teeth found my earlobe, biting gently. "I can feel how much you want this."

A sound escaped me that was part groan, part prayer. My hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of whatever magic she was working on my overloaded nervous system.

"Tell me what you want." Her mouth found the spot where my neck met my shoulder, and I had to lock my knees to stay upright.

"You." The word came out raw, honest. "Just you."

"Good answer."

Her mouth found mine again, and this time there was nothing tentative about the way she kissed me. It was hungry, desperate, the kind of kiss that consumed oxygen and common sense in equal measure. Her hands tangled in my hair, holding me exactly where she wanted me, and I was completely at her mercy.

When she pulled back, we were both breathing hard, both flushed and wanting and teetering on the edge of something that would change everything.

"We should stop." But even as she said it, her body was still pressed against mine, her hands still fisted in my shirt.

"Should we?"

"If we don't stop now..." She trailed off, but the implication hung between us like a promise and a threat.

"Suzy."

"What?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Something shifted in her expression, walls cracking just enough to let light through. "Promise?"

"Promise."

She studied my face for a long moment, looking for deception or doubt and finding neither. Finally, she stepped back, putting space between us that felt like loss.

"Walk me to my trailer?"

The request was simple, innocent, but something in her voice made it feel like an invitation to something much more complicated.

"Of course."

The walk across the compound took approximately three minutes and felt like the longest journey of my life. Every step was torture, my body still humming with want, my c**k still hard enough to be painful. Kat walked beside me, close enough that our arms brushed with every step, each contact sending aftershocks through my already overwrought nervous system.

Her trailer sat at the edge of the compound, slightly apart from the others. String lights draped across the small porch cast everything in warm, golden light that made her skin look like honey and turned her hair to liquid fire.

At her door, she turned to face me, and the want in her eyes nearly brought me to my knees.

"Thank you." Her voice was soft, almost shy. "For dinner. For... everything."

"Thank you for letting me help."

We stood there in the golden light, the space between us charged with possibility and the memory of her body pressed against mine. Every instinct I had screamed at me to kiss her again, to push for more, to see where this desperate wanting might lead.

Instead, I stepped back, every inch the Southern gentleman my mother had raised me to be.

"Good night, Suzy."

Her smile was soft, genuine, the kind that transformed her entire face. "Good night, Dave."

I waited until she was safely inside before walking back to my own trailer, my body still thrumming with unsatisfied want, my mind replaying every moment of her mouth against mine.