Betrayed by his Luna

Wanting to be his Luna

*Madelyn*

I don't know what I had expected of him or myself when the moment was finally upon me. A slight shiver of dread, certainly. A tightening in my stomach. But the wild pounding of my heart, this gladness at seeing him, it takes me off guard.

If only I had felt it three years ago, on the day we got married. If only he hadn't terrified me then. He still does. Not only his size, so tall and broad, but the authority and determination that emanated from him. He has always given the impression that once power was in his hands, he could wield it with uncompromising ability. I have never known quite what to make of him. Still, I am older now. Not only in years, but in maturity.

But even so, I was unprepared for the sight of him.

His arresting face carved in disgust, framed by thick, dark hair that is noticeably unstyled as though he has only just awoken when surely he has been up and about for most of the day and evening. I have heard that he has turned to cold marble, and has heard a great deal about him during the intervening years. But it hurts now to know his implacable facade might be my doing.

He changes his direction, turning away from me, striding toward a corner table where various decanters are artfully arranged. I wonder what he had intended with his original path. It would have brought him directly to me. Surely not an embrace or a kiss.

A fist more likely. At his side, as it is now. Not that he would ever raise it to me. He had beaten his brother nearly senseless, but he has never touched me with anything except gentleness… even when his hold on me was firm as he had guided me to the carriage, I had felt no pain. And somehow that had made everything all the worse.

With his wide shoulders and back to me, I can’t see his actions, but I hear the tinkling of glass, loud and soft, erratic, and I wonder if his unfisted hands are shaking as they pour him something to drink. Then silence. While I watch, he toss back his head. Then the tinkling begin again. When next it stops, he faces me, one large hand wrapped around a tumbler filled nearly to the brim when I have no doubt he would have preferred to wrap those long strong fingers around my slender neck.

"You're not welcome here," he says, his voice low, controlled, yet seething beneath the surface. "We had an understanding, an arrangement, you and I. Go back to the country pack house, Madelyn."

"I would do that if I could, but I have made a promise that requires I stay in London." I tell him

He shakes his head, "You broke the promise you made to me within hours of making it. Break this other one as well. Should be easy enough for you."

I flinch at his harsh tone, I had been foolishly thinking that hours, days, months, years might lessen his anger with me. Tentatively, I step toward him, stopping when his dark eyes narrow.

"Bryant, I need you to forgive me." I say softly.

"I have told you the condition under which that will happen." He scoffs.

"When I’m rotting in hell?" I release a bitter laugh. "Do you not think I’m already there? Do you have any idea how many she-wolves have come to visit me, to inform me of your lovers? Not that they needed to. You are hardly the soul of discretion. If you thought to shame and humiliate me, you have accomplished your goal remarkably well."

He seems to straighten, "I take pleasure where I find it because it pleases me to do so. You are never a consideration. Quite honestly, Madelyn, from the moment I delivered you to the country house, I have not given a single thought to you."

"That’s always been quite obvious." I mumble.

He walks over to a chair before the fireplace and drops down into it, stretching his long legs out before him. Suddenly, from beneath his desk creeps a dog, a collie. It slowly limps to the chair, then curls beside it. Bryant reaches down and begins rubbing the dog’s head. It appears he has done it without even thinking, a habit, a ritual, and I wonder how many nights he’s sat there in that position with only a glass of spirits and an aging dog for company.

Not many if the rumors that continually land on my doorstep are to be believed.

I take several steps nearer, until I can see his eyes more clearly. They are dark, almost the same brown as his hair, not blue or as kind as Blake’s. How can two brothers be so vastly different?

Bryant’s features are carved by an unartistic hand: his nose is a little funny, his chin a little too square, his brows a little too heavy, but together they seem perfect. The wickedness he has embraced has etched his face into a rugged handsomeness that I can’t deny. The years have been kind, his features even more darkly appealing.

Whereas Blake is much fairer, his hair a golden sandy brown with streaks of blond woven through it, almost as though they play hide-and-seek, as though his hair can’t quite determine what shade it should be. Nothing about him has ever been frightening. He has been my friend for as long as I can remember, while I had barely known Bryant.

I have no knowledge of his smile, no memory of his laughter. Few memories of him at all really. But then he is eight years older, and it seemed when we were younger that his attentions had always been elsewhere. He had been off at school or spending time with his friends or chasing skirts. Or seeing to the details of his pack.

His father had perished when Bryant was five, and Blake had only just turned one. Bryant’s inheritance had been a crumbling pack and a marriage contract with my father binding him to the Alpha of Crestmont’s firstborn daughter. I had never questioned it, but on my wedding day it had suddenly struck me as rather archaic, absolutely medieval, especially as the firstborn daughter had yet to make her appearance in the world when the papers were signed. What if I had the appearance of a toad?

I suspect nothing would have changed because absolutely nothing about me mattered except that I drew my first breath ahead of my sister. I didn't object because marriage provided me with the means to move out of my father's oppressive household, where his harsh hand taught me that a she-wolf does not question her place or her duties. But as my wedding day progressed, fears bubbled up to the surface. And when I shared them with Blake,

"Nothing happened between Blake and me," I admit now.

Bryant's harsh laughter echoes around us. "How stupid do you think I am, Madly ? I found him in your bed."

"Still in his trousers when you dragged him out." I point out.

"So I arrived before he could have his way with you. Or not. I can button and unbutton with surprising haste when the situation warrants. Even if he did not take you, it does not change the fact that you were in his arms!" He comes up out of the chair with a brutal force that causes the air around him to shimmer and me to step back, unexpectedly gripped by terror. He hurls his tumbler into the empty hearth. It shatters, the amber liquid splattering. Breathing heavily, he grips the mantel. "It does not change the fact that he was in my place, and you wanted him there."

At the sight of his anguish, I can't prevent the tears scalding my eyes. "I don't know what I wanted. I was a child. A silly girl. He was always my friend. You I barely knew. If given a choice regarding my mate, yes, I probably would have chosen him. I don't know. I only know that I was terrified of my wedding night, and he told me he had a plan that would allow it to be postponed."

‘I’ll come to your bed before him. I will hold you. Nothing more. He’ll be furious at me, no doubt, but it will gain you a reprieve. When you’re ready, you have but to tell him the truth. Then all will be well.’ That is what Blake had said.

We had both had enough champagne and spirits to think it a brilliant plan. In the end, it cost me a friendship and a mate. It tore a family apart. It destroyed all hope of happiness.

Turning his head slightly, Bryant slides his unforgiving gaze toward me. "You cannot have been that naïve."

"I was five days past the celebration of my seventeenth birthday with no mother to guide me. The spinster aunt who saw to my upbringing knew little more than I did. Yes, I think I could have been that gullible. And Blake, he has always been so charming. They say he can persuade an angel to sin. I am far removed from being an angel." I tell him.

With a heavy sigh, he shakes his head. "What the devil do you want of me, Madelyn?"

"I want you to give me a chance to truly be your Luna, not the caretaker of your estate."