Chapter 8 THE LUNA’S BLOOD
1405 Words
The scream wasn’t human. It tore through the manor, ripping out of Adrian’s chest like a creature fighting its way through bone. Calla spun back into the room just in time to see him collapse against the shattered desk, muscles contracting violently under his skin.
“Adrian!”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her. His back arched, tendons standing out along his neck as he sucked in short, ragged breaths. His hands—still human a moment ago—twisted, nails lengthening into dark, curved claws.
The shift was happening. Fast. Uncontrolled. Deadly.
“Calla—” His voice cracked on her name, broken by a guttural snarl. “You have to—”
He choked, chest heaving as gold swallowed the whites of his eyes. “…run.”
She didn’t run. She went to him. “Don’t,” he growled, the word deepening into something feral.
“I’m not leaving you.” “You don’t understand—” He slammed a clawed hand into the floor as another involuntary tremor shot through him. “I can’t control what’s coming!” “Then let me help you!”
His head snapped up, and for a terrifying heartbeat, she saw the wolf staring back at her — wild, ancient, hungry.
But beneath the gold, beneath the fury, she still saw Adrian. And that broke her. Slowly, Calla knelt before him. “Look at me,” she whispered.
His breath came in harsh, uneven bursts. “Calla… please… I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know.” She reached out, trembling but steady. “Let me in.”
He shook violently, trying to pull away, but his strength was fragmenting and rebuilding all at once. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he rasped. “No,” she whispered gently. “But I know what I’m doing.”
Her hand touched his cheek. And the world changed. The moment her skin met his, power surged through her like lightning. The air crackled, shimmering with a silver pulse that radiated from the ring on her finger up her arm and into her chest.
She gasped. Adrian roared. But the moment he did, the energy wrapped around him — not constricting, not attacking — calming.
His snarl faltered. His claws retracted by a fraction. The wolf hesitated.
Calla felt it. Felt him — both of him — pressed against her mind, tugging at her blood, seeking something he didn’t understand.
“What is happening?” she whispered. Adrian’s forehead dropped against hers, sweat dripping from his temple to her skin, breath burning her lips. “Moonblood,” he gasped. “You’re awakening.”
“What does that mean?” “It means—” He groaned as another tremor wracked his body. “You can reach the wolf. You can anchor him. You can stop me from shifting completely.”
“But how—” “Stay with me,” he begged, voice raw. “Talk to me. Touch me. Anything. Just don’t—don't—leave.”
Her heart clenched. She slid her hands up his face, into his hair, holding him as if he were breaking. Because he was.
“You’re not alone,” she whispered fiercely. “Come back to me.”
His body jerked again, more violently this time, and a deep, anguished howl tore from his throat. Calla flinched but didn’t pull away.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around him completely, pressing her body against his. Heat radiated between them like fire, building, merging, pulling them into a chamber of instinct and breath and need.
“Calla…” He choked the word like a man drowning. “If you hold me like that—” “What?”
“The wolf will think you’re his.” Her breath stuttered. “Maybe I am,” she whispered.
His head snapped toward her. Shock and lust collided in his gaze, even as his pupils stretched into golden slits.
The shift slowed. It slowed. Her touch was tethering him. Keeping the beast from ripping free.
He grabbed her waist, pulling her into his lap with a desperate, feral strength that made her gasp. “Careful,” he growled against her throat. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
She felt the tremor in his fingers as they dug into her hips. Felt his breath drag along her collarbone, hot and ragged and hungry. “I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered. “You should be,” he groaned, lips brushing her skin. “Because right now, the only thing holding me back from marking you—”
Her pulse skipped. “—is the last sliver of control I haven’t lost.”
Heat flooded her body. “Then let me help you,” she said, running her hand down the back of his neck.
He shuddered. His mouth grazed her throat — a touch so soft it felt like a promise and a threat in one.
“Calla…” His voice was a growl and a prayer. “If I bite you now, it won’t be gentle.”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t want gentle.”
He froze. Completely. His breath hitched, and the gold in his eyes ignited, blazing hotter, brighter — but no longer spiraling into madness.
She wasn’t pushing him over the edge. She was pulling him back from it. He grabbed her face between his hands, reverent and desperate, and kissed her.
This kiss was different. Not hungry. Not frantic.
Deep.
Possessive.
Claiming.
His lips moved against hers with a slow, devastating intensity that made her toes curl. His hands slid down her waist, gripping her as though she were the only thing grounding him to the earth.
She gasped, and he swallowed it, tilting her head for a deeper angle. “Calla,” he breathed against her mouth, “you’re saving me.”
She kissed him back — fiercely, gently, completely — her fingers digging into his hair.
And then—
The tension in his muscles eased. The tremors stopped. His claws fully retracted.
His eyes shifted back to dark, molten brown, only the faintest ring of gold remaining.
He sagged against her, exhausted but breathing steady now, forehead pressed to her chest.
She held him, stroking his hair, heart pounding with the aftershock of fear and something far more dangerous.
After a long, trembling breath, he finally whispered: “You’re my Luna.”
Calla froze. “I’m not—” “You are,” he said, voice low and reverent. “My balance. My anchor. My mate.” Her breath caught in her throat.
He lifted his head. There was no gold now. Only Adrian. The man. Not the beast.
“You should hate me for this,” he said softly. “For dragging you into my curse. For making you my shield.”
“I don’t hate you,” she whispered. His gaze darkened. Heated.
“You should,” he murmured, brushing a thumb along her lower lip. “Because now… I can’t let you go.”
Her heart twisted violently. “Adrian—”
He silenced her with a soft, lingering kiss — not lust, not hunger. Possession.
Then he stood, lifting her with him as though she weighed nothing.
But instead of leading her to the bed, he set her down gently and stepped back, shaking his head as if restraining himself.
“If I touch you again tonight,” he said, voice rough with restraint, “I won’t be able to stop.”
Calla swallowed. “What if I don’t want you to stop?”
His growl vibrated through the floor. He backed away further, muscles tense with barely-contained desire.
“My love,” he whispered, voice thick and trembling, “if tonight was the night I claimed you…”
He looked at her like she was the only thing he’d ever worship. “…there would be nothing soft left in me.”
Heat flushed her entire body. He exhaled sharply. “And I refuse to take you without the man and the wolf both present.”
He turned away. Not out of rejection. Out of reverence. Out of fear of losing control again.
Calla stood frozen, chest tight, breath trembling, skin burning where he touched her.
And for the first time since signing the contract… She didn’t feel trapped. She felt chosen.
- Writer
