FAKING LUNA

Chapter Three

The precinct’s vending machine coffee tasted like... well it tasted bad, like burnt batteries whatever that was. But it was hot and Daphne needed the caffeine boost, badly.

She cradled the paper cup between her newly uncuffed hands like it was the Holy Grail, took a long sip, and let the burn settle in her stomach before she finally looked at the man sitting across the metal table.

Nikolai Nightwalker hadn’t moved since he’d tossed the cuff keys to the human detective with a curt, “She’s free to go. I've dropped the charges.”

Now he just sat there, elbows on the table, fingers steepled, watching her like she was a bomb about to go off at any moment.

Daphne set the cup down, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and grinned.

“So,” she drawled, “you want to pay me several hundred million dollars to pretend I can stand the sight of you for three hundred and sixty-three days. Did I get that right?”

Nikolai didn’t blink at her bluntness, at this point he was slowly getting used to it. “Three hundred and sixty-two now.”

“Technicalities.” She leaned back, stretching her arms over her head until her spine cracked. “Let’s skip the foreplay, Nightwalker. Why me? I'm sure you have a million little ladies waiting to get themselves into your bed.”

He didn’t answer immediately, instead just sat studying ever emotion that played on her face until he settle with saying, "Because you hate me."

Daphne barked out a laugh loud enough that the uniformed officer walking past the open door jumped.

“Wow. Romance really is dead.”

“I’m serious,” Nikolai said. “Everyone else wants something from me. Power. Money. Status. Even my name. But you, you want me to suffer, which in some sort of twisted way makes you honest.”

She tilted her head. “You’re paying me an obscene fortune to suffer in luxury. Now that’s some kinky s**t, even for you.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. The only sign she’d successfully managed to to tick him off.

Daphne leaned forward, folding her arms on the table. “Spell it out. All of it. What exactly does being your ‘pretend Luna’ entail?”

Nikolai reached into his ruined suit jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of heavy cream paper and slid it across the table.

Council of Clans with the official seal, wax stamp and the works.

Daphne’s fingers went cold the second she saw the ancient runes glowing faintly along the edges. She slowly unfolded the paper, eyes scheming across the contents.

MANDATE OF CONTINUITY

By decree of the North American Werewolf Council, effective immediately:

Any unmated Alpha over the age of thirty (30) must select and fully bond with a Luna within three hundred sixty-five (365) days of this notice, or forfeit leadership of their pack to the next eligible heir.

The penalty for non-compliance was a permanent dissolution of pack charter and redistribution of territory.

Daphne read it twice. Then a third time, just to be sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.

She looked up slowly. “You’ve got to be f*****g kidding me.”

Nikolai’s expression was cold as ice. “I wish I were.” He grunted, running his hand through his hair.

“This is some real medieval bullshit.”

“Agreed.”

“They can’t just—”

“They can and they did.” He tapped the paper. “Birth rates have been dropping for two decades. Rogue attacks are up, packs are fracturing and the Council decided strong bloodlines need to be locked down. Fast. They’re calling it ‘preservation of the species.’”

Daphne stared at him. “And your heir is Sebastian. The same Sebastian who was face-deep in stripper t**s four hours ago.”

Nikolai’s hands curled into fists. “Yes.”

She whistled low. “So if you don’t find a Luna in the next three hundred sixty-two days, your pack goes to a cheating, coke-snorting moron who can’t keep it in his pants.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Correct.”

“And you’re thirty…?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Jesus. They really gave you the short straw.” She tapped the paper with one black-painted nail. “Why not just grab the first willing she-wolf and mark her? You’ve got a waiting list a mile long. Half the females on the continent would amputate their own arm for a chance at your bite.”

He looked at her like she’d suggested he eat glass.

“I don’t want a real mate,” he said, voice flat. “I don’t want the bond. I don’t want someone in my head, in my bed, in my life permanently. I want my pack. That’s it.”

Daphne felt something twist low in her gut. But for the sake of her own sanity, she ignored it.

“So you want a one-year rental girlfriend with a side of fake mating bite and zero emotional attachment.”

“Exactly.”

She laughed again, softer this time. “You really have no idea who you’re talking to, do you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

“I’m rogue-born, Nikolai. My mother rejected her true mate and died from the broken bond when I was six. My father was human, he left the second he found out what she was. I grew up in foster homes all throughout my teens. The only thing I hate more than Alphas is the idea of belonging to one.”

She leaned in until their faces were inches apart.

“I would rather chew off my own arm than let anyone put a claim on me. Ever.”

For the first time all night, Nikolai smiled. It was small, sharp and terrifying and it sent shockwaves straight between Daphne’s legs.

“Good,” he said. “Then we understand each other perfectly.”

She sat back, heart hammering against her ribs. “You’re insane.”

“Probably.”

“This will never work.”

“It has to.”

She drummed her fingers on the table. Thinking. Having half of Nikolai's fortune wasn't a bad deal. At the end of the day it wasn't like she was actually going to fall for him. And after 13 months of playing his game she would be free to live her life however she pleased.

She looked at him—at the blood drying on his shirt, the exhaustion in the set of his shoulders, the way he was still watching her like she was the only thing standing between him and total collapse.

Daphne picked up the coffee again and drained it all in one go, then she slammed the empty cup down and extended her hand.

“Contract first,” she said. “In writing. Signed in blood if necessary. With every single loophole I can think of. And I want a lawyer. A rogue lawyer. One who hates Alphas more than I do.”

Nikolai didn’t hesitate. He took her hand.

His palm was warm. Calloused. His grip swallowed hers whole.

“Done.”

She smirked. “You’re going to regret this, Nightwalker.”

“Probably,” he echoed.

They shook on it like demons sealing a pact over the gates of hell.

---

The precinct’s night-shift detective was half asleep at his desk when Nikolai dropped a thick stack of hundreds in front of him and said, “Forget you ever saw her.”

The man didn’t even blink. Just pocketed the cash and handed over a blank incident report.

Daphne watched the transaction with open amusement.

“Corruption looks good on you,” she said as they walked out into the pre-dawn dark.

Nikolai didn’t answer. Just opened the passenger door of a different SUV - this one matte black with tinted windows - and waited for her to step in to which she climed in without a word.

The drive to the Nightwalker compound took forty minutes. Forty minutes of silent tension so thick she could cut it with a knife. With nothing else to do she spent that time cataloguing exits, counting cameras, and trying not to notice how Nikolai’s scent had soaked into the leather seats until she was practically drowning in it.

When they pulled through the massive iron gates, the sky was finally starting to turn the color of bruised peaches.

The compound was bigger than some small towns. It looked like the kinds of house one only ever saw in hesit or mafia movies. With manicured lawns and a private airstrip the mansion looked like a gothic cathedral and a fortress had a baby.

Daphne let out a low whistle. “Compensating for something?”

Nikolai killed the engine. “Get out.”

“Make me.”

He rounded the hood, yanked her door open, and hauled her out by the front of her jacket.

She let him. Mostly because she was curious how far he’d take it.

He marched her up the front steps, past two armed guards who looked like they were about to swallow their tongues at the sight of Nikolai manhandling a rogue into the Alpha residence at dawn.

The foyer was all marble and chandeliers that screamed old money. A massive staircase swept upward like something out of a vampire movie.

Nikolai didn’t stop instead he just kept dragging her until they reached a heavy oak door on the second floor.

He kicked it open to reveal an office with a large desk in the middle, dark wood and small plants linked the walls in the form of different furniture, and an entire wall of books off the left side of the room.

On the desk sat a single yellow legal pad and a fountain pen.

Nikolai released her, flinging her to the side before he strode to the desk, and started writing something she couldn't see from her position beside the door.

Daphne wandered closer, reading over his shoulder.

**CONTRACT OF TEMPORARY MATING**

Between Nikolai Aleksandr Nightwalker (Alpha of the Nightwalker Pack) and Daphne Rowan Bright (rogue).

**Term:** 362 days or until the Council mandate is satisfied, whichever comes first.

**Compensation:** 50% of Nikolai Nightwalker’s personal liquid assets (current valuation: $1.17 billion USD), to be transferred irrevocably into an offshore account in Daphne Bright’s name within 48 hours of signing.

**Rules:**

1. Public displays of affection as required for appearances. Private affection forbidden unless mutually agreed in writing.

2. No permanent marking. No claiming bite. No true mating bond under any circumstances.

3. No s*x. (Subject to renegotiation by either party with 24 hours written notice.)

4. Daphne Bright will reside in the Alpha residence. The two will stay in separate bedrooms. Locked doors are mandatory.

5. Daphne Bright retains full autonomy over her person, her finances (post-transfer), and her exit strategy.

6. Either party may terminate this contract early with a penalty of $100 million USD to the non-breaching party.

7. Absolute secrecy. Any breach results in immediate forfeiture of all compensation.

He signed at the bottom with a flourish elegant signature then pushed the pad towards her. "Your turn."

Daphne read every line twice before she picked up the pen and started adding clauses in her messy handwriting.

8. Nikolai Nightwalker will provide unlimited high-end coffee, imported dark roast only, available 24/7.

9. Daphne Bright gets veto power over all public appearances longer than four hours.

10. Nikolai Nightwalker will not growl, glare, or otherwise intimidate Daphne’s friends (all three of them).

11. If Nikolai Nightwalker refers to Daphne as “my Luna” in private, he owes her a new motorcycle.

12. Daphne Bright is allowed to roast Nikolai publicly at every opportunity.

She added six more clauses about wardrobe budgets, personal security, and the right to redecorate any room she damn well pleased before she signed her name unto the paper.

She slid the pad back, letting Nikolai read her additions. His eyebrow twitched at the motorcycle clause but he didn’t argue. Instead he reached into his desk, pulled out a small silver dagger, and sliced his palm without flinching.

Blood welled up from the cut which he then used to press his bloody handprint next to his signature. He held the dagger out for her to do the same.

Daphne took it, cut her own palm, hissed at the sting, and slammed her print down next to his. Their blood mixed, intertwined as one, sealing the deal.

Old magic crackled in the air, raising the hair on her arms.

Nikolai rolled the contract, tied it with a black ribbon, and tucked it into a wall safe behind a painting of some scowling ancestor.

When he turned back, the sky outside the window was fully bright now.

He looked exhausted and so did she. They hadn't gotten a wink of sleep since the entire fiasco from last night and right now Daphne would do anything to get a couple hours of sleep.

She wiped her bloody hand on her jeans as she trailed her eyes over Nikolai’s worn out form.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence. “Do I get a room, or are am I expected to spend my first night in the dungeon?"

Nikolai rubbed a hand over his face. “Guest wing. Top floor. Pick any room except the one at the end of the hall.”

“Why not that one?”

“It’s mine.”

She smirked. “Afraid I’ll steal your socks?”

“Afraid you’ll burn the place down.”

“Fair.”

He started for the door, then paused.

“Daphne.”

She looked up.

“This only works if we sell it. Completely. The Council has spies everywhere. My pack can’t know. Not even my mother can know about this.”

She gave him a lazy salute. “Don’t worry, Nightwalker. I’m a professional liar. By the time I’m done, the entire continent will think I’m disgustingly in love with you.”

Something dark and unreadable flickered across his face.

“Good,” he said.

Then he walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

Daphne stood alone in the massive office, palm still bleeding, heart racing for reasons she refused to examine.

She looked at the closed door, then at the wall safe.

“Three hundred and sixty-two days,” she whispered to the empty room. “Let’s see how long it takes to drive you insane, Alpha.”