Chapter 9
882 Words
Jack’s thoughts were a mystery to me—I had no time to ponder them. Beyond preparing medicine for the pack’s wounded, I had a meeting with Willow to arrange.
Willow was my closest—my only—friend in the Rose Pack. She hailed from the storied Grayclaw family, a lineage that commanded the pack’s richest forest, teeming with rare herbs and minerals. Their wealth and status rivaled even the Alpha’s, yet Willow never looked down on me for being an Omega. From the day we met, she’d shielded me at school, a fierce guardian in a world that scorned my kind.
If there was one soul I trusted in this pack, it was her.
I fingered the vial in my pocket, filled with my blood. Entrusting this to Willow was the only choice that felt safe.
......
After dispensing the pack’s medicine and swinging by the jewelry shop to pick up the finished moonstone pendants, I arrived at our meeting spot. A stunning woman draped in designer clothes—vibrant, sexy, unmistakable—sat at a restaurant booth, waving at me with a radiant grin that turned heads.
“Layla, over here!”
A smile tugged at my lips as I slid into the seat across from Willow.
That was her way—unfazed by others’ stares, pouring her all into the people she cared about.
She eyed my plain outfit, frowning. “What’s Jack’s deal? You’re engaged, and he still doesn’t put any effort into you? I know he flies off with Seraphina every season to shop the latest collections.”
I shook my head, dodging the topic. “Don’t bring him up. It’ll ruin our meal.”
Willow’s brow arched, catching the shift in my tone. She dropped Jack’s name, delighted by my disinterest—a rare treat for her. Even as the Rose Pack’s Alpha, she’d never thought him worthy of me. That was Willow’s blunt, unshakable loyalty, especially given Jack and Seraphina’s messy, unending entanglement.
Still, she speared a bite of steak, chewing as she grumbled. “Seriously, though—you’re a gorgeous woman. Why do you always cover up like that? I offer to buy you clothes, and you refuse. Every birthday, you reject anything pricey, saying you can’t repay it.”
“But this time,” she beamed, “you actually asked for something. I’m thrilled! No matter how tough it is, if you name it, I’ll make it happen!”
Willow rambled on, and I listened with a quiet smile—our rhythm, her care a steady hum. Finally, she circled to the real reason I’d asked her here.
I slid a bag across the table—inside, a moonstone pendant and a vial brimming with my blood. Willow, puzzled, peeked in as I explained.
“I need my blood fused into the moonstone, but it can’t look like blood’s there. Can you do it?”
Her eyes gleamed. “Of course! My family’s got the best mineral tech—don’t forget that. This is for Owen, right? I’ll make it perfect for him!”
“Thanks, Willow,” I said softly.
She waved it off. “No thanks needed between us. Besides, you want it hidden from Henry and the rest—I’d never let you down on that.”
We’d met at ten, the same age. After my parents died and Owen vanished into that hospital, Willow hadn’t seen this sneaky side of me in years. She was so giddy she nearly forgot we were in public, pinching her thigh to keep from leaping up in cheer.
But the real shock came as we left the restaurant.
Nate lounged across the street, leaning against his car—casual, predatory. How long he’d waited there, I couldn’t guess. Spotting us, he raised a hand in greeting, his gaze lingering on me with a knowing edge. Then, with a gentlemanly flourish, he opened the car door.
Willow’s jaw dropped, her finger wagging between us. She’d never spoken to Nate herself, but his familiarity screamed one thing: he was here for me. Then she remembered—over lunch, she’d glimpsed the kiss mark on my collarbone. I’d dodged her questions, mumbling evasions. She’d assumed Jack left it and I’d clammed up to avoid him. Now, the truth clicked.
“No way, Layla,” she whispered, barely containing her glee. “You’re sneaking around—and with the *Wolf King*?”
Before I could respond, she shoved me forward, my balance tipping toward Nate. With a gleeful wave, she bolted. “I’ve got my own ride—no need to trouble His Majesty!”
I stumbled, weightless for a heartbeat, until strong arms caught me. Nate’s grip circled my waist, pulling me tight against him—his scent, bold and invasive, flooding my senses. My body pressed to his, I could feel the hard bulge beneath his hips.
He raised a brow, a husky chuckle rumbling near my ear. “Looks like you *really* want to be my Luna.”
The intimacy—too close, too raw—flushed my cheeks. I squirmed, trying to break free for a proper talk, but his thick arms didn’t budge. He watched my futile struggle with amusement, leaving me no choice but to slump, defeated, and plead upward.
- Writer
