Dahlia

I return to the table like nothing happened. Like I didn’t just have a moment in the hallway that made me feel alive and ashamed all at once. Like I didn’t love it. Hate it. Want more of it. Like the heat in my cheeks isn’t from what almost happened with a man I shouldn’t crave, but from the guilt of wanting it again. Like my heart isn’t still hammering. Like my hands aren’t trembling just enough to show I am not okay.

Adrian’s still seated. Doesn’t look up when I sit down. Doesn’t notice.

No surprises there. He isn’t the most... observant kind.

He only remembers I exist when he, once again, starts thinking with that dick of his. Like he is doing right now. His hand slides down to my thigh under the table again. I pray that will be it. But he squeezes hard enough so his fingers sink into my skin. Little dents.

It disgusts me.

My body goes still, locked in that clench of dread.

I want to hurt him.

Rip his eyes out for touching me in this way.

But he is my husband, and the worst part?

He knows.

Adrian is smarter than I give him credit for. He knows I don’t like his touch. That I know about him and Isolde. That I get to sit across from the woman who smirks at me with lips he’s kissed, wearing the perfume he probably bought. And I have to act like it doesn’t crawl under my skin.. But he keeps touching me because he thinks I’m his.

I’m not.

But I can’t say no. Can’t claw at him.

Because this marriage is important. Peace is important.

So I push down my anger by biting the inside of my cheek so hard that I taste blood. Focus on your plate, Dahlia. Stab your food. Too bad I’m holding a fork and not a flamethrower. Ignore the pain.

On the other side of the table, Alaric reaches for the salt. He is trying not to look at me, but he is…failing.

Good, I want him to feel desire. To want me.

…even if it is wrong.

Someone mentions the moon. That it wasn’t supposed to be full tonight. That the moon goddess herself must have summoned it.

“It’s unnatural,” one of the elders jokes. “A moon like that only shows up when something’s about to happen.”

Another elder gives me a pointed look, and my appetite vanishes. “Or when something has already happened, like a woman not born in our pack becoming Luna. Maybe this is the moon goddess’s way of saying sorry. She is giving us this moon because we had to make a woman from another pack into our Luna.”

Those words cut deep, but I school my face into something polite. Inside, my wolf growls.

When I look at Alaric, I see that his eyes are wide. It hurts.

The look on his face is him realizing that he can reject me tonight, and when our eyes meet, I hurt for reasons unknown. I don’t know this man. But my heart misses him like it remembers something that never happened. My pulse stutters like it’s trying to catch up to a feeling that hasn’t been earned.

The rest of the meal is a blur of laughter that doesn’t reach my ears. Liora sends me tight little smiles. Isolde tosses her head back too hard at Adrian’s terrible jokes. I keep pretending I’m fine. That I can breathe.

Adrian leans in to whisper something. His breath hot against my ear. “You look tense.”

I don’t respond. Because if I do, it won’t be words. It’ll be a scream. Or a slap. Or both.

His hand squeezes my thigh again. This time higher.

Perverted swine!

I jerk away, smile sweetly at the guests like I’m not fantasizing about stabbing my husband with a butter knife. Like I’m not imagining driving it into the hand he uses to touch Isolde... and then dares to use on me.

When the plates are cleared, I sneak away from the others again. I need space and something cold to remind myself that I’m still alive. That I’m still here…even if I can’t act like it sometimes.

The terrace welcomes me with a gentle breeze and a hint of moonlight from behind the moving clouds.

I grip the stone railing. Hard.

My wolf feels it too. She’s pacing now. Restless. Like she already knows what he’s about to do. When the clouds are gone, I will be rejected.

The door opens behind me.

I don’t have to turn. I already know who it is.

“Didn’t peg you for the fresh air type,” I say.

“Didn’t peg you for someone who hides,” Alaric replies.

My laugh is dry. Ugly. “Then you really don’t know me.”

Silence.

“I saw you earlier,” he eventually says. “After dinner. You looked...gone.”

“I’m always gone.”

“No,” he says, voice quieter now. “You’re just always pretending that you are. But after dinner? You were gone.”

My chest constricts. Pain. Ache. I feel everything and nothing. It makes me turn. Slowly. Hesitantly. Alaric’s eyes look darker. Like they are holding back a storm. I intend on bringing it out from him.

“You came out here to lecture me?”

He takes a step closer. Not touching me. Just closer. Towering. Big. Broad. A reminder of him being a male.

“I came out here because I’m trying not to do something we will both regret.”

That ache inside my chest spirals, burns. My wolf presses against my skin like she wants out. Wants him. I step back since the feeling frightens me, but it’s too late. His scent is already under my skin and the look on his face is one I won’t ever be able to forget.

My heart seizes and I whisper, “Like what?”

He doesn’t answer.

So I push. “You don’t get to act noble now. Not after ignoring me. Not after pretending like this bond means nothing.”

His voice cuts lower. “It means too much. That’s the problem.”

My breath catches. I wasn’t ready for honesty. Not from him. Not like this. For a second, I hate him for saying it. For making this real.

That feels like a slap. An emotional one.

“I don’t even like you,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“But I still want you to pick me.”

His eyes close. One second. Just enough to feel like a wound.

The moon makes him look unreal. Mythical. Like something from a dream. Maybe one of mine. Maybe he is mine... Or at least was supposed to be.

“I shouldn’t have come out here,” he murmurs.

“Then go.”

But he doesn’t.

We stand there, suspended in a silence thick with almosts. Something hot and wild and lawless burns between us, and I swear the stars are watching.

His hand brushes mine.

We both flinch, and he...pulls back like my skin burned him.

“You’re not the only one struggling with this, Dahlia.”

Our eyes meet. Hold the tension…then he turns to leave.

I almost stop him. Almost say his name.

But I don’t.

Because I know what comes later tonight when the sky is clear.

Rejection.

I stare after him, chest hollow, throat raw from all the words I didn’t say.

I’m also angry that he is leaving. He always does. That’s the only consistent thing about men like him. They love the fire but flinch at the heat. They want wild, beautiful things, but only in cages. Adrian masks it with arrogance. Alaric calls it struggle. Either way, they never choose the girl who refuses to be tame.

Why does that make me angry? Why do I want him to pick me?

To stay.

To realize his wife can’t make him happy.

Fuck, I shouldn’t be thinking this. I need to get a grip!

I press my back against the cold stone. Blink hard. No tears. Not for him.

A queen doesn’t cry over a king who is too scared to take off his crown.

And I—

I may not have been born as the first daughter meant for royalty. I only became Luna after marriage.

But I’ve learned how to wear a throne like it fits...even when it kills me.

Because if I’m completely honest with myself, I don’t want this throne.

I am only Luna because it is expected of me. Decided for me. And if I could have what I wanted?

I would choose Alaric.

But fairy tales were never written for girls like me.

We don’t get glass slippers.

Just glass hearts.

And they always, always break. Like the coming rejection?