Chapter 8: Elunara

The morning is crisp and gray. Mist clings to the ground, slow to lift, curling around my ankles as I make my way across the overgrown lawn. The air is damp, filled with the scent of moss, wild mint, and something else that I’m quickly learning is just the scent of the area.

My boots squish against the earth as I skirt the edge of the barn. I don’t look directly at it. The strange sounds I heard last night still echo in my memory—low, guttural, almost animal, like need wrapped in anguish. Or pleasure. I’m not sure which unsettles me more.

Instead, I head away from the barn, away from the house, drawn to the line of trees that stretches like a wall at the edge of the field. The sun cuts through the clouds and spills its golden rays through gaps in the branches. I move toward it, needing the distraction, needing to feel like I’m the one choosing to explore—not being lured by some invisible thread.

Birdsong trickles down from the canopy above, but even the birds feel like they’re watching me.

The forest isn’t dense, not at first. Just tall trees and the occasional whisper of underbrush. I move slowly, one hand grazing a mossy trunk. My fingers come away damp. I rub them against my jeans and keep going.

Then I hear it.

A twig snapping. Not behind me. Ahead.

I freeze.

A shape moves through the trees, stepping into view with a predator’s grace. Tall. Solid. Wearing dark jeans and a fitted shirt that clings to a body that looks like it was carved from tension and war. His hair is dark, wild and messy, falling just below his jaw. His trimmed beard hides his jawline, but his eyes are measured.

We stare at each other. I should say something, but my brain is still registering how someone can look like stone and sin all at once.

He speaks first.

“You’re up early.”

His voice is smoother than I expect.

I clear my throat. “I wanted to see some of the property.”

He nods once, eyes scanning me like he’s assessing the risk of my presence. Then his gaze drifts over my shoulder.

“The land is... vast,” he says.

“So I see.” I look around, trying to shake the unease crawling up my spine. “I’m Elle.”

“Vastian,” he replies.

Of course his name is something ancient and dramatic. I almost laugh.

Instead, I shift my weight. “Last night, I thought I saw something in the trees. And I definitely heard something in the barn. It didn’t sound… human.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Your mind might be playing tricks on you. It’s a new place. A strange bed. You’re probably just adjusting.”

He steps closer, hands clasped behind his back. Authority radiates off him in waves, not like Darius’s dark dominance but something quieter, colder. Like he commands not through aggression, but patience.

“Stay close to the house,” he says.

“Why?”

He hesitates, but only for a second. “Because the land is deceptively larger than it looks. And I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

Something in his tone pulls at the base of my spine. The words are simple, but there’s an echo beneath them, something unsaid.

Before I can ask, the sound of boots crunching through the brush draws both our gazes.

Darius.

He emerges like a storm cloud, arriving suddenly and without warning. He’s still all muscle and coiled power topped off with those unreadable amber eyes. His gaze touches Vastian briefly, then lands on me.

“You’re already wandering, Elunara.”

He says my full name like it belongs in his mouth.

“Elle,” I correct automatically.

Darius smiles, but there’s nothing soft about it. “The land wishes you to be Elunara.”

“I don’t think the land gets to vote on that,” I say, half-laughing, half-unnerved.

“It does,” he says. “It chose Elunara.”

Something in his tone says he’s not joking.

Side by side now, Darius and Vastian walk toward me until I have no choice but to turn and walk with them as though they are corralling me back toward the house. The energy between them is taut and quiet. They move like beasts in the same pack—different in build and presence, but clearly bound by something.

I'm led back toward the clearing near the house, where the grass grows wilder, and the air is warmer.

I take a long look over the entire property.

“I have to admit,” I say, kicking a pinecone aside, “I wasn’t expecting any of this.”

“What were you expecting?” Vastian stops just behind me when I turn to look at him.

“Silence. Dust. Maybe some leftover debts.”

Darius smiles at that. Not a friendly smile. More like something carnal.

He changes the subject. “Tell us about yourself, Elunara.”

The urge to say ‘Elle’ is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. I haven’t had any coffee this morning, and I’m not ready to revisit that conversation.

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Try,” Vastian urges. “We don’t know anything about you from before you arrived.”

“Well,” I sigh. “I’m a server. Or I was. Before that, I bounced between a string of boring jobs. I kill houseplants and rarely pay my bills on time. And I was just evicted from my home. I guess you could say I’m a real catch.”

Darius lowers his voice when he asks, “Are you seeing anyone?”

My stomach does a strange flip.

“No,” I say. “My ex decided he wanted someone else,” I answer simply.

Vastian makes a sound—almost a growl—but it’s low, hidden beneath his breath and covered by the clearing of his throat.

Darius leans closer, eyes burning. “Sounds like you have abysmal taste.”

“I wish it were taste,” I mutter. “More like… desperation, poor judgment, and terrible dating apps coupled with a growing misogynistic society.”

The air gets heavier between us.

Vastian crosses his arms. His muscles flex beneath his shirt like he’s trying not to react. Darius has an unreadable smirk that makes me feel stripped bare.

“And the plant you showed up with?” Darius asks, voice softer now.

I glance back toward the house. “Oh, that poor thing. His name is Rex. I really shouldn’t name them. I just get attached. I don’t have a green thumb. I kill everything I touch.”

At that, the two of them exchange a look. Like I’ve said something important, and they both noticed, but won’t explain.

“Maybe this time it will be different.” Darius’s gaze dances between my eyes as he says it, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about my plant or me.

“Why all the questions?” I ask. “You two are the mysteries here, not me.”

“Maybe,” Darius says. “But sometimes the newest piece of the puzzle tells us the most.”

I shake my head. “You’re both incredibly cryptic, you know that?”

They watch me in silence, eyes like twin flames dancing on opposite ends of a bonfire. There’s something primal in the way they study me.

“You’re not afraid of us,” Darius says after a beat.

“I haven’t decided if I should be yet.”

Silence folds around us again, not empty but dense with meaning I can’t parse.

I cross my arms, unsure if I’m annoyed or intrigued or just tired of these two sharing unspoken secrets without me.

“I didn’t realize there were still workers here,” I say instead, watching both of them. “I appreciate you keeping things up, but... I can’t pay you.”

Darius chuckles—darkly amused. “We’re not workers.”

I blink. “Then what are you?”

He steps forward, brushing a leaf from my shoulder like it dared to touch me. “Read the paperwork you were given. All of it. You’ll see we’re not here on contract. We’re co-owners.”

I open my mouth, close it, then open it again. “What?”

“Check for yourself.”

He steps back; the moment between us evaporates like mist in the sun.

The air between us is thick, buzzing with questions I don’t know how to form.

And just like that, they’re walking away. Not waiting. Not explaining. Just leaving me to continue exploring.

I hurry back to the house, the rising light doing nothing to calm the chill beneath my skin. I dig through my backpack, fingers frantic until I find the will. The envelope is the same. The signature is the same. The pages I read in the lawyer’s office are still folded the way I left them.

But when I pull them out this time, something is different.

At the bottom of the second page, in elegant script I swear wasn’t there before, is a section I don’t remember seeing.

Ownership of the property shall be equally divided among four parties: Elunara Stone, Darius Blackthorne, Vastian Alden, and a thick black line marked over the last name.

There are three of them.

I’ve only met two.

And whoever the third is, their name has been crossed out. Deliberately. Not erased. Not missing.

Redacted.

As though someone doesn’t want me to know who they are—yet.