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23. Wastrel
Tanggal publikasi:
2026-10-15 02:01:59
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The Boy Who Would Be Luna 24. Crossed Paths
SLATE'S POVCallista’s door swung shut behind me. The fresh vial of moonsbell spray dangled from my fingertips. Stronger this time, so when I got to the last dregs it wouldn’t thin out and leave my scent exposed like the last draught. If not for the moonsbell, I’d never have been able to come back to Clearstone. I’d have fucked off back to Louisiana—maybe even back to France—and stayed there.But the moonsbell not only masked my scent, but once it fully faded—it took all traces of itself with it. As if it had never been there. As if I had never been there. Strong enough and it could last a few days before the smell disappeared itself into nothing, taking my scent with it. When just passing through, it made me a ghost.This vial should keep me covered for another few months. Home called me, after a long night at the bar and more than an hour spent sharing ale over Callista’s fireplace. She made good ale, for a human who didn’t know when to die. Strong enough that even I could feel it.
The Boy Who Would Be Luna 23. Wastrel
TRISTAN'S POVI couldn’t go home.That night replayed across my thoughts again and again. Jennika’s hands against my chest. Her smile. Her scent—commingled anticipation, confidence, desire. I could tell she believed the lingering scent of male lust surrounding me was in response to her.And I could tell, from his satisfied and arrogant stance, that my father thought he’d maneuvered me expertly into his trap.I’d never excused myself faster. A sudden pressing matter that had just come up. An excuse my father would have to know was a lie, but that he wouldn’t dare challenge in front of the pack or risk making the schism in the Alpha family clear. And Jennika had no way of knowing I, as the next Alpha, didn’t have some urgent political family business to take care of. Maybe I didn’t like her still being able to smell the effect Slate had on me.But it kept her from smelling that I was lying, too.And kept her from following as I’d escaped the ballroom, stumbled out into the snow, flung m
The Boy Who Would Be Luna 22. Overheard
SLATE'S POVAnother dead night at the bar.Monday nights weren’t as barren as Thursdays, but by nine PM we’d still only had about a dozen patrons run through Link with their cigarette habits and their loneliness. Mike had come through a few times to check the till and top up the change, but mostly made himself unobtrusive and left me to the quiet of the main floor.Calm. Peaceful, almost. Maybe that was why I preferred weeknights. Lower tips, but also fewer people who needed the easy smiles and open invitation to trauma dump that everyone expected from their bartender. This was the life I’d made for myself. This was the life I knew.I hadn’t really minded who I needed to be for centuries.This cloak I wore to pretend to be ordinary; to have an everyday, forgettable life. Work. Home. A good book now and then; bad radio crackling old songs through the night; aged wine. Rinse and repeat. That had been enough—more than enough, all I really wanted—since I’d hung up the blade and left the b
The Boy Who Would Be Luna 21. Ripples
TRISTAN'S POVI sank down the wall and dug my fingers into my hair.I hurt. Everywhere, especially the bite mark lingering on my neck. Yet I wouldn’t quite call it pain; it was something sweeter, darker, heavier, infusing itself into every fiber of my body. Like Slate had somehow melded inside me and gotten under my skin. I shuddered and pressed my face into the heels of my palms.I could still smell…Us.The moonsbell still kept me from knowing his true scent, but it couldn’t mask the intermingled musk of male desire. His. Mine. Ours. Turning into something heady and wild together; something that clung to my clothing and flushed through me on every breath. I didn’t know why Slate had suddenly decided to touch me that way.But there was no denying he’d wanted me.And I’d wanted him right back.Fuck…I still wanted him. Still throbbed between my thighs with a needy hardness seconded only by the clawing ache inside that begged to be filled. Still felt the hard heat of his body pressed ag
The Boy Who Would Be Luna 20. Aftershock
SLATE'S POVLucia found me in the trees outside the Moretti estate.I stood some ways away from the blacktop snaking through the forest around the manor. Cold moonlight turned the low dunes of snow around me blue, and shadowed the snowfall mantling evergreen branches. My mask lay discarded in a snowbank, inkblot black against white. I stared up at the star-littered night sky, breathing hard of the tart scents of pine and fir. My breath plumed around me in a cloud of smoke, wafting its fog across my vision.And doing nothing to chase Tristan’s scent from my body.I could still feel him. I’d run until I could no longer smell the stone of the estate, the twisting scent-cloud of hundreds of hopeful wolves, the dominance of Clark’s Alpha scent blanketing the entire gathering. I’d run until I could no longer hear the whispers of eager prospects wondering where Tristan had gone. Until the mating ball was just a silhouette of the brooding manor and a glimmer of lights at my back.But I couldn
The Boy Who Would Be Luna 19. Friction
TRISTAN'S POVCold stone bit into my shoulder blades. A hot body burned into my chest, my thighs, my groin. Slate ground his hips into mine, and rough heat shot through me like crumbling brown sugar had been injected under my skin. I wanted to protest, to fight, to shove him away.All I could do was shiver.A thick moan caught in the back of my throat. I sank my teeth into my lower lip to hold it in, but that only made my mouth throb with aching, wanting sensitivity.You have never been kissed.That didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about it. Wondered about it. Touched my lips and imagined the feel of a hot, firm mouth sealing against mine, crushing my lips to hungry fullness, tangling a rough tongue with my own. And then Slate came close, so close…Then stopped.And now he had me—his body an oppressive thing, his hands enormous and crushing my arms back against the wall with his callused fingertips digging hard against the racing pulse in my wrists. The scents of moonsbell and man envelop
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