The Lycan King’s Stolen Luna

Arabella’s POV

I had been sitting on this cream-coloured sofa with my legs crossed, waiting for my husband for over two hours. It's our third marriage anniversary today and I made a cake in his favorite colour.

The three tiers, ivory cake sat on the dining table with its dark blue frosting and sugar roses, together with the charcoal grey, double-stitched suit I got for him with his initials embroidered on the inner pocket in silver thread.

It was collected from Madame Cecile who was the best seamstress in Wyoming and whose waiting list ran three months long, but for the Luna of Cinderclaw that list did not apply to me.

It was still wrapped in its black ribbon on the armchair where I had placed it this morning.

Two hours and seventeen minutes had passed since dinner was supposed to begin. The candles I had the maids light at seven were now half their original height, wax pooling quietly onto the silver holders.

My fingers tapped once on my knee and stopped.

Julie appeared at the parlour doorway, her small hands folded in front of her apron, her eyes already carrying the look of someone about to say something nobody asked for.

“Luna.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s well past ten. You haven’t eaten since this afternoon and you’ve been… you haven’t been feeling your strongest lately so perhaps some rest would.…..”

I turned my head and looked at her slowly from the top of her pinned hair down to the worn soles of her housemaid shoes.

“What,” I said, “is your freaking business.”

Julie’s mouth opened.

“Did I ask for your opinion?” I tilted my head. “Did I call your name? Did I say Julie, please come and stand in my doorway and tell me what to do with my own body in my own house?” Seems you’ve forgotten your place in this house.

“No, Luna, I only…..”

“Get out of my sight.” I turned back toward the front door. “You primitive swine. And take those cold appetisers with you, the smell is starting to irritate me.”

The sound of her shoes scuffling against the hardwood floor was quick.

I exhaled through my nose.

The old loud grandfather clock above the mantle read ten forty-three now.

I heard the car before the headlights swept through the front window, the low familiar rumble of Luca’s black Range Rover coming up the gravel driveway.

I stood up, and crossed to the mirror beside the entrance, the tall gilded one I had imported from a dealer in New Orleans because the light in this house hit it perfectly at any hour.

I smoothed my dress at the waist, ran my hands over my hips, and fixed the neckline of my dress, ran my hands briefly over my chest out of habit, I had never needed anything underneath, my boobs had a built-in shelf that handled itself.

My ginger hair had held its curl through the entire evening, it fell past my shoulders and moved when I moved, swaying with my hips as I stepped back to take myself in properly.

I walked toward the front door with the full intention of telling Luca exactly what two hours and forty minutes of waiting on our anniversary meant and what he was going to do to fix it.

My hand was already on the door handle when it opened from the other side.

Luca stepped in first, his jacket off, his shirt collar ripped open, and behind him, holding the edge and stepping through my front door, was a woman I had never seen before in my life.

She was wearing his jacket. His black jacket with the Cinderclaw crest on the breast pocket, the one I had gifted him last winter, draped over her shoulders like it belonged to her.

I stood frozen.

The woman stepped fully inside and I looked at her the way I had looked at Julie, from the top of her head down to her shoes and back up top. Soft face, cheap shoes, hair that had not seen the inside of a proper salon in what appeared to be a considerable amount of time. She had the kind of look that made people call her sweet.

“Of all the days.” My voice finally came out but almost as a whisper. “Of all the days in a calendar year.” I looked at Luca. “You chose tonight.”

He set his keys on the side table without acknowledging me.

“I have been sitting in that parlour since seven o’clock,” I said, “and you walk in here with this….. “I gestured at the woman, my hand moving in slow motion from her head to feet, “—this.”

You brought this into my house tonight. She is not even ….“ I stopped, laughed once without any humour in it. “She is not even close, not in any category. Not one.”

“Her name is Hailey.” Luca finally looked up. “ And she stays.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s my mate.” He looked at me long enough to make his point then looked away. “Fated one, so she stays.”

I looked at this Hailey and her borrowed jacket and her soft sweet face and said nothing for a moment.

“I don’t care what she is.” I turned to Luca.

“Good, then we don’t have a problem.”

“We absolutely have a problem.” I stepped towards him.

“It’s our anniversary.” My voice was steady. “You were supposed to be home at seven. I made a cake and ordered your suit. I sat on that couch for over two hours waiting for you.”

And you walked in here with another woman in your jacket and you said *she stays* and you’re looking at me like I’m an inconvenience.

Luca’s expression still did not change.

“What makes you think,” Luca said, finally looking at me, “that I give a corn peppered shit.”

The room went very quiet, I looked at him for a long moment.

My arm moved before the rest of me caught up with it, I raised my middle finger up, directly at his face, close enough that he had to look at it.

Fuck you Luca, and fuck you too Hailey Bailey Kaylee Snaily.

Then I turned around and walked.

The maids had gathered at the hallway entrance, drawn by the noise, clustered in the doorway with their wide careful eyes. I walked straight at them and they parted immediately, stumbling against the walls to get out of my way as I moved through the corridor.

I grabbed my coat off the rack, my purse and my phone and walked out.

***********

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