4. The Fall

CLARA

I look up slowly.

And meet a pair of dark brown eyes. Too dark that the night felt lighter in comparison.

Fuck.

“If you’re going to die," the man's voice blooms, low, edged, not at all panicked, "at least make it worth it."

The—

Before I can even process them, my body jerks upward.

His grip tightens around my wrist, warm, solid, unyielding and he pulls me up in one clean motion. The world tilts, air rushing past my face in a sharp, biting gust as my feet lose the ledge completely and then I’m inside.

God, I'm never jumping again.

I stumble forward, landing inside, my palms scraping lightly against the floor. Air rushes back into my lungs as I push myself up and look at him.

He's tall. Fucking damn tall.

Like six-two, maybe more, shoulders broad enough to block half the window behind him. The dim light from outside catches along the sharp lines of his face, casting shadows that make him look carved rather than human.

Fuck.

Close your damn mouth, Clara.

“Who are you?” I ask, straightening, brushing my hands against my dress.

I’ve never seen him here before. Not in this house. Not in that life.

“Someone who just saved you,” he replies.

"So what are you? Superman?" I snort, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

And off the record, I looked if he wore his boxers outside the pants too, but unfortunately it’s too dark for that kind of research.

“You were about to fall,” he says instead.

“No, really?” I deadpan. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Sarcasm won’t help your balance,” he says, voice still flat.

“And brooding won’t help your personality,” I shoot back.

His gaze sharpens slightly—not annoyed, just… focusing.

“Who are you?” he asks.

Oh boy, we’re doing this?

“I asked first.”

“You had balance,” he says, ignoring me and my question. “You knew where to step."

I fold my arms, waiting for him to complete his analysis. "And."

"You were going somewhere.” His eyes snap to mine, dark, cutting and for a second I stepped back.

Damn it. Not bad at all.

"I was exploring.”

“At night? Through windows.”

“Adventurous personality,” I shrug.

He doesn’t respond, but his gaze drags over me—slow, assessing.

God. Is it too bad I want to push the person who just saved me back out of the window? Probably yes.

“You’re the bride,” he says suddenly, eyes dropping to the diamond on my finger.

Ah.

The ring glints under the dim light, shinning brighter than my fucking future ever did.

Wow. Did Alaric actually buy me a real diamond? Who am I kidding? It's Impossible, must be a counterfeit.

“Took you long enough.” I smile sweetly at the superman.

“And you’re climbing out of windows on your wedding night?” he asks.

“Exploring,” I correct.

“Risking a fall that would’ve broken your neck.”

“Still here, aren’t I?”

His eyes meet mine again.

“You ran from the altar.”

Shit.

“And you came back anyway.”

Double shit.

I let out a short, sharp laugh. “You always interrogate random women in their own house, or am I special, human tower?”

“This isn’t your house,” he replies.

And that lands because it's fucking true.

This is not my house, not my place, anything here isn't mine.

But I'm not going to let that happen again.

This time, it will change.

I step forward, closing the distance, anger finally snapping loose. "I'm your Luna."

His expression doesn't change. "A political Human Luna."

What.

How the hell does he know? Was I the only one left in the dark last time? Was I truly that foolish?

He..no. You'll learn I'm more than just a human Luna.

I take a step forward, jabbing a finger toward his chest. “Listen here, superhero—”

“Evan.”

I blink. “What?”

“My name,” he says. “Since you were so fixated on it.”

“Good for you, Evan,” I say flatly. “Now listen, I'm the Luna and as long as I'm alive, you respect me. You obey me.”

"And if I don't?" he challenges.

"I'll make you."

"Can you?"

My jaw tightens. “Better than you think.”

“Not from what I’ve seen.”

Oh, you’ve seen nothing.

I straighten, every inch of irritation snapping into place. “You know what? I don’t have time for this."

He steps past me, opening the door like this entire conversation bored him, when I'm the one whose fucking plan went into the drain.

“Your room’s upstairs, the third door on the left,” he says.

Excuse me?

“I know where my room is,” I bite out.

“Then try using the door next time,” he replies calmly. “Less risk. Less attention.”

I stare at him, genuinely speechless for a second.

Did he..he just told me I'm attention seeking. Me?

“I’ll enter my room however the hell I want!” I shoot back, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

He doesn't bite back but a look of disapproval crosses his face.

Oh, perfect. Be disappointed, human tower.

I storm past him, shoving the door open harder than necessary.

“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.

“Third door,” he reminds me.

“I KNOW!”

Evan, my foot.

If he keeps talking like that, I might actually throw him off the bloody balcony, cause obviously the window can't fit that human tower.

I better never see him again. Ever again, for his own sake.