All Chapters of The Boy Who Would Be Luna: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

TRISTAN'S POV“Where were you last night?”I supposed I should be grateful my father waited until Friday night to corner me.But so much for thinking I’d gotten off free and clear.He hadn’t been at dinner tonight, the long ornate table—made to seat at least two dozen—empty of all but me and a steak I hadn’t really wanted to eat. Lonely candles flickered to either side of my place setting. Not even the tiny pallid wisp of a woman I hesitated to call my stepmother was in the dining hall.And if my hearing served me right, my father hadn’t been in the village at all.No chance my father was taking Friday night to relax, hit up a club, maybe take Alyssa out for dinner. My stepmother wasn’t even with him; from the sound of faint footsteps upstairs, she was shut away in her private suite of rooms again—drifting around being pale and weird and doing her best imitation of a lost Victorian waif.My dad was probably in one of the larger human metropolises nearby. Seattle, maybe Bellevue. Not T

TRISTAN'S POVI’d never felt more ridiculous in my life.I lingered just behind one of the grand columns flanking the entrance to the Moretti estate ballroom—an enormous chamber that combined medieval-era stone construction with ethereal threads of gold and pinprick lights inside a dark room that, when the lights glittered off hundreds of sleek dresses and formfitting suits and sequined masks, looked like a dreamlike night had descended inside King Arthur’s court.The tiny golden string lights reflected off the mirror-polish sheen of the obsidian floor and cast every shape moving about into half-hidden shadows. Eager young wolves, from the lowest Omega to Delta warriors and the unranked masses, mingled amongst each other in their finest silks, velvets, cashmeres. A few swirled on the dance floor in graceful sweeps. Champagne glasses tinkled, making a softly melodic counterpart to the delicate waltz snaking under various threads of conversation.The scents of restrained pheromones chok

TRISTAN'S POV“Mine.”I’d barely turned toward the scent of moonsbell when that one word hit me.Mine.Just one syllable, but it shot from his parted lips like a bullet and struck me in the chest.I bled heat, blooming and swelling behind my ribs.His gaze locked on me through the feral black barbs of his half-mask—a wicked devil’s face plated over his own, turning his mouth into pure scarlet sin. His waistcoat molded his thick bulk into trim sleekness, a fighter’s litheness, and every illusion I’d ever had that he was just a mild-mannered bartender died as the heat in his eyes devoured me with voracious intensity.Wild.Primitive.Something primal in his stare as it captured me, held me, dared me to delve into the glacial blue lakes of his eyes and discover what waited there.My heart beat like a thousand war drums. Severin was strangely quiet inside my head, as if something about Slate had captured him as well. Captured him, and turned him silent in submission to the bristling aggre

TRISTAN'S POVMy will was not my own.I fought my body with every ounce of willpower, but it didn’t listen. Severin growled desperately inside my head, practically digging his paws into my gray matter and pulling back on my neurons, but they didn’t obey. Stiff-legged, I strode forward into the ballroom with my muscles so rigid from the strain of resistance my skin felt as if it would split.It was no use.My father had my flesh in command.Even if he would never own my soul.As one, every head in the room swiveled toward my father, instantly locking on their Alpha. But then thoughtful, glinting gazes traveled past him.To me.Wolves leaned into each other, whispering, questioning, my name suddenly flying surreptitiously and yet loud as a scream to my enhanced hearing. Even the slow, stately dances marking patterns across the ballroom floor faltered, stopped. Save for a besotted few who’d already found their one and stared at each other in utter absorption…those voices dripped with cur

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