The Luna He Rejected Was His True Destiny

"You really think so? She doesn't look so happy."

"Of course she's fine. She understands I'm here for Ciara because she's hurt. It's not a big deal." I forced a smile and glanced toward Neva. She stood with her arms at her sides, her jaw tight, her eyes fixed on some middle distance that included neither me nor anyone else. She looked irritated. More than irritated. Beneath the lavish scents of the gathering, her own threaded through, fresh frost and white birch gone cold and still, the way a forest goes silent before something breaks.

Ciara's gaze darted between us, quick and alert beneath those long lashes. Her expression shifted, the brightness dimming into something softer, more concerned. She set down her fork and pressed her good hand to her chest.

"I hope I'm not causing trouble between you two." Her voice was barely above a whisper, threaded with worry. "I wouldn't want Neva to feel like I'm coming between you. After all, she is your Intended, Dorian. She deserves some attention from you, too."

"No, you're not," I replied quickly. Too quickly. Doubt crept in through the cracks of my certainty like cold air through an old window. I caught Neva's eye across the room, and for one brief second our gazes locked. Then she looked away, sharp and final, as if cutting a thread.

"She knows I'm just helping."

I cracked another crab leg and set the white meat on Ciara's plate. The silence between my words felt heavier than it should have. Something in her scent caught at the edge of my senses, sweet honeysuckle laid over something faintly spoiled, and my wolf shifted low in my chest, uneasy, before I pushed the feeling down.

"You're such a good Alpha, Dorian." Ciara tilted her head, studying me with an expression that hovered between admiration and something else I couldn't name. "It's nice to see you take care of your pack."

I shrugged, dismissing the praise. "It's just what I do. You're part of this pack, Ciara. It's my responsibility to make sure everyone is safe."

She smiled again, that same luminous, practiced smile, and leaned close enough that her scent washed over me, sugared almond, too sweet, with that thread of cold ash underneath.

"Still, you make it look effortless."

I couldn't help but return the smile, but my gaze betrayed me. It drifted across the room to Neva. She had moved away from the bar entirely, retreating to the far wall near the entrance to the foyer. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she watched us with an expression that had gone past irritation into something colder. Something I didn't recognize.

A pang of unease settled beneath my ribs, but I brushed it off. She had to understand. This was simply part of what it meant to lead a pack. The Moon Oath my father swore was not optional, and the debts we carried under the Goddess's eye were not the kind a wolf could set down.

When the main course was served, platters of slow-braised venison and wild river-trout carried in by the den's stewards on silver trays, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Neva had never been this angry. Not like this. She had always understood the obligations, the weight of my father's promises, the impossible balance I had to maintain. She had never made things difficult.

"Neva, want some of the trout?" I called out across the room, trying to break the ice that had formed between us.

She looked up. Her expression was neutral, controlled, the face of a woman who had decided exactly how much of herself she was willing to show.

"No, I'm good. Thanks." Her voice was steady but distant, as if she were speaking to a stranger.

Before I could respond, Ivar leaned forward in his chair and raised his voice with theatrical warmth. The gunmetal-and-juniper of him sharpened as he spoke. "Come on, Neva. You can't just stand over there all night. Join us. Dorian's practically running the whole hunt over here."

Neva smiled. It was polite, precise, and completely empty.

"Really, I'm fine." She set her untouched glass of wine on the nearest surface. "I think I'm going to head home."

"Already?" I straightened in my chair, genuinely surprised. "It's still early."

"I've got work tomorrow." She smoothed the front of her dress with both hands, a gesture of finality. "Tell Ivar happy Moon Blessing Day for me."

She looked at me then, and her eyes were dark and quiet and stripped of every trace of warmth they used to hold. It was like looking at a photograph of someone I once knew.

"Wait." I stood immediately, my chair scraping against the stone floor. "Let me walk you out."

"There's no need. I'll be fine." Her voice was firm, the kind of firm that left no room for negotiation.

A tightness coiled in my chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. Somewhere beneath it, my wolf had gone to its feet, watching her go, a growl building low and then dying because I gave it no command.

"Neva, come on. We barely got to talk tonight. Can't you stay a bit longer?"

"I can't. I really need to go." A thread of frustration pulled taut beneath her words, and then she turned.

Just like that. She walked toward the door without looking back, her heels striking the polished stone in a rhythm that sounded like a countdown. I watched her disappear through the arched doorway into the foyer, her frost-and-birch scent thinning, fading, gone. And my stomach twisted into a knot I couldn't untie.

What was going on with her?

Ciara looked up at me from the table, her lower lip trembling, her eyes glassy with the threat of tears that seemed to materialize whenever the moment required them.

"She seems upset. Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine," I replied, but my voice lacked conviction. I was still staring at the empty doorway.

"I can't help but feel like I'm causing problems." Ciara pressed her fingers to her lips, her brow creasing. "I'm sorry about my injury yesterday. I didn't mean to come between you two. I'm sure she was deeply hurt that your Mating Ceremony got postponed. The Moon-Bound Union. I would feel the same way, too."

"You're not causing anything. Neva knows that." I sat back down, but the chair felt wrong beneath me, like the room itself had shifted. "It's just... she's tired, I guess. I'll send word to her."

I pulled my communicator from the inside pocket of my jacket and typed with both thumbs: Neva, let me know when you get home. We need to talk.

I sent it.

The message failed. A small red mark bloomed beside it, mocking and absolute.

I frowned. Tried again. Failed again. I pressed the call rune and lifted the communicator to my ear. It went straight to the silence at the end of the line, that flat tone reciting her number back to me as if I didn't already know it by heart.

I lowered the communicator and stared at the dark crystal in disbelief.

Neva had cut me off completely.