Page 24 of Lunar's Ruined Alpha
I hate that I might be feeling something like jealousy at the ease with which Noah and his father are conversing. It pains me to know that they can connect with each other on a level that I can never offer to my son. Noah and Rowan are both born to royal bloodlines. Thus, they are both destined to lead the pack. They are Alphas, blessed by the so-called magic of the Greenbriar ancestry.
I’m nobody. I’m just the rejected Luna-that-never-was.
I refuse to let Rowan take him from me. I’ll fight until my dying breath to keep him from returning to the Greenbriars. Not without me. And since I have no intention of going back…
It’s an effort to push all those thoughts aside as I finish up my shift. It’s obvious that the customers can tell that my mind is elsewhere. Old Betty and Old Joe are being particularly nice to me, and one of Henry’s Betas twists his normally stoic face into a smile for me when I slide his double whisky across the bar to him.
Everyone feels bad for me, I’m sure. Poor, rejected Alina and her big, scary baby daddy. Poor Alina, who will never be wanted by the people who matter most.
It makes me want to kick things.
Instead, when my shift ends, I tug off my apron and head over to the booth where Noah and Rowan are deep in conversation about, of all things, the Captain America movies.
“Winter Soldier is definitely the best one,” Noah is saying.
“That one is fantastic,” I hear Rowan agree. “But I do have a soft spot for the first one.”
Noah giggles. “Mom thinks that one is boring.”
“It’s not boring,” I cut in. Both of them jolt upright at the same time, turning in sync to stare at me in surprise. They hadn’t even noticed me coming closer.
“You fell asleep the last time I convinced you to watch it with me,” Noah argues.
“I was tired. It had nothing to do with the movie.”
Noah turns back to Rowan. “Mom doesn’t like movies.”
Rowan smiles at him, then glances up at me. “Any movies? At all?”
“I don’t like sitting still,” I answer simply.
“Interesting,” he murmurs.
Noah giggles quietly.
It’s an effort not to bristle. There’s a nasty, selfish part of me that wishes this had gone badly. That wishes Noah ended up hating his father, if only so that I could have an excuse to make Rowan leave once and for all.
Except, even as I think about it, my stomach swoops with nausea. As much as I hate to admit it, Rowan’s presence these past couple of days has shifted something inside me. I feel different, and yet this sensation is unbearably familiar. The Mating bond that now lies in tatters inside me is tingling again, just like it did ten years ago. The wolf inside me wants to be repaired. She wants me to want him.
The sudden wooziness is so strong that it makes me unsteady on my own feet. I waver slightly to one side, reaching to grip the edge of the table for support.
In an instant, Rowan is on his feet. His arm curls around my waist, holding me stable until the worst of the dizziness fades and my knees stop trembling. A sharp gasp whispers out of my lips as I gaze up at him. Even though the fabric of my shirt, I can feel the blazing heat of his touch.
This bond will always endeavor to be healed. It will draw us together over and over at every single possibility. In spite of my resistance, my heart is hammering, and I can feel warmth rising to my cheeks. One glance into his eyes reveals blown pupils and a preternatural stillness that suggests I’m not the only one affected by such a fleeting touch.
It’s infuriating. I want to hate Rowan, but it’s impossible. He seems to be good with Noah. Soft and gentle, like most Alphas can’t afford to be. He’s kind, and the way he looks at our son confirms that he’d do anything to keep him safe. We have that in common.
Also, at the end of the day, Rowan is sickeningly handsome. He’sexactly my type, with his brawn and boldness and unwavering confidence.
He’ll make a good Alpha. He just won’t be my Alpha.
I clear my throat and purposefully extricate myself from Rowan’s grip. He hesitates for a heartbeat, as if fighting the urge to hold on with all his might, but then he lets me step away from him.
I pat Noah lightly on the shoulder. “Time to go, kid. Dinner, homework, shower, bedtime. Let’s go.”
Noah pouts. “Can’t we stay for a little bit longer?”
Without missing a step, he bends down and pats Noah’s hand, saying, “It’s okay, bud. Your mother is right. It’s getting late. Dinner and homework and all that are important things.”
