As I reach the first step, Damien’s voice stops me.
“You should tell her the truth,” he says. “Before it’s too late.”
“I’ll handle it,” I say, climbing the stairs.
But even as I say the words, I know I’m lying. To Damien. To myself.
And most of all, to Luna.
25
Luna
Notebook: Healing isn’t pretty or linear. Sometimes it’s finding someone whose demons recognize yours.
My heart pounds as if it’s trying to crack my ribs open. Sweat soaks my pajamas, my sheets, and my hair.
“Just a dream,” I whisper, but my voice shakes so badly that the words break apart. “Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream.”
My hands fumble for the lamp switch before I get up and walk to the bathroom. I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face like I can wash away the remnants of the nightmare.
It helps a little.
“You’re okay,” I tell my reflection, water dripping from my chin. “You’re safe.”
The house’s walls suddenly feel too close, like they might collapse on me.
I need stars and sky and space.
Back in my room, I grab a throw blanket, wrap it around my shoulders, and go downstairs. The house is quiet except for distant snoring from one of the bedrooms.
I open the front door with a soft click, and the night air rushes to greet me. Cool and sweet and so, so clean. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with pine, grass, and earth, replacing the phantom smoke from my nightmare.
Hudson had told me the guard who attacked had been working on the premises for a couple of weeks and recognized me from InstaShifter. It was an isolated incident, he’d assured me, and there was nothing to worry about.
But, between the nightmare and the attack, I needed air.
Stars punch through the darkness like tiny holes in black fabric, letting in light from some brighter place.
The mountains rise against the sky, like guardians that don’t care about my nightmares, my trauma, or that I’m standing outside in my pajamas at 3 AM.
Their indifference is comforting.
My bare feet sink into the cool grass, and I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, trying to soak in the peace that radiates from everything but me.
My heartbeat slows.
My breathing steadies.
The trembling in my hands subsides.
I’m so focused on my little grounding ritual that I don’t hear the footsteps. I don’t sense another presence until my warm fingers brush against my hand.
I flinch so hard I nearly trip over my blanket. My eyes fly open, body instantly coiled to fight. Axel stands beside me. He’s wearing just sweatpants, his bare chest showing the map of scars that crisscross his skin. His hair is a mess.
“Easy, Wildcat,” he says, his voice a low rumble that fits perfectly into the quiet night. “Just me.”
My heart, which had just calmed down, kicks back into high gear—but for entirely different reasons now.
