They are harbingers of good luck.
He took such good care of me.
And my chest tightened painfully with emotion.
Everything about him lived beneath my skin now.
The way he touched me.
The way he looked at me.
The way he somehow made me feel cherished, worthy, and beautiful.
I inhaled slowly and straightened my spine in the mirror.
Lunar moths were good.
According to Sten.
And Sten—Sten was good too.
Dangerous.
Terrifyingly intense.
Possibly capable of leveling buildings when emotionally compromised.
But good.
At least, he was good to me.
And he was mine.
Or, well, I really hoped he was mine.
The uncertainty still hurt.
Even after what we’d shared.
Because despite the way he touched me like devotion itself, despite the possessive hunger in his voice every time he called me Luna, some wounded insecure part of me still struggled to believe someone like Sten could truly want someone like me permanently.
Years of disappointment did not vanish overnight.
Neither did years of being made to feel lesser.
Still—the very thought of my mother telling me she accepted Gunner McFadden’s request to court me made nausea roll through my stomach.
Absolutely not.
Gunner was not for me.
Something about him was off.
He frightened me.
And not in the exciting, thrilling way Sten had when he stood up for me against the Werewolf.
Gunner felt cruel.
