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Warning grinned, elbowing me. I gave my VP a dark look, which he ignored.
"Nothing much," I replied.
"Luna's his mate," Warning took great pleasure in blurting out. "And he fucked everything up by not telling her."
"I told you that in confidence," I muttered, scowling across the yard, "not so you could taunt me with it."
"What are the chances?" Giant laughed, smiling and even more cheerful than usual—which was saying a lot. The man was a gentle giant. "Both of us finding our mates, and they're sisters?"
"That's strange shit at work," Warning agreed.
"It's fate," Tybalt argued, grabbing a beer and downing half of it. "Isn't that what all mate bonds are? Fucking fate?"
I blinked at the bitterness in his tone, and was surprised when he muttered something about bullshit under his breath and stalked off.
"What was that about?" I asked, frowning at my brothers.
Giant shrugged. "Not a clue.So," he said, settling the weight of his stare on me, "how are you gonna fix things with Luna?"
That was a damn good question.
HowwasI going to fix things?
19
Luna
Everything I'd been scared about—especially Astrid finding out what Anatoly did to me—fizzled into nothing after tonight. She didn't take one look at me and know what he did. She didn't give me that half-guilt, half-sympathetic look I'd been dreading. Maybe … maybe I could keep it to myself just a little longer. Until I could speak about what happened without it gouging out a part of me.
I said goodbye to the girls and returned to my room—well,wobbledto my room thanks to the copious amounts of Prosecco I'd drunk. And that was before Thora brought out bottles of tequila and whiskey and started lining up shots.
I felt strangely okay, and I knew it wouldn't last, but every tear I'd shed with Astrid and every laugh I'd shared with the women of the club had given me a temporary shield against my darkest memories.
I had to squint to read the clock on the bedside table next to the giraffe lamp. Half three in the morning. I should have got into bed, but instead I took the nightmarish canvas off the easel and placed a fresh one on it. A familiar calm settled over me as I refreshed my water and mixed colours on the palette.
My phone burned in my pocket, reminding me to charge it and read my messages, but for now I drew a slow breath and focused on the piece in front of me. Instead of trying to paint a blue sky, this time I painted the darkness and the storm. But I was clear enough to see it for what it was when I placed a swath of darkness under a lightning-wreathed cloud—not a vivid memory but a shadow that would pass when the storm cleared.
I didn't expect the optimism to last, but the more nights I could have like tonight, I might be able to fight the memories back during the days, too. For the first time I thoughtI can do this,notI have to do this.
I squeezed red onto the palette and diluted it with water, letting a drop of blood drip down the canvas from a heavy storm cloud and adding two shorter drips on either side.
That room and that bed would never leave me. I knew that, no matter how much I liked to pretend otherwise. Maybe the alcohol had given me clarity; maybe being with Astrid had. But I knew I'd never fully excise that bit of poison from my mind. I never wanted to go back to my studio, never wanted to go to another park, and I didn't think I'd ever trust an alpha growl.
I sat back and looked at the painting. It wasn't as beautiful as my usual art; the brush strokes were ragged and short instead of broad and fluffy, and my eye went right to the crimson drips before they travelled around the canvas to the rest of the piece: the storm clouds, the flickers of white lightning, and the glowing presence of blue skies trying to cut through the darkness. It took me a moment to realise why that shade of blue was so familiar, and then I groaned at my own subconscious.
"You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me."
That blue was the colour of Priest's eyes.
"Ugh," I groaned, rubbing my tired face and then laughing at the smear of paint I felt on my cheek. I'd need a shower before I slept, no matter how exhausted and ready for bed I was.
I would figure out what to do about Priest in the morning.
Right now, no matter how annoyed I was that he'd lied, I wanted to spend time with him again. I wanted to hear a good explanation for him keeping that secret. His mate—I washis mate.And fuck, he was mine too. I had a mate. A real, genuine soul mate.
ChaCha's words came back to me—that his soul was magically perfect for mine. It had certainly felt that way before I realised he was a damn liar.
Well, maybe not aliar—he'd tried to lie and he was atrocious at it. I laughed at the thought as I packed up my brushes and moved the easel back to the window before going into the en-suite. Not a liar, then, just a secret keeper. Which was almost as bad. Almost.
