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Not good.
“It’s too risky,” I said. “What if you get injured while you’re with me? You know I’m a walking disaster.”
“Yada, yada, yada. I’m not letting you go alone, okay?” He placed both of his hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes without faltering. “We’re in this together. You just gotta trust me.”
I groaned for about five—maybe ten—seconds before officially giving in and sending him my warmest smile. “Okay, fine.”
I may have lost my first love, but I still found someone special in the midst of loss: a friend. Someone I could trust and feel safe with. Someone who wouldn’t mind going on an adventure with me, no matter how dangerous. Someone who would threaten my enemies with his silly remarks. Keith.
He reminded me I wasn’t alone.
I was never alone.
I could only hope that wherever the waves took Gray, he wasn’t alone either.
“So, what are you gonna dowhenwe do find him?” Keith nudged me with his elbow as we started moving north.
“I’m gonna tell him I’m sorry and that I love him,” I said without dillydallying. “He’s not going to forgive me, is he?”
Keith balked, but only for a moment. “Oh, I assure you he’s going to play hard to get. Will you be able to bear it?” he asked playfully, resting his bat over his shoulder.
My lips curved into a small, wistful smile as Gray’s words came to mind. “Dear me. Guess I’ll have to tell him I’m hard to get rid of too,” I said—and it was what Gray would’ve said. “If he rejects me, it’s okay. I’ll be there for him either way.”
That’s when it started, I think—my youth slipping away as I bled deep inside me, a piece of me breaking with each drop. I bled, but I stayed strong, feet on the ground, promising I would never give up on searching for the moon that was Gray Yoo.
Even if the time apart destroys me—orus. Even if … the moon turns to dust.
Sora Song,with her burgundy hair finally out of her face and tied in a half ponytail, couldn’t help but dig her fingers into her palms. She was sweltering in her leather jacket, though she’d never in her life regret a fashion choice like this one. Still, she was beginning to think she’d gotten all dressed up for nothing as she waited for the man to emerge from his office and enter the dimly lit, well-decorated living room.
The Italian leather couch had gold arms and accentuated the dark brown mid-century coffee table laden with red apples and roses. It was perfect for a short rest, but sitting too long was beyond uncomfortable. She shook her lower extremities to get rid of the tingly feeling, trying to concentrate on anything beyond her quickening heartbeat.
This wasn’t where she’d ideally be.
There were canvases of various supernatural beings hanging on the wall, old and weathered and significantly more ancient than the furniture in the building. Werewolves, witches, vampires, demons, and other shapeshifters. Sora felt fear in the pit of her stomach. Those creatures were only representations of what was to come.
With a pang, she realized how excited her daughter, Aera, would have been to meet this man. He was, after all, the one and only Tobias Ramsbury: Freer of Slaves and Father of Werewolves. He was also supposedly dead, as noted in the history book of Old Corvine.
Aera wouldn’t need to know that, though.
Plus, he wasn’t really dead; Sora had known the man since she was Aera’s age.
Tobias was no ordinary man, or werewolf for that matter. He was every shapeshifter who claimed to be a God. He could doalmostanything, from devouring souls to casting spells on anyone who dared defy him. He could even read minds.
If Sora’s calculations were right, Tobias was now five hundred and thirty-two years old, yet he was still standing, looking like an attractive fifty-year-old.
Sora leapt to her feet as soon as he entered the room. Her heart was somehow beating faster now, something she hadn’t thought possible. “Tobias,” she said, bending to a full forty-five degrees to greet him.
“Hello, luv. Apologies for keeping you waiting.” The bald man, who stood six feet tall, offered a devious smile, his pleasure with the power imbalance apparent.
Every time Sora came to visit, she prayed that he would be as nice and humble to her as the words slipping out of his mouth. Instead, her mind quickly drifted past it. It was ridiculous that he thought she’d just treat him the same, no matter how much time passed between their meetings.
Sora’s eyes landed on his necklace: a red-tipped silver bullet with his last initialRcarved into it—the same bullet design he distributed to their allies.
Sora responded to him tonelessly, “It’s fine.”
The two sat opposite each other. Sora straightened her spine as she faced the elder with elegance, eager to get the conversation started. He always had a way of stalling to spend more time with her.
“My daughter’s curse. It’s gone, right?” she asked, her voice lacking conviction. The urgency to get her question answered pushed her through the nerves, but only barely. She mustered all the courage within her to look into his dark gray eyes.
