Don't Poke the Luna (Xena and Ryder) novel Chapter 142

Chapter 142

Xena’s POV

The entire car ride, I sat with my arms crossed tightly over my chest while Ryder didn’t even try to touch me or speak to me. That, if I’m being honest, only infuriated me more. While on the surface I wanted to be left alone, inside I was screaming for him to break the silence, even if it was just with simple small talk. His phone rang a few times, and though I was curious who was contacting him, my desire not to speak to him was stronger.

When the car pulled into the pack grounds, I yanked my door open before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop.

“Damn it, Xena,” I heard Ryder mutter behind me as I stormed into the house. His voice held a mixture of frustration and concern, but I didn’t care right now.

“Xena!” My father’s voice startled me, nearly causing me to trip over my own feet. My heart skipped a beat, completely unprepared to see him here.

“D–Dad?” I stammered, surprised at the scene before me.

Luna Kestrel, Alpha Benedict, and Martha were all standing in the foyer talking. Pack members were walking in and out, but mostly ignoring the Alphas. I felt a wave of embarrassment and discomfort wash over me–this was definitely not the time for a family reunion.

“Have you forgotten your manners! I swear, I didn’t raise- Martha began her lecture.

Unfortunately, my mood was beyond terrible. Without thinking, my right fist pulled back and then connected perfectly with her chin. I knocked her out cold.

Anger, shame, and a tiny bit of satisfaction coursed through me simultaneously, but my rational mind told me I’d just made a huge mistake.

I didn’t wait around to be scolded by anyone, though. I kept walking. I didn’t even acknowledge my father or anyone else. I felt like my entire body was on fire, burning with rage but with nowhere to direct it. Gasps echoed through the foyer. People moved out of my way as I rushed up the stairs.

It took me a couple of tries to get the bedroom door open, but it finally gave. I slammed the door shut, expecting to hear a bang, but there wasn’t one. I’d been looking forward to that sound–it would have made me feel better, like I could destroy something too.

Looking back, Ryder had slipped in. Damn, when did he get so quiet? I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for him to start yelling at me. I was prepared for a heated argument, ready to unleash all my pent–up emotions.

But surprisingly, he walked over to the bar, poured two glasses of whiskey, and brought them over with the bottle. He set them on the coffee table and sat on the couch. One arm resting on the back of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, he sipped his drink while watching me. I was completely confused–this wasn’t the reaction I’d expected.

After a minute, he leaned forward and pushed the other glass toward me. I was totally lost. I’d expected to be yelled at, maybe even punished, but he was offering me a drink? Maybe this was the calm before the storm.

Cautiously, I stepped forward, downed the entire glass in one go, and set it back down. The alcohol burned my throat, but it felt good, a distraction at least. Ryder leaned forward and poured me another. After downing the second glass, I grew tired of waiting.

“Where’s the yelling I asked, uncertainty and defiance lacing my voice.

‘I’m not going to yell at you,” Ryder said in an eerily calm tone.

“Why not?” This time, I poured myself a drink. I was confused internally–this calmness was more unsettling than anger would have