Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 155

Chapter 155

Nicolai

“Second chance mate.” Skye whispers, that same wonder from earlier coloring her tone.

But there’s a question there too. One she hesitates to voice out loud, but I can see the wheels turning in her mind. all the same.

“If this is truly a mate bond, why didn’t it happen the moment I saw you after rejecting Jaxon?” She finally asks,

“I’m not sure.” I answer honestly. “But I’ve heard some bonds don’t actually sever completely after a rejection. Sometimes it takes time for the last remnants to fade away. Maybe your wolf needed that bit of extra time while you were napping to let it all go, to make way for a new bond.”

Skye stares back at me wide-eyed. Neither of us speaks immediately, which is its own kind of acknowledgment. Two people who don’t have the reflexive impulse to fill silence letting this particular silence be what it is. A mate bond solidifying between us.

Not like she described the bond with Jaxon-I’ve heard her description of that, the sudden overwhelming snap of something involuntary, the loss of control, the way she felt like something had shut down the human side of her brain, leaving only her wolf in charge. This isn’t that.

This is warmer. More like something that was always going to happen and finally has the space to happen, now that nothing is blocking it. A sense of peace, of rightness washing over us because we’d already chosen each other. And this is just fate’s way of confirming we chose correctly.

I feel the bond settle over me like a cozy blanket. Not clicking into place—that implies there was something out of place before. More like-deepening. Like what we had becoming recognized by something older than either of us.

I’ve had people describe bond-snaps to me over the years. Alphas, pack elders, wolves describing the moment they found their mate. Most of them used words that implied violence. Hit me. Struck me. Like lightning.

This is nothing like lightning. This is more like the tide coming in. Inevitable. Warm. The exact temperature it was always going to be.

I look at her now through the lens of our new bond. This woman who was twelve years old and entirely unimpressed with the fifteen-year-old Woolf heir because he just stood there looking serious. Who spent three years as the mate of someone who never loved her and survived it by becoming the kind of woman who doesn’t require saving, which made saving her feel like the specific privilege it was.

Who rebuilt herself from the pieces, in my house, with my help and more without it, and trusted me with all of it. Who now has a bond with me that the universe apparently decided was always going to happen.

I’ve been quiet long enough that she notices.

“Say something,” she urges.

I pull her closer. She comes without resistance, settles against me with the ease of someone who has learned this is where she belongs.

“I was thinking,” I say, “about the fact that I was going to love you regardless.” I feel her go still, listening. “The bond didn’t make this. Whatever this is—it confirms something that was already true. I chose this before any bond formed. Before any bond could have formed.” I look at her. “I want you to know that. Because I know you’ve had the experience of a bond that was supposed to mean something and didn’t. And I need you to know that this one- even before this one-I chose you. That’s not the bond talking. The bond is just the universe finally catching up.”

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Skye looks at me for a long moment, digesting my words. “How are you” She stops. Tries again. “How do you always know what to say?”

“know what you need to hear because I know you. But I would never tell you anything that isn’t true.”

“You’ve known me for less than a year.” She points out.

“I’ve been paying attention for much longer than that, Moonbeam. Since the very first day I met you, I’ve been paying attention.”

What admission seems to stun her into silence. Then she leans up and kisses me, and the bond does something at contact-a deepening, a warmth, the particular rightness of a thing recognizing itself. I feel it. I think she

es too.

Neither one of us seems in a hurry to pull away. And the longer we kiss, the stronger the humming under my skin becomes, like my very blood is seeking her touch. Her hands caress my face, my neck, shoulders, and down the hard lines of my chest, leaving a fire burning in their wake. The bond insisting we consummate this gift we’ve been given.

I take her slowly, gently, mindful of the ordeal she’s just been through. Piece by piece, I peel away her clothes, revealing every gorgeous inch of her that’s mine. Her whole body flushes under my gaze as I take in her beauty- her full breasts, heavy with milk to feed our son. Her soft stomach, still slightly round from Benji’s birth. The curve of her hips that makes me want to sink my fingers into her flesh as I take her from behind. And her perfect pussy, all pink swollen, and dripping for me.

My w

appreciation. “Mate. My mate. So perfect.” I couldn’t agree more.

clothes and climb into bed behind her, pulling her back to my front. Lifting her leg to rest over my n her for me and push into her in one slow, smooth stroke. It’s like coming home and I know she feels

colai,” She breathes, her head falling back to rest on my chest.

We make love for hours, lying together just like that. Sometimes a gentle claiming, sometimes just lying still in each other’s arms, basking in this new bond deepening between us. But always connected, my cock staying buried deep inside her, neither one of us willing to be separated.

That night-Benji asleep, the estate settled into its nighttime quiet-I lie in the dark with her and think about timing. She’s on my chest. Her breathing is even but not quite the slow rhythm of sleep.

“Skye.”

“Mm.” she murmurs back sleepily.

“I want to ask you something.” I tell her.

She must hear the seriousness in my tone because she shifts. Tilts her head back slightly so she can see my face. The moonlight from the curtains we didn’t close all the way.

“Not because the bond says I should,” I preface. “Not because it’s the logical next step. Not because of anything except that I want this-you, specifically-for the rest of my life.” I hold her gaze. “I’m going to ask you properly. The ring and the question and everything that should go with it. But I need to know-before all of that-if you’re ready for this to be permanent.”

She looks at me in the dark and there’s something in her expression I can’t quite read.

“Nicolai,” she says my name like a prayer. “I’ve been permanent since before I knew it.”

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I kiss her. Don’t say anything else.

Tomorrow, I’ll do it properly. I have the ring-I’ve had the ring for weeks, waiting in the drawer of my desk, waiting for the right moment.

Tomorrow I’ll give her the moment. Tonight, this is enough.

I lie in the dark with my mate-my actually fated mate, the woman the universe apparently had opinions about before either of us did-and for the first time since she walked through my door carrying someone else’s baby and a divorce and three years of damage and more strength than anyone had a right to expect-I’m not afraid of losing

this.

For the first time.

I’m not afraid.

Cara Anderson Author

Thank you for reading!

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