Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 183

Chapter 183

Nicolai

After the hallway, after Jaxon kissed Skye in my arms and I didn’t stop it, I carry her up to our bed and take her again. And then one more time, until my Alpha is satisfied that our scent is so deeply embedded in her it will never fade.

It’s the only way the animal in me will settle, having Skye’s sweet pussy gripping my cock so tightly, reminding me she’s mine. It’s the only thing that can exorcise all thoughts of losing her.

And if I’m honest with myself, watching him kiss her while my cock was still inside her made me so fucking hard, it takes two more rounds just to slake my lust. Not that I’ll admit that last part out loud. Not yet.

But now, Skye is asleep beside me, her breathing even, the mating mark on her shoulder visible in the dim light Still tender at the edges. Still mine. And I am having a conversation with myself about what kind of man I actually

Not who I thought I was. Not the man I’ve been telling myself the story of, the one who couldn’t stand the thought of his mate with another man. Who I actually am.

Because the evidence is clear. I watched their kiss deepen, their tongues dancing together, the way she arched into him while still clinging to me. And it made me cock throb with need to the point I almost couldn’t stop myself from thrusting into her tight cunt at the same pace he fucked her mouth with his tongue.

When Jaxon kissed her, I pulled her closer, wanting to be part of them. I could have done anything to stop it, could have pulled her back, or stepped away myself. She would have stopped, followed me. But I did none of those things.

Instead, I stayed. Moved closer instead of away. I’m not sure what to do with that information.

I dissect it the way I dissect everything. Precisely. Without sentiment.

Why didn’t I push back? Not because I was paralyzed. I’ve been paralyzed exactly once in my adult life and 1 recognize the quality of it. This wasn’t that.

Not because I was managing a situation and chose restraint. That would have felt like restraint. This felt like-

Recognition.

Something in me recognized that what was happening was real and chosen and not-not a threat to what I have with Skye. Something separate from it. And I didn’t want to be the thing that stopped it.

The jealousy was there. It’s still there now, lying in the dark. A low, underlying note, but present. Yet it coexists with something else, something deeper.

I look at Skye sleeping. She is more herself than she was a year ago. More than she was six months ago. More than she was yesterday, even. And the version of herself that’s been emerging complete, certain, unguarded in ways she wasn’t before.

That tells me one thing–she is more herself with the three of us acknowledged than she was when we were all pretending if we didn’t say it out loud, it didn’t exist. Who am I to take that from her?

I’m not sure when I finally fall asleep but the morning light peeking in through the windows wakes me all too soon. Reluctantly, I slip out from underneath my still sleeping mate and make my way to the kitchen. What follows is the most domestic, awkward, unprecedented morning of my life.

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Jaxon is already in the kitchen. Of course he is. I pause in the doorway, and consider turning around for about a heartbeat, then decide I’m going to have to face him eventually. Why not now?

This is my house, I remind myself. I’m not going to let him chase me out of my own kitchen. So I make coffee.

We stand on opposite sides of the counter. Neither of us speaks immediately. There’s the sound of the coffee machine and, from somewhere in the house, the sound of Benji stirring in his monitor.

Jaxon is the first to break the awkward silence. “I’m not going to pretend last night was simple.”

“No,” I agree easily. “It wasn’t.”

“But I meant what I said.” He meets my eyes. “About being able to live with it. I meant that.”

“Yes, I got that message last night,” I say dryly. “But I’m still deciding what I can live with.”

Not hostile. Just honest. The kind of honesty we’ve been working toward in the space between us.

Jaxon nods. “Fair,” he says.

He pours himself a cup of coffee. I pour myself one. We stand on opposite sides of the counter and drink coffee in silence, which would have been hostile three months ago and is now somehow-not comfortable, but not wrong.

Eventually Skye joins us. She reads the room immediately-she always reads the room-and something in her shoulders relaxes slightly. Whatever she’d been bracing for, this isn’t it.

She makes tea, side-eyeing us the whole time, like she expects the fight to break out any minute. It doesn’t.

The three of us have breakfast. Benji is retrieved. Has his cereal in his highchair next to us. It’s almost… normal.

Almost.

Awkward. But also, somehow, not wrong.

Now, if only breakfast had been the worst part of my day. But that would have been too easy.

Mid-morning, I’m working in my office, pretending I didn’t just have the most awkward start to my day, when the call comes. Different ally this time. Same subtext. This one less diplomatic the diplomatic coating has been peeled back enough that I can hear what’s underneath without having to translate.

“I’m hearing concerns,” he says, “from multiple parties. About the situation at the Woolf estate. About your mate’s circumstances. About what it suggests about the Woolf family’s ability to

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“Stop,” I bark.

Being the smart man he is, he stops.

“I’ll be very clear,” I say, in the voice I use when I refuse to be doubted. “The Woolf family’s ability to do anything is not in question. What happens in my home is not your concern, or anyone else’s concern, and I would

encourage you to communicate that to whoever asked you to make this call.”

“Nicolai, I’m saying this as a friend ”

“You’re not saying it as a friend,” I snap. “You’re saying it as someone who wants to know how to position themselves relative to what they think is a vulnerability.” I pause. “It isn’t one. And if you communicate nothing else, communicate that.”

I hang up.

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I am, I will be honest with myself, angrier than I’ve admitted to anyone. Not at the caller. At the situation. At the

act that what I’m building is being described as weakness by people who have never built anything that required courage. By cowards who’d pay other men to die for them rather than take a stand themselves.

I call my lawyer.

“I need to understand tny exposure,” I tell him. “If the arrangement at the estate continues as it is. What it creates legally, publicly, in terms of pack governance challenges.” A pause while he processes the unusual framing. “I’m not asking you to tell me how to stop it. I’m asking you to tell me what I need to know so I can protect it.”

Because I’m starting to think… if it’s what she wants, I’ll protect it over everything.

Cara Anderson

Author

Thank you for reading!

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