Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 189

Chapter 189

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Something has changed in the house.

I can’t point to the exact moment. It wasn’t the shared moment in the hallway, or the awkward breakfast after or. the garden conversation with Jaxon about Ironwood. It wasn’t Nicolai asking me to be visible or the sitting room where he came in and saw Jaxon and I together and didn’t walk away.

It was an accumulation of all those things. The way water changes a rock-not visible in any single day, but undeniable when you step back and look at the shape of things.

The house feels different. We feel different in it. And I think that’s a good thing.

Mornings in particular have begun to look differently. Breakfasts used to consist of Benji and me, and two men who reliably avoided each other, both entering at separate times and exiting when the other arrived. Now both men have stopped being surprised to find each other there and actually stick around to have breakfast together as a family.

Benji at almost-one is a creature of significant demands and very little patience for adult awkwardness. He doesn’t care about the geometry of our situation. He cares about his cereal and his toys and the attention he expects from every person in his vicinity.

Both men provide it. Together. At the same time. And I think I may have entered some kind of alternate dimension.

Yesterday Jaxon held Benji on his hip while Benji reached for Nicolai’s coffee mug with the confidence of someone who has already decided this is his. Nicolai moved the mug out of reach, replacing it with a safer object, the movement so smooth it read as practiced. Jaxon set Benji on the floor with a soft block while they both stood at the counter, and the conversation that followed-about a pack administrative thing, nothing significant-just two people in a kitchen, talking, with a baby on the floor between them.

I watched this from the doorway for a full minute before anyone noticed me, certain I hadn’t truly woken up yet and was, in fact, still in bed dreaming.

When it comes to pack business, Nicolai includes me in every decision, treating me as his equal. I sit in on planning meetings. My opinion gets solicited before decisions are made. The Luna role I never properly had at Ironwood is what I am here–not the performed version, the real one.

And where I used to spend my evenings on the terrace with Nicolai, now I spend them with Jaxon too. We don’t always talk. Sometimes I bring tea. Sometimes he’s already there when I come out and has tea waiting for me. But even the silence is comfortable, just two people who enjoy being in each other’s presence, words optional.

Nicolai knows I spend time with Jaxon, even when he can’t join us. He doesn’t ask me to stop. And he doesn’t seem to mind it much either.

I’m convinced I must be dreaming. There’s no other viable explanation.

Unfortunately, it’s not an entirely good dream. The rumor Diana told me about has gotten sharper, more targeted. Not vague anymore. Specific. Specific enough that anyone can see it’s directed at me someone built this, shaped it, aimed it.

I tell Nicolai what I’ve learned. He listens and I can read his face well enough by now to know this isn’t the first he’s heard of it.

“Volkov,” he states confidently.

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“Tatiana’s father?” I thought that drama was behind us. Apparently I was wrong.

He messaged me last week. Tried to couch his threat in diplomatic language about opportunities. I’d been trying to identify who was behind it.” He looks at me steadily. “This connects it.”

“Someone is trying to use us, our situation, to stage a revolt against the Woolf family.” I out the pieces together.

“Yes.” He answers simply. What else is there to say?

Jaxon comes in—we’re in Nicolai’s office and he joins us, which he does a lot now-and stops when he reads the room. “What happened?”

“The rumors Aunt Diana’s been hearing,” I answer him. “Nicolai thinks it’s related to a message he received from Volkov.”

“Volkov.” Jaxon’s expression sharpens. “Eastern territories?”

“You know him?” Nicolai asks.

“By reputation. He’s been positioning himself in the eastern alliances for two years.” He comes to the desk, looks at the message Nicolai has pulled up. “He’s not the one behind the campaign. He’s the messenger.”

“For whom?” Nicolai sounds doubtful.

“Someone who wants the Woolf family’s attention divided.” Jaxon meets Nicolai’s eyes. “My network has been picking up movement in two eastern packs. I hadn’t connected it to you specifically. But this-” He taps the message. “This connects it.”

We stand around Nicolai’s desk-the three of us-looking at the same information from three different angles.

This is the first time this has happened. Not just sharing information-functioning as something. A unit. Three different networks and perspectives converging on the same problem.

It feels efficient in a way nothing else has felt since the mating ceremony. Which feels good on a personal level. I just hope that translates to something more. Because this feels like something with much higher stakes. This feels like the eve of war.

“I’ll need your contacts,” Nicolai says to Jaxon. Not demanding, just assuming cooperation.

“I’ll send them tonight,” Jaxon promises.

They look at each other across the desk. Not warmly. But without friction. More like two men with a shared stake in the outcome.

“Thank you,” Nicolai offers.

And that’s progress.

Cara Anderson Author

Thank you for reading!

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