Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 229

Ch. 2

Noah

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Much to Cole’s exasperation, I stubbornly attend the Henderson-Calloway dispute myself, refusing to let him take it off my plate. I’ve read the file, I’m familiar with the case, and more importantly, I’m determined to show my pack members I’m capable of leading every aspect of pack life.

Cole follows me into the meeting and takes up his position at my right shoulder like a bodyguard prepared to take a bullet for me. Ironwood wolves being the bullet in this scenario. It takes all my restraint not to elbow him in the balls so he’ll back off.

The Hendersons-a couple in their forties, both pack members in good standing-are on one side of the table. The Calloways-younger, a family with two school-age children-are on the other. Both parties have the rigid posture of people who have been right for several months and would like someone official to confirm this.

At the same moment I sit down, an intense cold wracks my body and I cough to cover my gasp.

“Thank you for coming,” I clench my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. “Tell me what’s happening. Not the filing-“I gesture at the formal documents on the table. “Tell me what’s actually happening.”

They both start talking at once. I listen. Not to the content first-to the emotion behind it. How they talk about each other. Where the hurt is underneath the logistics. The Hendersons have been in Ironwood for twenty years; the Calloways arrived three years ago. The resource dispute is real, but it’s sitting on top of something older: the tension between established members and newer ones that every pack manages in different ways.

Jaxon would have ruled on the matter by now. He would have listened, but he wouldn’t have dug any deeper. I ask questions.

hope it earns me some modicum of respect. Not because it makes me a better Alpha. Because it makes me me.

By the time I’m done asking questions, the resource allocation itself only takes four minutes to resolve. Both families leave with an agreement and the slightly sheepish quality of people who have been briefly reminded that they like each other.

I feel good about that. Not so much about the fact it takes all my willpower to unlock my frozen joints and heft myself out of my chair.

Cole falls into step beside me in the hallway. “Jaxon would have made that call in thirty seconds,” he goads me on purpose. He can’t help himself.

“Jaxon would have been wrong,” I reply, maybe a little too defensively. I don’t mean it unkindly, but it’s still true..

Cole is quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he finally agrees. “He would have.”

When evening comes, the Alpha house is always quieter than I expect. Jaxon ran this house like a second pack operation-people moving through, meetings that ran past dinner, the constant low-level noise of something happening. I expected noise.

But my evenings are different. The staff has learned my preference for quiet after six. I value my peace, not to mention my privacy. Easier to keep secrets that way.

Unfortunately, there’s one person I can’t avoid and she’s much too good at reading me like a book. I can’t hide anything from her but I can’t avoid her either. So Lpick up the phone and I call my mother.

She picks up on the second ring. “You look tired,” she says, which is how she opens every video call regardless of

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how I actually look. But in this case, she’s probably spot on.

New Alpha,” He. “It’s an adjustment.”

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“You sound good though. Solid.” She’s in her kitchen in the southern pack, something on the stove behind her. She’s been there since my father died eight years ago-her sister’s pack, where she knows everyone and is known. “How’s the pack taking to you?”

“Adjusting,” The truth this time. “Most of them.”

“And the ones who aren’t?”

“Will adjust.” I infuse all the confidence I can manage into my tone, hoping she buys it

She makes the sound she makes when she’s not fully convinced but lets it go. For now. It’s a small reprieye.

The

I let her mother me, knowing it’s the best way to placate her. “You eating?”, “Yes.”, “Sleeping?”, “Fine,” Th typical mom questions.

She looks at me through the screen with the particular vision of a mother who has been reading me since before I could construct a convincing sentence. “Okay,” she draws out the word, letting me know she suspects I’m lying but thankfully doesn’t push it. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I always do.”

“You always say you will,” she rolls her eyes at me. “It’s not quite the same thing.”

I blow her a kiss and we hang up. Then I sit at my desk and wonder how many more phone calls I have before she works out the truth.

It’s 3am when the brutal cold wakes me. Which, to be fair, is later than usual, I check the thermostat out of habit, already knowing what it’ll say. Seventy-two degrees. Normal. The room is fine.

I’m the problem.

I add the extra blanket I’ve been keeping at the foot of the bed. Lie back. Stare at the ceiling. Transition, I tell myself. Wolf-energy recalibration. Dr. Lukas said it could take weeks.

It’s been weeks. I’m aware that ‘s still within the range of normal. I’m also aware that I know my body well- years as a Beta requires physical awareness, the ability to assess your own state accurately, to know when something is off before it affects your function.

Something is off. But I’m not thinking about what it might be. Okay, I’m mostly not thinking about it.

I pull the blanket up. Close my eyes. Tell myself it’s just the transition.

And I almost believe it.

Cara Anderson Author

Thank you for reading!

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