Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 260

Ch. 30

Cassandra

All I wanted was some warm milk to help me sleep. I snort at the absurdity of the situation because there is no fucking chance of that now. Not after almost walking in on Noah kissing that woman.

The bond has very strong opinions about what I witnessed but I make it back to my room before I let myself feel any of it. Once the door is safely closed behind me, mixed emotions crash over me like a tidal wave. And it’s worse than I expected.

Thank goodness no one can hear me because, apparently, the only way I can process the trauma is to talk myself through it. Out loud. Something that would probably earn me a one-way trip to the looney bin if anyone but my sleeping son was around to hear my rant.

“He was seeing someone before I arrived.” This isn’t new information. I’ve heard the gossip.

“He has every right to keep seeing her.” Also old news. I’ve already accepted this, haven’t I?

“He doesn’t owe me anything. In fact, he owes me less than nothing.” I made sure of that when I chose to pursue Jaxon over our bond.

Those statements are all true. Every single one of them. This ridiculous argument I’m having with myself is airtight.

The bond doesn’t care about airtight arguments. Instead, it thinks showing me a frame by frame replay is the solution to the problem. His hand cupping her jaw, the gentleness of it, the reverence and easy affection in the soft brush of his lips over hers.

The pain these images produce is entirely unreasonable, and I know it. I know exactly what I forfeited and exactly why I have no right to an opinion on any of this. I will not cry about it.

The tears come anyway. Not a sob. Just a quiet grief for what I lost. What I’m unlikely to ever find again.

I eventually fall asleep, exhausted from the sheer weight of it all. The mountain of mistakes in my past I can never take back.

I wake to Liam’s voice in the hallway, he’s telling Mara something with great urgency. The words aren’t clear through the door but I can tell by his tone he’s excited about something.

I lie in bed for another thirty seconds then drag myself up. The skin around my eyes is tender from rubbing away tears and I can only imagine what I look like. I don’t need a mirror to tell my eyes are puffy and bloodshot.

You knew, I remind myself, pulling on my clothes. You knew before you came here that he would have moved on. A man like him wasn’t going to be alone indefinitely. You didn’t have the right to hope he wouldn’t.

I knew. I’ll get used to seeing it too. I’m going to be fine.

Work is the perfect distraction. I’ve been reassigned to the administrative offices-Cole doesn’t like me and he seems to enjoy shuffling me around like some unwanted object you can’t get rid of but can’t quite find a place for either-but at least those tasks require more focus than the kitchen work. Which means less time to wallow. I do miss Mara and the girls in the kitchen though. None of them treated me like I didn’t belong.

I’m humming to myself to fill the quiet of the office when I hear voices. I recognize Delia’s voice in the corridor, talking to someone: “Mara’s short today, big pack gathering prep and Joanna called in sick-she’s doing it herself, poor woman.”

1/3

+15 Bonus

My first reaction is to roll my eyes, because of course she’s gossipping. But then her words sink in. Mara has been nothing but good to me, and now she needs help.

I look at my current task writing letters to Ironwood suppliers. I’m two letters from finishing it. Cole always leaves my list of tasks for the day in the morning and this is the last one on it. I can help.

My thought process does not extend beyond that. Mara is shorthanded and the prep for an event is significant. I’ve been in that kitchen for two weeks and I know where everything is. I can help.

So I go. And the look on Mara’s face when I arrive, my sleeves rolled up and ready to work, tells me I made the right choice. I jump right in, working my way down the line the way she showed me, finishing one task and immediately moving to the next.

We’re halfway through prep work when Cole appears in the kitchen doorway. His expression is not angry. It’s

smug.

“Cassandra,” he barks and I startle, nearly dropping the potato I’m peeling.

“I-, I-, what?” Is my not so eloquent reply.

“The Alpha needs to speak with you.” He snarls in that gruff voice that sets my teeth on edge.

“Y-, yes, sir.” I hate myself a little bit for the way my voice shakes.

I remove my apron and follow him back to the administrative office. Then I wait.

Twenty minutes tick by before Noah shows up. Twenty minutes I’m sure he left me waiting on purpose, knowing I’d panic the whole time. When he finally arrives, he closes the door behind him, stands across the desk from me, and looks at me with deadly calm. I barely suppress a shiver.

“You do not take actions in this pack without authorization,” he says so softly, it’s almost a whisper. But it’s more effective than any scream or bark could ever be. “That’s not a conversation I’m having twice.”

I lower my eyes and bare my neck in submission. “I was wrong.” Even if I don’t think I was, I know it’s what he wants to hear. “It won’t happen again.”

“Look at me when you speak to me.” He snaps instead of accepting my apology. “And don’t bare your neck to me. I would never lower myself to bite you, even to make you submit.”

The words sting, but then, that was the point. The smallest whimper slides up my throat, but I straighten up and look him in the eye. He’s quiet, watchful, and I know he doesn’t miss the distress in my scent or the hurt that flashed across my face before I could hide it.

“You finished your assigned s for the day first,” he states. Not quite a question. More of a sigh as he looks away from me.

“Yes, Alpha.” He stiffens at my use of his title and I briefly wonder why. “But that doesn’t change that I should have asked permission before I went to help Mara.”

“No. It doesn’t.” He grits out, just being in the same room with me apparently a strain on his composure. “Are we clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” I try a different honorific this time.

He stiffens again, but nods and walks away. I drop into the chair, the trembling in my knees too violent to hold me up, and hang my head in my hands.

2/3

And once again I find myself chanting a way too familiar mantra:

Will not cry.

Cara Anderson

Author

Thank you for reading!

I Like

Comments

Support

Share

+15 Bonus

3/3