Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 39

Chapter 39

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Chapter 39

Skye

Aunt Diana calls two days before Nicolai is scheduled to arrive.

I’m in my office reviewing next week’s schedule when my phone rings. Her name flashes across the screen, and something in my chest tightens with anticipation.

“Skye.” Her voice is thick with tears-the good kind. “Dalton’s been released. He’s been totally cleared. They’re saying it was some kind of bureaucratic error, that they had the wrong person. He’s coming home today.”

I sink into my chair, relief flooding through me so intensely I have to close my eyes. “That’s wonderful, Diana. I’m so happy for you.”

“I don’t know how you did it.” She’s crying openly now. “I don’t know what strings you pulled or who you talked to, but thank you. Thank you so much. You saved him.”

I didn’t do anything. Not really. I just sent a text message to someone I haven’t seen in three years, and somehow he made the impossible happen.

“I’m just glad he’s safe,” I say quietly.

“I owe you.” Diana’s voice is fierce. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it. You call me. Do you

understand?”

“I understand.” More than she knows.

We talk for a few more minutes-Diana promising to bring Dalton by to thank me personally once he’s settled, me deflecting and insisting it’s not necessary. When we finally hang up, I sit in the silence of my office and try to process what Nicolai just did.

He freed a man from the Lycan King’s personal detention facility in less than forty-eight hours. No questions asked. Just because I needed it.

The power that requires is staggering. And terrifying. And somehow comforting in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.

My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.

Arriving Thursday afternoon. D.

That has to be from Dimitri. Nicolai’s Beta, confirming their arrival.

I delete the message immediately and try to ignore the nervous flutter in my stomach.

In two days, Nicolai Woolf will be here. Under the same roof. Where I’ll have to pretend he’s just an old

acquaintance while Jaxon watches my every move.

This is going to be impossible.

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Thursday arrives too quickly.

I position myself at the window in the upstairs hallway-not my bedroom, too obvious, but a spot where I can see the front courtyard without being easily spotted from below.

The convoy arrives precisely at two o’clock. Three black SUVS with tinted windows, moving in perfect formation. Professional. Intimidating.

Very Woolf family.

The vehicles stop in front of the main entrance. Jaxon is already there, flanked by Noah and two senior

pack members. Playing the gracious host while asserting his authority on his own territory.

The rear door of the center SUV opens.

Nicolai steps out, and my breath catches.

He’s changed so much. Three years shouldn’t make such a difference, but it has. He’s broader through the shoulders now, his body carrying the kind of muscle that comes from real combat training, not just gym sessions. His blond hair is shorter, more severe. And there’s something harder about his face, sharper around the edges.

Watching. Always watching.

I smooth down my dress and step into the room.

Jaxon sees me first, his gaze tracking my movements with that intensity he’s developed lately. Then Nicolai turns, and our eyes meet across the room.

For a heartbeat, everything else fades.

Then training kicks in. Duty. Protocol. The masks we both wear.

I cross the room with the Luna’s grace I’ve perfected over three years. “Alpha Woolf. Welcome to the

Ironwood pack.”

“Luna Vale.” He inclines his head with perfect formality. Thank you for your hospitality.”

His voice is deeper than I remember. Rougher around the edges. But still familiar enough to make something in my chest ache.

“It’s been a long time,” I say, keeping my tone polite but distant.

“It has.” His dark eyes search mine, and I wonder what he sees. If the changes in me are as obvious as

the ones in him. “You look well.”

“As do you.”

The pleasantries are painful in their banality. We’re better than this. We used to talk for hours about everything and nothing, laugh until our sides hurt, finish each other’s sentences.

Now we’re strangers performing for an audience.

And something about that hurts more than I expected it to.

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