The Rejected Luna (Avery and Kaden) novel Chapter 183

**Between the Wings of Twilight Lies the Memory of You**
by Liren Ava Roen

A palpable tension hung in the air, and I could feel Horace’s displeasure radiating from him like heat off asphalt on a summer day. Yet, despite being cocooned in his arms, a swirl of confusion enveloped me.

“What’s bothering you, Horace? Are you in a foul mood? If my singing isn’t to your liking, I can always… I can dance for you instead. You know, I’m quite the dancer. You used to say that whenever I performed for you, it would lift your spirits.” My voice was laced with a hopeful charm, a desperate attempt to coax a smile from him.

As I wriggled to escape his grip, I felt the sheer force of his strength holding me back. His expression was stormy, a thundercloud of frustration shadowing his features, his jaw clenched tightly as if holding back a torrent of emotions.

“Zephyra, don’t move!” His voice thundered, a command wrapped in a layer of urgency.

“It’s alright, I can really dance…” My head swirled, and I felt a bit lightheaded, but I managed to execute a few simple steps from a classical routine. A gentle turn was within my grasp, but as I attempted a more intricate leap, I nearly toppled over. In a flash, he caught me, his arm encircling my waist to steady my wobbling form.

The sudden motion sent my senses into a dizzying spiral. I looked up at him, but the harsh fluorescent lights above blurred his features, making him appear as if he had multiple heads. I let out a startled yelp and instinctively buried my face against his chest, a silly laugh escaping my lips as I tried to shake off the dizziness.

“See, Horace? Wasn’t that lovely? Are you… are you feeling any better?”

Back when my father’s business was just beginning to flourish, my mother insisted that every young lady should possess an artistic skill. Thus, she enrolled me in classical dance classes, a decision I had little say in. I was never more than passable, but after countless hours of practice, the basics became second nature. During the period when Horace was nursing his leg injury, I often felt helpless, unsure of how to console him. He would tell me my dancing brought him joy, so I danced for him, pouring my heart into every movement.

Every single time, it seemed to brighten his mood.

But today, an undercurrent of simmering rage seemed to envelop him. He swept me back into his embrace, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line, and his voice came out strained, almost pained.

“It wasn’t beautiful. And please, stop talking.”

He gently placed me in the passenger seat, fastening my seatbelt with a precision that spoke volumes of his frustration. As I gazed at his striking, tempestuous face, I couldn’t help but notice how much he resembled Steven, my heart racing with a mix of emotions.

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