The Wolf God's Unwanted Luna

Vivian’s POV

When he turned to head into our room, I straightened my legs and braced them against the doorway, blocking him completely. He frowned down at me, clearly not expecting the sudden resistance.

"I’m sleeping down there tonight," I said firmly, jerking my chin toward the guest room two doors away.

His intense gaze searched mine. Something flickered deep in his eyes regret, maybe but he didn’t push me. He set me down gently on my feet, and I immediately began backing away toward the guest room.

I paused at the door, holding the frame. "Thank you... for helping with my wrist. And for not stopping me earlier," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Good night."

Before he could respond, I slipped into the guest room and shut the door securely behind me.

I collapsed straight onto the bed, letting pure exhaustion pull heavily at my limbs. The tension, the shift, the blinding pain it all caught up with me in one long, shaky exhale into the dark.

I was just starting to relax when I heard it: bare feet padding softly across the floorboards outside in the hallway. I froze, holding my breath. No way.

Pushing the covers aside, I crept to the door and eased it open a crack. And there he was.

Zaliver was lying directly on the wooden floor outside my room, bundled in a thick blanket with two pillows shoved awkwardly under his head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He looked up at me with a triumphant grin, like he hadn’t just set up camp outside my door like a rejected, oversized puppy.

I walked out and sat down on the floor beside him, my arms folded tightly across my chest. "What are you doing? Go back to your bed. That can’t possibly be good for your back."

"Nope," he said, popping the ’p’ popped with infuriating satisfaction.

I scowled down at him. "Why not?"

"Because that bed’s not comfortable without you. None of them are."

The sheer raw honesty of the words hit me like a physical blow to the chest. I opened my mouth to shoot back a witty reply, but nothing came out.

"Idiot," I whispered softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek before pushing myself back up to my feet. "Suit yourself. But don’t complain tomorrow when you wake up feeling like you’ve aged fifty years."

He growled low in his chest at the quick retreat.

I paused, my hand lingering on the brass doorknob. "I’m still mad at you, you know."

"I know," he said quietly, his gaze softening in the dim hallway light. "And you have every right to be. I’m starting to realize I’m a bit of a jackass when it comes to doing things with you."

His voice was softer now, almost like he wasn’t even talking to me, just admitting the truth out loud for his own sake.

"So... I’m sorry," he whispered.

I bit the inside of my cheek, holding my ground. "Apology not accepted. Especially not from a disembodied voice at three in the morning," I replied, keeping my tone light but carefully guarded.

He chuckled softly under his breath.

"I’m beginning to think sarcasm is your way of dealing with things when you don’t know what else to say," he murmured.

"Good night, Zaliver."

"Good night, my little cloud."

I rolled my eyes, but the corners of my lips tugged upward in spite of myself as I shut the door.

Yeah, maybe sarcasm was my shield... but he was still the only person who ever tried so hard to see past it.

Waking up the next morning wasn’t the usual struggle it used to be especially not when I could immediately sense Zaliver’s presence just outside my room. Sleep hadn’t come easily, though, despite how utterly exhausted I’d been. I guess being the brain behind a half-baked escape plan and trying to outwit the Lupus Deus takes a heavy physical toll. I honestly don’t know how he manages to keep up that calm, calculating demeanor all the time. It’s exhausting just to watch.

I groaned aloud as I rolled out of bed, my body aching like I’d run a marathon in my sleep. I padded into the adjoining bathroom and stared blankly into the mirror. Yikes. My dark hair was a frizzy mess, one side of my face had a faint pillow imprint, and my eyes looked puffy with deep shadows beneath them. I looked... fantastic.

Flicking on the faucet, I splashed ice-cold water over my face until I felt the sluggish fog in my head start to clear. But even after drying off with a towel, something still felt... wrong. A strange chill clung to my skin despite the warm room, and a weird queasiness lingered low in my chest. It wasn’t just physical it was deeper, like something inside my very soul was completely unsettled.

My wolf stirred weakly in my mind, her presence unusually sluggish and faint. I nudged her gently, concerned by the silence, and received a soft, tired nudge back. Not much, but it was something. She wasn’t gone, just... drained. Maybe it was a delayed reaction to everything that had happened during the failed shift. Maybe she felt the same unspoken unease I couldn’t put a name to.

I brushed my teeth, dragged a comb through my rebellious hair, tied it back tightly with a spare band, and then stretched until my spine popped satisfyingly. It wasn’t much, but it made me feel slightly more human.

I was ready to face the music or rather, face Zaliver.

When I opened my bedroom door, I expected to find him camped out nearby like the overly possessive alpha he was, but to my surprise, the hallway was completely empty. No pile of blankets, no brooding figure perched in a chair. Hearing faint noises coming from downstairs, I followed the irresistible scent of something delicious wafting up through the air.

The second I stepped into the bright kitchen, I froze dead in my tracks.

Zaliver was cooking.

Shirtless.

I couldn’t breathe.

Holy celestial hell. If there was a divine being responsible for sculpting strong, golden, mouthwatering male torsos, they had seriously outdone themselves with him. Every line of chiseled muscle, every ripple of raw strength across his ribs was like an ode to power and temptation. And those loose cotton pajama pants hanging dangerously low on his hip bones? Not helping. Not helping at all.

He glanced casually over his shoulder and caught me staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He grinned knowingly, those piercing blue eyes drinking in my helpless reaction.

I closed my mouth with an audible gulp and tried my best to compose myself as I shuffled around to the far side of the counter, keeping a safe distance between us.

"Morning," I said, trying to force my voice to sound normal. "Where’s your shirt?"

He didn’t even turn all the way around, but I could hear the deep smirk in his voice.

"Didn’t match my chains. Figured shirtless was the better look."

Of course. Typical alpha arrogance.

I let out a dismissive hum, pretending to be utterly unimpressed, but my eyes completely refused to obey my brain. His broad back was just as ridiculously impressive as his front. I had a sudden, irrational urge to run my hands down the smooth expanse of his shoulder blades, to feel the burning warmth of his skin beneath my fingers.

Goddess help me.