Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
RIBBONS, RITUALS, AND UNSPOKEN THINGS
Maya
I need a break.
I love my job, but after staring at my laptop for hours, trying to make my brain produce coherent words, I need something else to focus on. Something indulgent.
So, naturally, I head to the lodge.
The spa treatments here are divine, and even though I’ve already memorized the menu, I still pretend to browse, letting my eyes drift over the offerings like I haven’t already planned exactly how I’m going to pamper myself.
This is nice .
A world away from my usual routine—military-speed showers in the van, self-care that consists of drugstore sheet masks, and stretching in a gas station parking lot when I’ve been driving too long.
As I’m debating whether I should upgrade to a body wrap (because if I’m going all in, I might as well go all in ), Luna appears, looking completely unbothered by the fact that she is an enormous, graceful wolf woman carrying a basket of ribbons and dried flowers.
She stops when she sees me and grins. “I have an offer.”
I raise a brow. “Oh?”
“You help put up Sweetheart Wilds Festival decorations, and your treatments are on the house.”
I narrow my eyes. “What kind of labor are we talking?”
Luna waves a hand. “A little ribbon tying, floral arranging, ambiance creating—just things to make the lodge look extra charming while the boys are away handling important wulver things .”
“Uh-huh.” I lean back, pretending to consider. “So manual labor in exchange for luxury?”
Luna smirks. “Precisely.”
“Deal.”
I don’t regret my decision.
Not one bit.
Because forty-five minutes later, I am sprawled face-down on a massage table, melting into oblivion as a pair of expert hands undo every knot of tension in my body.
Hot stones? Perfection.
Lavender oil? Heavenly.
The sheer decadence of it all? Unmatched.
By the time I emerge, soft-limbed and dreamlike, I would agree to almost anything .
Which is probably why I find myself standing on a ladder, hanging ribbon garlands and adjusting floral bundles, humming under my breath as I work.
To my credit, I don’t mind. This is fun—hands-on, creative, the kind of physical task that lets my brain wander.
And my brain?
Is wandering straight to Ronan.
He’ll be back later.
I told him I’d see him, and I meant it.
A small, traitorous thrill runs through me at the thought. What is happening to me?
Maybe I’m just vibing with the romance of the season.
Maybe it’s the lingering euphoria of the massage.
Or maybe it’s a certain wulver who makes my pulse do weird, unreliable things.
I shake off the thought and refocus.
Business, Maya. Be productive.
I consider how I could pitch Avalon Vale’s glamper-grounds and spa—a luxury-meets-wilderness experience. I could easily whip up some copy for their website tonight.
My other freelance projects are simmering on the backburner anyway.
As I tie another flowing ribbon, I glance at Luna.
“So,” I say, voice casual. “Tell me more about the Sweetheart Wilds Festival.”
Luna grins, tying a delicate bow with practiced ease. “It’s a sanitized version of an old tradition.”
I quirk a brow. “How sanitized?”
Luna tilts her head. “Well, in older times, it was a full Lupercalia run—chasing, marking, claiming. These days, we just focus on the fun parts. Dancing, matchmaking, a bit of competitive partner tracking?—”
I pause mid-ribbon, brows furrowing. “Partner tracking?”
Luna points to the color-coded ribbons hanging across the lodge. “Each pair is given a tracking ribbon. You chase, you catch, you tie. Simple.”
I smirk. “And if you don’t have a partner?”
Luna doesn’t miss a beat. “There’s always a partner.”
That shouldn’t make my stomach flip.
And yet?—
I clear my throat, twirling a red ribbon between my fingers. “I’m guessing this event has a notably high post-festival pregnancy rate?”
Luna frowns, confused. “Why would it?”
I blink. “Uh. Because ribbons and running aside , this seems insanely romantic? And I’m guessing there’s a lot of, um… post-chase activities ?”
Luna shrugs. “There’s no conception unless the woman wants it.”
I stare. “Like… magic?”
She nods. “We have tea for that.”
Tea.
Of course.
I drum my fingers against the wooden beam. “Good to know.”
I haven’t been on birth control in a while. I prefer it that way.
My mind flickers, unbidden, to Ronan.
To the way he looks at me, like I’m something he’s already claimed—something he intends to keep.
My cheeks heat, and I turn back to my ribbons, very interested in perfecting the display.
Luna doesn’t seem to notice.
Or maybe she does, and she’s just letting me stew in my own thoughts.
Luna continues tying ribbons, her voice softer now.
“The last time I ran in Lupercalia,” she says, “I was caught.”
I glance at her. “By your mate?”
She nods, smiling faintly. “Markus.”
I let the name settle, watching how she says it—like a secret, like a wish.
“He’s not here?” I ask.
Luna’s grip tightens slightly around a ribbon.
“He’s in the Rift Wars,” she says, voice even. “Serving his last tour. He’ll be home in a year.”
I don’t know why, but the way she says it—so measured, so calm—makes my chest tighten.
Like she’s daring the universe not to take him from her.
I swallow, sudden emotion thick in my throat.
“I hope he comes back whole,” I say quietly.
Luna finally looks at me, her amber eyes glowing in the firelight.
“He will,” she says simply.
She won’t allow anything else.
I believe her.
And if there’s anything listening, I pray it listens to her, too.
I shift the conversation, steering us back to decorations and festival antics, adding humor where I can?—
Because even here, in this beautiful, enchanted town, surrounded by warmth and promise, some fears never truly leave you.
And abandonment?
That’s one of them.