CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LUNA
The girls were still watching me, waiting for me to say something back to Riley’s text. Something sharp, something unforgiving, something that proved he hadn’t gotten under my skin.
But I couldn’t move.
Not because I was frozen.
Because something in the air shifted behind me.
A prickling along the back of my neck.
The kind of awareness that didn’t come from sight or sound.
The kind that came from him.
Malia’s eyes flicked over my shoulder. “He’s coming.”
My stomach dropped straight through the sand.
I turned.
Riley wasn’t with the group anymore. The bonfire still cast his silhouette in warm amber, but he’d stepped away from the circle, away from the noise, the cheers, the crowd still buzzing about the kiss.
And he was walking toward me.
Not fast.
But with the same deliberate, unhurried confidence he used for everything that made my heartbeat trip over itself.
The girls instinctively drifted closer around me, a tiny shield of soft sweatshirts and bare feet in the sand.
Malia murmured, “Say the word and we’ll run.”
Tessa whispered, “Or fight.”
Jo added, “Or throw his phone into the ocean.”
Harper calmly said, “I can trip him.”
I would’ve laughed if I could breathe.
Riley stopped a few feet in front of us, hands in his pockets, the fire catching the edges of his hair and jaw. His expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t triumphant. It wasn’t mocking.
It was unreadable.
“Luna,” he said, voice low, steady, too steady, like he was speaking only to me, even though four girls were practically braced for combat beside me.
My pulse jumped.
A soft ping rose from Riley’s phone, a tiny, merciless sound.
“Your phone’s buzzing,” Malia said sharply, crossing her arms.
He finally looked at her. A single, slow glance. “I know.”
The way he said it made her blink.
Made all of them blink.
Because it didn’t sound like intimidation.
It sounded like recognition. As if he already expected someone to be standing between us, like this was part of his calculation.
Then his eyes slid back to me.
“Come walk with me.”
No command.
No threat.
Just an invitation wrapped in something dangerous.
Tessa stepped forward. “She’s busy.”
Riley didn’t look at her. “No, she’s not.”
My breath caught.
Malia crossed her arms tighter. “She doesn’t owe you anything.”
Riley’s mouth barely twitched, like he found that interesting. Not amusing… interesting.
“I know,” he said softly. “That’s why I’m asking.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
The ocean breathed behind us.
The fire cracked.
My heart felt like it was trying to claw out of my chest.
Riley wasn’t trying to drag me away.
He wasn’t trying to corner me.
He wasn’t trying to win.
He was waiting.
Waiting for my choice.
But that almost made it worse, because I didn’t trust my own clarity around him. Not when the taste of that kiss still lingered on my lips. Not when my pulse still stumbled every time he looked at me like he was solving a puzzle no one else could see.
Malia leaned in and whispered, “You don’t have to go.”
And that was what did it.
I lifted my chin.
And stepped forward.
Behind me, four girls sucked in a collective breath.
Riley’s eyes flickered, a small, subtle shift, like he hadn’t actually expected me to agree.
But he didn’t step back.
He simply turned slightly, not touching me, leaving a space beside him.
I walked into it.
My legs felt like warm sand and adrenaline, but I walked anyway.
Beside me, he exhaled once, barely audible, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it.
I didn’t look at him.
I didn’t trust myself to.
We moved away from the fire, from the laughter and cheers and swirling bodies, walking toward the darker stretch of beach where the waves glowed silver under the moon.
My pulse thrummed.
“What do you want, Riley?” I asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away.
He let the question hang, collapsing the distance between the bonfire and the darker shore until it felt like the whole world narrowed to the sound of the tide and the thud of my own heart.
Finally, he said, “I want to know why you kissed me like that.”
My breath faltered. “It was a dare.”
“No. You were tempted.”
The words slid into the spaces I hadn’t protected well enough.
And before I could deny it, before I could pretend he was wrong, he added softly,
“And you’re still tempted.”
The wind moved around us, cool and restless, lifting strands of my hair as if it wanted to expose my face to him, to whatever expression I was trying so desperately to hide.
Riley stopped walking.
I felt it before I saw it.
His presence stilled beside me, tightening the air like a pulled thread.
I turned an inch.
Only an inch.
And he was already watching me.
His gaze wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t kind.
It was the type of gaze that stripped, assessed, dismantled. The kind that could read the tiny betrayals in the way my chest rose too fast, or how my tongue pressed against the back of my teeth to keep my breath steady.
Under the moon, he looked almost unreal.
Too sharp for this world.
Too composed.
Too dangerous.
Like he did on the beach when we met for the first time.
I swallowed. “You’re imagining things.”
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
He never touched unless he wanted to ruin something.
His presence alone pressed against me like a slow, calculated hand.
“I don’t imagine things,” he murmured. “I observe. I measure. I remember.”
My stomach knotted.
He tipped his head a fraction, studying me as though he could feel the lie radiating from my skin. The waves hissed behind us, dragging foam across the sand like a warning or a prayer.
“Tell me something,” he said. “Why did you follow me when every girl behind you was ready to drag me into the ocean by my throat?”
My breath trembled. “Because you asked.”
His lips curved.
Not sweetly.
Not kindly.
But with the kind of slow satisfaction that made heat crawl down my spine.
“You think I asked.” His voice was soft, almost thoughtful. “But the truth is… you wanted to follow me.”
My cheeks sparked hot. “Riley—“
“You wanted to be alone with me.”
He said it simply, like he was stating the tide existed.
“You like the danger of it. The what if of it. You like that no one else gets under your skin the way I do.”
“That’s not true.”
He stepped closer again.
We were inches apart now.
Moonlight ran over his cheekbones, his jaw, the line of his throat.
I could feel the heat of him, a warm current rolling off his body and into mine.
“It is true,” he said softly. “And you hate that I know it.”
I exhaled a shaky breath. “You’re twisting things.”
“No.” His voice dipped lower. “I’m clarifying them.”
He lifted a hand but didn’t touch me.
He hovered his fingers near my cheek, deliberately not closing the distance, the ghost of a touch without the mercy of contact.
The absence of touch was worse.
More intimate.
More charged.
“Tell me you didn’t feel anything,” he said quietly. “During that kiss.”
My pulse thrashed. “I don’t owe you confessions.”
He smiled then.
A slow, devastating thing that reached his eyes in a way that made my knees soften, because it wasn’t mockery this time.
It was knowing.
It was certainty.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he agreed. “But you feel it anyway.”
“Stop.”
“Why?” he asked, leaning in just enough that his breath warmed the space between us. “Afraid of where the truth will take you?”
“I said stop.”
“I heard you.”
His voice turned silkier, darker.
“But you’re not walking away.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Because he was right.
Because I hated he was right.
Because I didn’t know how to take a step away from him without feeling like the gravity of the night would yank me back.
He watched that realization flicker across my face.
And his expression changed again.
Sharper.
Crueler.
More intoxicating.
“Tell me something, Luna,” he murmured. “If I kissed you right now… would you let me?”
The world tightened.
The air froze.
The tide pulled back as if waiting.
My heart collapsed into a frantic hammering.
I managed a whisper. “You’re impossible.”
“No.” His smile deepened. “Just inevitable.”
He took one more step, closing the last safe inch of space.
His voice brushed the air between our mouths like a secret meant to ruin.
“And the worst part? You’re not afraid of me. You’re afraid of how badly you want this.”
The air between us tightened, stretched thin enough to tear.
The tide rolled up the sand, brushing our feet, then retreated again, dragging foam with it like it understood exactly how my composure was slipping away.
Riley watched me with that unreadable expression that always made me feel two steps behind him. The moon carved silver down his cheekbone, his jaw a sharp line of patience or punishment. I couldn’t tell which.
His voice was soft when he spoke again. Almost gentle.
“Still tempted,” he repeated, like he was testing the shape of the truth on his tongue.
My stomach twisted.
“I’m not,” I lied.
He made a sound, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just disbelief wrapped in silk.
And then, without warning, he shattered the moment.
He reached into his back pocket.
Pulled out his phone.
Unlocked it with a lazy swipe of his thumb.
The cold glow illuminated his features, turning him into something carved and merciless.
Then he tilted the screen toward me.
A video.
A familiar fire behind us.
A familiar curve of my body leaning into his.
A familiar moment when my hand slid to his jaw.
When my lips found his.
When my breath broke.
When everyone around us screamed in shock.
My pulse plummeted.
The video played in a loop.
Over and over.
My body betraying me in bright, undeniable clarity.
He watched my reaction carefully, as if he were reading a map stitched beneath my skin.
“Interesting angle, right?” His tone was light, conversational, as if he were pointing out a funny meme and not my humiliation. “Someone got close. Must’ve really wanted a front row seat.”
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted iron.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because,” he said softly, “you’re pretending.”
He stepped closer, not touching me, but near enough that I felt the gravity of him, the heat of him, the threat of him.
“Pretending you didn’t want it.”
Another step.
“Pretending you’re not thinking about it.”
Another step.
“Pretending you’d kiss me any differently if we did it again.”
My breath cracked in my throat.
He angled the phone until the screen was inches from my face. My mouth on his. My fingers in his hair. The moment before everything imploded.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “Hungry. Reckless. Kissing me like I belonged to you.”
“That’s not what happened,” I breathed.
He lifted his gaze from the phone to me.
And he smiled.
Not kind.
Not sweet.
Not even mocking.
It was worse.
It was knowing.
“Sure it is,” he said. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
The wind pushed against us, warm from the dying bonfire, cold from the ocean. My body didn’t know which way to lean.
I wanted to turn away.
I wanted to run.
But I stood there trembling, my eyes glued to the ghost of myself kissing him like he was the only source of oxygen left in the world.
Riley watched every flicker of emotion cross my face, devouring them one by one like they belonged to him.
Then, with deliberate cruelty disguised as softness, he added,
“And the best part?” He tucked the phone back into his pocket. “What do you think our parents would say if they saw you kissing me like that?”
The words didn’t land immediately.
They drifted through the fog of shock, sliding into my mind one by one.
Our parents.
The kiss.
The video.
I looked at him fully then. Really looked.
And I understood.
He had someone record it.
This wasn’t an accidental video from a stranger.
This wasn’t a random bystander.
This was a setup.
He’d planned it.
Not the kiss.
Not the dare.
Not the exact moment I snapped under the heat of him.
But everything afterward.
Riley had arranged this.
He wanted leverage.
He wanted control.
The realization hit so hard I swayed.
My breath shattered out of me. “You… you planned this? You had someone film it?”
His expression didn’t shift. Not even a flicker.
“I made sure I have what I need,” he said quietly.
Blackmail.
The truth rolled through me like a riptide, ripping away oxygen, ripping away the momentary warmth of his attention, ripping away everything except cold, brutal clarity.
My pulse hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break free.
It was never about heat or chemistry or the way he looked at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to break open.
It was strategy.
He slid his hands into his pockets. “It’s good footage, by the way. Clear. Close. Slow enough to catch the part where you leaned in first.”
My stomach dropped again, a second free fall in the span of seconds.
“Riley,” I breathed, “you cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious.” His tone stayed light as sea foam, heartbreakingly effortless. “If you don’t do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you, I’m going to show them.”
I shook my head, numb. “You wouldn’t.”
He stepped closer. Not touching. Not crowding.
Just near enough that the night seemed to bend around him.
“Princess.” His pet name for me was a quiet, devastating blade. “You still don’t understand me.”
His eyes locked onto mine, and there was nothing warm in them. Nothing soft. Only cold certainty.
“I always do what I say.”
The ocean murmured at our feet. The bonfire hissed behind us. My pulse thundered in my throat.
If I disobeyed him, he would ruin everything.
Everything I cared about.
Everything my mother finally had.
Everything I had sworn I would protect.
He watched the knowledge sink into me, watched the panic bloom and choke, watched the realization tighten my breath.
Then he said it again, quietly, almost gently, sealing the noose with a whisper.
“Do what I want… or they see this.”
The wind caught my breath before I could steady it, before I could gather the pieces of myself he kept shattering.
My voice scraped its way out, small and raw, a sound I barely recognized as mine. “And what do you want?” I whispered.
The words trembled like I had handed him something delicate and breakable, something he could crush between his fingers without effort.
I hated that he heard the fear braided inside the syllables.
I hated more that he heard the pull too, the part of me leaning toward the darkness he offered like it was inevitable.
My heart thudded painfully, suspended in the space between us, waiting for the shape of his answer… and terrified of it.
Riley stepped closer, not touching me, but close enough that his shadow swallowed mine. His voice dropped to a low, devastating murmur that curled through the night.
“I want you,“ he said. “But what I want most of all is for you to stop pretending you don’t know exactly what that means.”
Their love… and their war… continue in book two ??