Chapter 36 #2
But if I’m honest, there’s something thrilling about not knowing, about surrendering to a man whose face remains hidden.
He binds me, bends me, takes what he wants, and makes me his in ways that feel both forbidden and inevitable.
The anonymity and darkness surrounding his identity only amplify the fire he ignites.
I still haven’t told Maren any of this, and she’s stopped commenting on the dark circles under my eyes and the way I always move like I’m sore. She sees through every excuse I come up with but gives me space, waiting for me to crack, knowing it will only be a matter of time.
What I’m doing is beyond reckless. It’s certifiably insane. He could kill me at any moment, and no one would know until someone discovered my plastic-wrapped corpse with a purple columbine pinned to my body.
But I don’t fear him. Not like that.
Not anymore.
The contradiction makes no sense even to me.
He doesn’t hurt me, not really. He pins me down, chokes me until my vision blurs, and fucks me until I can’t walk straight.
But it’s not the same as being hurt. Some nights, though, something darker radiates from him.
The air between us feels charged, electric with violence he’s keeping on a leash.
His grip tightens harder on those nights.
His movements turn rougher and more punishing.
Like he’s trying to exorcise some inner demon through my body.
My hips and throat bruise where his fingers dig in, my wrists ache from his hold, and purple marks bloom across my thighs.
But he never crosses the line into actual harm or something I can’t handle. Never breaks me in a way I can’t recover from.
Even the choking, when his hand closes around my throat and my lungs scream for air, somehow tips me over the edge.
The orgasms that rip through me are so intense my vision goes black, then white, and for those suspended seconds, I’m untethered from my body, existing somewhere consciousness can’t reach. Only sensation and ecstasy.
I turn at the sound of tires on gravel and see Karen’s SUV pulling into the driveway. My stomach drops. I’m starting to hate that sound. It’s nothing but a harbinger of bad news.
I slip through the gate. “Can you finish up with Mr. Snuffles? I’ll be right back.”
“Sure thing.”
I walk toward the driveway, water still dripping from my clothes.
Karen exits her vehicle with that stern expression I’m too familiar with now. I meet her in front of the porch, aware of how ridiculous I must look—soaking wet, covered in soapsuds and pig hair, with mud caked on my boots.
“Luna.”
“Karen. What brings you by today?”
“I need to speak with you about Odell Pearson.”
My mouth goes dry. I’ve been waiting for this day, rehearsing this moment a hundred times, but now that it’s here, I’m drowning.
“What about him?”
“His body was found this morning at Odessa Lake. Wrapped in plastic with a Rocky Mountain columbine taped to his body.”
Why can’t my wolf stop dumping bodies on trailheads?
I force my expression to remain neutral. “Again?”
“Yes. There was no note this time, but…” Karen hesitates. “Luna, I need to know about that day at Elk Fest. And what happened with Pearson and Damien Wolfe.”
The mention of Damien’s name makes my chest tighten. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“I will. But I wanted to get your side of the story first.”
My mind races. Damien had nothing to do with Pearson’s death. I know exactly who killed him, and it wasn’t my rich, handsome neighbor.
“Just like the report says. Mr. Pearson tried to attack me. He was drunk and aggressive and tried to grab me, so Damien intervened.”
“Intervened how, exactly?”
“He pinned him to the ground.”
Karen nods, scribbling something in her notebook. “Have you ever witnessed Damien act violently before?”
“We don’t know each other well. We’d only met a few times before that day.”
Karen peers at me over her glasses. “What was he doing at your booth?”
“He was at the festival and stopped by to say hi, I guess. You really should talk to him if you want to know.” I cross my arms, feeling defensive. “But what are you getting at with this, Karen? Why are you asking all these questions about Damien? You don’t think he killed Odell Pearson, do you?”
“I’m just investigating and following all leads. That’s what I do, Luna.”
“Well, you’re going down the wrong path. Damien didn’t kill him.”
Her eyes narrow. “How do you know?”
“Because he’s Damien Wolfe,” I say, as if his name alone should explain everything. “He’s a billionaire tech mogul who has no connection to Pearson or me, other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“It sounds like it was the right time. Pearson weighed twice as much as you, Luna. He could have really hurt you.”
“I’m grateful he was there. But you can’t seriously think it’s him. This is clearly the same person who killed all the others. Damien didn’t even know me or the sanctuary when Daryl Rawlings and the Meyers were killed.”
“But he moved to Aspen Ridge months prior, into a dilapidated house owned by a previous serial killer. That’s a little odd for someone of his stature, don’t you think?”
“Just because someone buys a property once owned by a serial killer doesn’t make them one too.”
“It’s just interesting.” Her tone is deceptively casual. “All these bodies started showing up right around that time. First on your property, then at remote locations around the county. That’s quite a coincidence.”
“It is a coincidence.” My heart pounds so hard I’m sure she can hear it. “Karen, you’re mistaken. Damien isn’t capable of this.”
The defensive edge in my voice surprises me. Why am I protecting him? Because he’s innocent, yes, but also because… because I like him. More than I should, given my nighttime activities with my wolf.
“As you said, you hardly know the man. How can you be sure?”
“Because I just do.” The words sound petulant even to my own ears, but I double down anyway. “You’re reaching, Karen.”
The front door slams, and Maren’s voice cuts through the tension.
“Morning, Sheriff Mills. This a social call or official business?” She bounds down the porch steps with her usual energy, but there’s wariness in her eyes as she takes in the scene.
“Odell Pearson was found dead.”
Maren freezes on the bottom step. “Shit! Are you freaking kidding me? When? How?”
“This morning. Same MO as the others,” Karen replies.
Maren’s face darkens. “Good fucking riddance. That piece of shit had it coming.”
“Maren.” I shoot her a look, but she flicks her hand at me.
“What? I’m supposed to pretend I’m sad that the animal abuser is dead? Fuck that.”
Karen doesn’t react. Maren’s outbursts stopped surprising her years ago.
“You were there when Pearson and Damien Wolfe had their altercation, correct?”
Maren glances at me, then back at Karen. “Yeah.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about Mr. Wolfe’s behavior?”
“Aside from how he took Pearson down like the Hulk in action?”
“What exactly does that mean?”
Why is she pressing this?
“It means that when that piece of shit lunged at Luna, Damien had him on the ground before any of us could even blink. It was hot as hell, honestly. Why are you asking about Damien, though?”
“She thinks it’s odd that he moved here only a few months before our abusers started being killed. And because he was there when Pearson came at me, of course, that means he could be a suspect.”
“I didn’t say that, Luna.” Karen gives me a look of disapproval.
“Damien Wolfe has an impeccable reputation and no motive I can discern. I’m just asking questions in the normal course of investigating.
” She closes her notebook. “Now, I know I’ve asked you this before, but are you sure you can’t think of anyone else who might harbor a grudge against you? Or want to harm you?”
Maren goes still beside me, biting her bottom lip. That nervous tell she’s had since we’ve met. Shit! I know what that means.
“Luna.” Maren’s voice takes on that careful tone she uses when she’s about to drop me into a shitstorm. “Do you still feel like someone’s watching you?”
My vision blurs for a second. I shoot Maren the most murderous look I can manage, but she’s already committed to this path. The traitor.
Karen’s head whips toward me. “What?”
“It’s nothing.” The words tumble out too fast.
“Luna.” All pretense of casual inquiry vanishes from Karen’s voice. She’s Sheriff Mills now. “What exactly have you been feeling?”
What I feel is both women staring at me, waiting. The air crackles with tension, and the silence stretches out like a rubber band about to snap. I’m going to murder Maren for bringing this up now.
I exhale. “For a while I felt—emphasis on felt, past tense—like someone was out in the woods, watching from the tree line. But it was around the same time you told me about the poachers. I’m sure that’s what it was.”
The lie rolls off my tongue like I’ve rehearsed it a hundred times. When did this become who I am? Someone who lies without flinching?
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Karen’s voice rises with frustration. “Luna, this is exactly the kind of thing I need to know about!”
“Because it was nothing! Woods surround my property, and woods are creepy, especially at night. I can’t call you every time I get creeped out, Karen. You’d never get any real work done.”
“The hell you can’t! It’s five bodies now, Luna. And you thought someone watching you was irrelevant? That feeling is not paranoia. That’s your instinct trying to keep you alive.”
Maren nods. “She’s right, Lu. I know I teased you at first, it might be sexy to have a stalker, but this shit is getting disturbing as fuck now.”
“You’re only finding this disturbing now?” Karen stares at Maren like she’s lost her mind.
Maren has the good sense to look sheepish, but I want to strangle her for starting this.
Karen turns back to me. “Has your security system caught anything unusual? Any footage of anyone on your property?”
No, because my stalker keeps hacking in and erasing the recordings.
“Nothing.”
“I need you to be very careful, Luna.” Karen’s voice softens, taking on an almost maternal tone.
“Keep your doors locked at all times. Make sure your cameras are always on and recording. And if you notice anything unusual—anything at all—or if you feel like someone is watching you again, you call me immediately. Day or night, I don’t care. Promise me.”
“I will.” Another lie, so smooth it scares me.
But I’m not in any danger. My wolf poses no danger to me, but I can’t tell either of them that.
I’m going to kill Maren for this, and I’m going to kill my wolf for continuing to single me out. He needs to stop and understand that these “gifts” are drawing too much attention.
“I mean it, Luna.” Karen tucks her notebook away and fixes me with a serious stare. “Promise me you’ll be smart about this.”
“I promise.” This time, I almost mean it.
As soon as Karen’s SUV disappears down the driveway, I whirl on Maren with all the fury I’ve been holding back.
“Why the hell did you bring that up to her?”
“Because you didn’t.” Maren crosses her arms, jutting out her chin. “I warned you I’d tell her if the feeling didn’t stop, and you said nothing.”
“It did stop! I told you I’ve felt nothing for weeks. There’s no one watching me, Maren.”
She steps closer, her voice dropping to that dangerous level she uses when she’s really pissed but trying to stay calm.
“But there’s another body, Lu. Whoever’s doing this is obsessed with you and your animals.
I don’t give a flying fuck he’s killing off those worthless sacks of shit.
But I do care if whoever it is might be a danger to you.
” Her voice breaks on the last words. “He’ll have to go through me to get to you, Luna.
I swear to God. Over my dead fucking body. ”
The raw emotion in her voice, the way she’d put herself between me and danger without hesitation—this is why I’ll love Maren until my last breath. I surge forward and wrap my arms around her, crushing her against me. My face presses into her shoulder.
“I love you. Even though I want to kick your ass for ratting me out to Karen.”
“I fucking love you too, you stubborn bitch. Now get off me.” She pushes me away with a laugh and an exaggerated gagging sound. “You’re all wet, and you smell like pig shit and Mr. Snuffles. You need a shower.”
I wave my hand over my body. “I just got one.”
“A real one. And now you’ve gotten me wet, damn it.”
Maren heads to the house to change, and I make my way back to where Tate is finishing up with Mr. Snuffles. The pig looks considerably cleaner and seems quite pleased with himself, while Tate looks like he’s been through the ringer—clothes soaked through and glasses sitting crooked on his nose.
“How’d it go with the sheriff?” He squeezes water from his shirt.
“The usual. More questions about things I don’t have answers to.” I grab a towel and start drying Mr. Snuffles, who leans into the attention. “Thanks for handling him while I was gone.”
“No problem. Though I think he enjoyed getting me soaked more than getting clean.”
I laugh, and for a moment, the normalcy of it—working with animals, mentoring an eager student, the simple pleasure of caring for creatures that need us—almost makes me forget about the complex web of lies I’m weaving.
Almost.
But as the sun climbs higher and I think about the long day ahead, my mind is already racing toward tonight and the conversation I need to have with my wolf about his body-dumping habit.