Chapter 8-Sten
I wasn’t used to admitting hard truths out loud, and this time was no different.
But as I stood inside my room with her, I began to realize that fate might have been leading the way all along.
See, the power Amrin held over me rivaled that of the celestial body governing my magic, my blood, my very destiny.
Fuck.
That realization should have terrified me more than it did.
A descendant of Máni was not supposed to tether himself emotionally to anyone before the formal bond.
Attachment complicated control.
Desire weakened judgment.
Need made celestial magic unstable.
And yet every instinct I possessed curved helplessly toward Amrin Cordoza—toward Luna.
My Luna.
I still did not know how I was going to tell her the truth about what I was becoming.
About the role waiting for me back in the realm of Asgard.
About the darkness threaded through lunar bloodlines.
But those problems lived somewhere distant in the future.
Right now?
Right now all I could think about was her.
The softness in her voice.
The fear in her eyes when she mentioned moths.
The way she looked at me like I was something worth trusting.
Gods.
That last part nearly undid me.
I moved automatically when she tried to walk away, stepping sideways to block her retreat before I consciously realized I was doing it.
It shouldn’t have mattered this much.
I knew better than to get my head turned by some female.
Especially not after Ingrid.
The old humiliation curled ugly inside my ribs at the memory.
Young.
Stupid.
Hopelessly devoted to someone who had never once looked at me the way I’d looked at her.
My brother Erik’s mate.
Even now the memory tasted bitter.
Back then I’d mistaken obsession for destiny. Convinced myself the violent ache in my chest meant something eternal.
When Ingrid chose Erik instead, my control fractured so badly my family—Ivan especially—shipped me across realms to Runevald before I tore apart half the lunar observatories in Asgard.
That was the official reason I was here.
Control.
Discipline.
Recovery.
Usually, it consumed every waking thought I had. How to reclaim my power.
How to stabilize my magic before I lost my birthright entirely.
How to fill the gnawing void inside me before it swallowed what remained of my sanity.
But standing there in my cluttered quarters looking at Amrin wrapped in my hoodie?
None of that felt important.
Not compared to her.
Not compared to finding out who had hurt her badly enough to make her fear something as harmless as a moth.
I wanted names.
Faces.
I wanted blood.
The possessive rage that surged through me was immediate and vicious enough that a low growl vibrated through my chest before I could suppress it.
Her pale eyes flicked upward instantly.
Soft moonlight eyes.
Fuck.
I was gone for this female.
Completely and irrevocably.
“I can stand here all night, you know,” I murmured, forcing some humor into my voice before the growling got out of hand. “Like a statue. We’ll both be trapped in this exact position until you tell me.”
Her lips twitched.
A flicker of movement.
Tiny.
Barely there.
But enough.
Relief struck me so hard it bordered on embarrassing.
Gods.
I liked making her smile.
Wanted it with a hunger that felt unsettlingly close to addiction.
“Fine,” she sighed at last, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
I instantly disliked that posture.
Defensive.
Closed off.
Like she expected judgment.
I wanted her relaxed around me.
Safe around me.
And wasn’t that a terrifying thought?
Because I was likely the single most unstable graduate student at the entire Asgarheim Runevald Institute.
Perhaps the most dangerous.
And yet here she stood confiding in me like she trusted I wouldn’t hurt her.
That realization landed heavily.
Warmly.
Precious.
A gift.
Sweet Luna was about to hand a Monster her secrets willingly.
Could anyone blame me for wanting them? For being downright greedy for them?
“My family leads the Cordoza Coven,” she began softly.
Immediately, I stepped back.
Not away.
Never away.
But enough to give her room when I realized she needed it.
She slid slowly down the wall until she sat curled on the floor beside my couch, oversized sleeves swallowing her hands.
I stared at her.
Fascinated.
How strange that she relaxed more once physically lower to the ground.
Smaller.
Safer.
Something ugly twisted in my chest at the implication.
Without thinking, I lowered myself beside her, stretching my arms across my knees while trying very hard not to focus on how closely her thigh rested to mine.
“What does that mean for you?” I asked quietly.
She let out a humorless laugh.
“It means expectations.”
Her eyes dropped toward the floor.
“A lot of them.”
The sadness in her voice hit harder than it should have.
“I was born into one of the oldest Witch bloodlines in our region,” she continued. “The Cordozas are… kind of intense about legacy.”
“Kind of?”
That earned me another tiny smile.
Gods.
There it was again.
That sharp burst of irrational happiness every time I coaxed one out of her.
“I’m the youngest of eight daughters,” she said. “My mother is Evelyn Cordoza. Head of the Coven. My father is Enrique.”
I waited.
There was more.
I could feel it.
“The women inherit the power in our family,” she continued. “The surname too. My sisters, well, they’re all extraordinary.”
The hesitation before the word told me everything.
“What about you?” I asked carefully.
She shrugged.
And that simple motion carried so much old hurt it nearly split my chest open.
“I’m just extra,” she admitted softly. “I wasn’t planned. I was the mistake. The oops baby nobody expected.”
My vision darkened instantly.
No.
Absolutely fucking not.
How could anyone look at her and see extra?
Anger surged white-hot through my bloodstream.
Her family should have worshipped her.
Protected her.
Cherished her.
Instead? They’d convinced her she was unwanted.
I wanted to burn something down.
Probably several things.
“Dad traveled constantly,” she said. “And Mom?”
She exhaled shakily.
“Mom tried. I think. But I just didn’t measure up. I couldn’t compete. See, my sisters all look like her. Tall. elegant. Powerful like her. Their magic manifested young.”
Her mouth twisted bitterly.
“Then there was me.”
I looked at her fully then.
Really looked.
Soft curves wrapped in my dark clothing.
Round cheeks flushed pink beneath the low lights.
Huge, pale eyes filled with too much feeling.
Beautiful.
Painfully beautiful.
And somehow completely unaware of it.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked bluntly.
She blinked at me.
“What?”
“You speak about yourself as though something is missing.”
Her laugh cracked softly, brittle around the edges.
“It is missing. I mean… look at me, Sten. It’s obvious.”
“No.”
The force behind the word startled even me.
She blinked, caught off guard, and I continued before she could retreat back behind self-deprecation and old wounds.
“Nothing about you is lacking.”
Her breath caught faintly.
“Don’t you know how beautiful you are, Luna?”
“You don’t have to say things like that.”
Her voice dropped quieter, fragile enough to make something vicious stir inside my chest.
The sheen in her eyes only made them more luminous, pale pools of moonlight fixed uncertainly on me.
Precious.
Gods, she had no idea how precious she was.
I shook my head slowly.
Maybe I was wrong for her.
Maybe I was too unstable, too dangerous, too full of darkness to belong anywhere near a female like Amrin Cordoza.
But I could at least give her honesty.
“It’s the truth,” I said roughly. “You are beautiful, Amrin. Warm. Intelligent. Alive in ways most people spend their entire lives trying and failing to be.”
Her lips parted slightly, stunned into silence, and I found myself leaning closer without meaning to.
“You feel things deeply. You care deeply. There’s more kindness in you than in half the people walking these halls combined.” My jaw tightened. “And anyone—male or female—too shallow or narrow-minded to appreciate your mind, your heart, or your body for exactly what they are…”
My tail lashed once beside me.
“…is a complete fucking idiot who deserves to be shoved off the nearest cliff.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Amrin looked genuinely stunned.
Good.
Maybe nobody had ever said it to her before.
That thought alone made violence bloom inside my chest again.
“My sisters called me chubby constantly,” she admitted after a long pause. “And because my magic came late…” Her fingers twisted together tightly. “I think my mother believed something was wrong with me.”
The confession landed like a blade.
I wanted names.
Again.
Faces, names—a list of all who wronged her.
“Your magic isn’t weak,” I growled.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Her breath caught softly.
Fuck.
Admitting that was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
But true.
I did know her.
More every day.
I knew she twirled her hair while thinking.
That gummy bears were her preferred study snack.
That she hated peanut butter irrationally.
That she bit her bottom lip whenever nervous.
That she carried loneliness around like a second skin.
And I knew none of those things were weaknesses.
“Sorry,” she whispered suddenly. “I just—talking about my family brings up a lot of memories. It wasn’t their fault. Not really.”
“We can disagree about that. But tell me, was anyone kind?”
“Kind? Oh yes. My grandmother. I miss her very much.”
Instantly my attention sharpened.
“You said you looked like her.”
“I do. She was part Sicilian,” Amrin murmured. “Spanish too. Curvy. Loud. Emotional. Everything my mother hated.”
My hands curled into fists.
“My grandmother loved me,” she whispered. “Really loved me. She used to tell me magic blooms differently for everyone.”
That explained it.
The grief.
The way her voice softened talking about the woman.
“I’m glad she was kind. But you’re talking in past tense?”