Chapter 3 Luna
Luna
Notebook: Males suck!
The scent wraps around me like a warm embrace, filling me with a profound sense of comfort and belonging I’ve never known. My gaze meets his, taking in the deep brown of his eyes, which reflect wonder and recognition.
It’s him.
My mate.
My destiny.
Everything else fades into obscurity. The chatter of the hall becomes a distant hum, and all that matters is him.
He smells of smoke with the undertones of… cilantro? I usually despise cilantro; it tastes like soap and makes me gag. But on him, mixed with his natural musk, it’s intoxicating.
It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. My body craves it like oxygen.
I move toward him as if in a dream, our paths converging below the stage. A spark ignites within me, his energy encasing me in a cocoon of warmth and acceptance.
“It’s you,” I whisper, barely breathing. “You’re…”
“Yours,” he completes, his voice reverberating through my very core. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
My heart stutters. Waiting for me? The thought feels surreal—someone as handsome and strong, with an intoxicating scent, would be matched with someone like me. Yet, the sincerity in his gaze assures me it’s true. The intensity nearly knocks me off my feet.
Relief washes over me that he isn’t as large as Alpha Hudson.
His medium stature feels more approachable.
He’s beautiful in a refined way, with chestnut brown hair neatly combed and a flawlessly tailored charcoal gray suit with subtle pinstripes, a crisp white shirt, and a deep burgundy tie.
Every detail speaks of careful precision.
He looks professional, composed… and familiar.
His nostrils flare slightly as he inhales, and he leans closer. He takes my hand slowly, reverently, lifting it until my palm rests against his cheek.
“You’re so beautiful. I knew you’d be perfect,” he murmurs, kissing my wrist gently. Sparks dance across my skin.
Perfect? I almost laugh at the absurdity, but the earnestness in his eyes silences my cynicism.
He truly sees me this way.
This is because it’s a scent match. This connection is supposed to transcend the physical. Our bond is unbreakable.
Cherished.
He is the one who completes my soul.
Lost in the moment, I hadn’t noticed the hall had fallen silent. Everyone is staring, phones out, capturing our sacred encounter.
“Let’s start with your name,” he says softly.
“I’m Luna. Luna Woods.”
“Luna,” he repeats slowly, like he’s tasting the syllables. “A beautiful name for a beautiful female.”
Heat rushes to my face. Nobody’s ever called me beautiful without mockery.
His thumb traces my cheekbone with such reverence, I nearly sob from relief. I don’t know what compels me to say it, maybe because I sense he won’t judge, but the words spill out, anyway.
“I’m far from perfect,” I whisper, so quietly only he can hear. “I’m broken. More broken than you know. But right now, I feel whole. Like all the missing pieces I’ve been searching for my entire life are finally falling into place.”
His eyes soften with understanding. “I’ve been broken too, Luna,” he whispers back, his voice raw with vulnerability. “We can heal each other.”
A slow smile spreads across his face as his nostrils flare. “Your scent is intoxicating,” he murmurs, but then seems to catch himself, glancing around at the watching crowd. He clears his throat and speaks louder, more formally. “I should introduce myself properly.”
His hand finds mine, and he lifts it to his lips in a gesture that’s both intimate and public-appropriate.
“I’m Conrad. Conrad Clawford the Third.”
My eyes widen. “Conrad Clawford?”
This man is the son of our President, his face splashed across shifter tabloids, the same one the news anchor praised just hours ago. A tall, imposing shadow moves behind Conrad, and there he is—the political leader himself, the one whose narrow views usually send me into fits of rage.
His eyes bore into mine, cold and assessing. I feel the weight of his judgment crawling across my skin.
I glance away as threads of discomfort worm through me.
“Yes, it seems you’ve hit the mate jackpot,” Conrad says, and there’s something different in his voice now; cockier, more performative. He nods at a nearby table of shifters, his smile becoming more polished, more practiced.
The loving, understanding mate is fading into the arrogant politician I know him to be.
My smile falters, but then something shifts within me. A faint yet unmistakable warmth stirs deep inside.
It’s her.
My wolf.
For a moment, I can’t breathe, tears blurring my vision as a wave of emotion crashes over me; relief, joy, love. After so many years of silence, she’s finally here.
I close my eyes, overwhelmed, pouring my love and gratitude into her.
I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been so alone. Please stay with me. I love you. I need you.
She responds with a gentle nudge, like the brush of a paw against my heart. She’s hesitant but present.
I tell her how much I’ve missed her and longed for this moment. She’s not just part of me; she is me. I reassure her that she is accepted and safe. I promise to protect her always.
Tears flow freely, but I don’t care. This moment is perfect. I have my wolf, my scent match. Everything will be okay.
“Aww, don’t worry, sweetheart. Joining such a prestigious family might be intimidating, but you’ll only have to stand there and look pretty. Nothing more will be required of you.”
My eyes snap open, confusion flooding me. “No, you don’t understand, my wolf… she’s… happy.”
“Of course, she’s happy. I’m the most sought-after bachelor, after all.” He smiles, then adds, “You’ll make me a ton of babies, of course. But that’s the fun part, right?” He winks.
“Babies? I’m not even sure I want them,” I say with a nervous chuckle, unease swirling further inside me. I just found my wolf; I’m not ready for pups.
“Now, now, don’t be difficult,” Conrad says, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s a female’s duty to bear children.”
Something cold settles in my stomach. This isn’t the same man who whispered about healing together. This is someone else entirely. The warmth of my wolf fading, replaced by a hollow pit in my stomach.
Is this what fate has in store for me? A mate who wants me to be quiet, pretty, and nothing more than a baby-making machine? His eyes seem genuine, and this connection is undeniable. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating, this fragile dream weaving around my heart.
Despite my uncertainty, I allow myself to envision a future where I’m seen, accepted, and loved. Then, a shout pierces the air, shattering my dream into jagged pieces.
“Look under her robe before you commit, Conrad.”
Conrad frowns, glancing at me.
“May I have a look?” he asks, concern creeping into his features.
The fact that he needs to inspect me, as if I’m an object to be evaluated, cuts deeper than I expected. The realization that my scent match can’t accept me as I am, that he needs to see before committing, unravels the last threads holding me together.
I feel like I’ve swallowed ash, but hope still lingers. This is my scent match. Scars aren’t supposed to matter with this kind of connection, right?
There’s only one way to find out.
Everyone else in this damn room has seen them.
My wolf, so new and so fragile, whimpers. She doesn’t understand. She’s screaming, “MATE, MATE, MATE.”
Wordlessly, I turn my back to him and slip the robe from my shoulders, letting it pool on the ground at my feet. The ceremonial swimsuit leaves nothing to the imagination, and my scars are all exposed. Still, turning to look at him, I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction.
For several long moments, there is only silence. My heart thunders in my ears.
His smile falters, the charm draining from his face, dimming under the weight of a thousand unspoken expectations.
Conrad studies me, his eyes slowly trailing over my marred skin from my legs to my left hip. His lips tighten into a flat line, the warmth that once flickered in his gaze now cold.
His father approaches from behind, whispering something in his ear. I catch fragments: “political suicide… damaged goods… find another,” then turns to leave.
Whatever was said, it seals the moment.
Conrad’s eyes, those same eyes that had promised we could heal each other’s brokenness, now dart around, gauging the crowd’s reactions. The murmurs grow louder, a soft hum of judgment that presses in on us.
His face tightens, and he takes a step back.
He looks at me like I just ruined his perfect photo opportunity, as if I have failed him by having the wrong kind of brokenness… the visible kind.
We can be broken together, but only if the outside package stays nice and shiny for the cameras.
His eyes narrow, and there’s something bitter, something petulant about the way he looks at me now, like a spoiled brat whose new toy came with scratches he didn’t expect.
I’m not the perfect, flawless mate he envisioned. I’m the one who’s ruined this moment for him.
“Look, Luna…” he begins, hesitation thick in his voice—a knife twisting in my gut.
His jaw clenches, and I see the battle behind his eyes for a split second. But then, as if a switch flips, the resolve crumbles.
The crowd’s whispers swell around us, and Conrad flinches, reddening with embarrassment. He glances nervously at the spectators, then back at me, his expression hardening by the second.
“I need you to understand something, Luna,” he says, his voice low, almost strained, sounding unsure. “I didn’t want this to go this way,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “But I can’t—this isn’t just about me.”
He pauses, and for a second, I think he might say something else. But then his face hardens.