Chapter 18 Luna
Luna
Notebook: The best listeners show up uninvited, stay quiet through your entire breakdown, and never once suggest therapy. Probably because they can’t actually speak.
Ibalance the laundry basket on my hip, humming as I make my way to Oli’s bedroom. Doing chores for a pack of wolf-shifters wasn’t exactly on my vision board, but it’s better than the flesh market, and the guys aren’t so bad.
I guess we all have responsibilities here. And, I must say, I much prefer this to Ethan’s responsibility, which seems to be mostly cooking and whatever Damien and Axel are doing. I often find them dirty and bloody when they come home.
Oli was supposed to be on house duty with me today, but my so-called partner is missing, so I have the entire house to myself.
He had told me not to bother cleaning his room—he’d do it himself—but I figured I’d surprise him.
“Oli?” I call out, even though I know he’s not here.
The door swings open to reveal a surprisingly tidy room.
Unlike Axel’s den of chaos or Ethan’s shrine to order, Oli’s space is… normal. Almost boyish. The bed is actually made—a shock in itself—and there’s minimal clutter on the surfaces.
It’s small but cozy.
A few books stacked on the nightstand, a hoodie tossed over a chair, and what looks like a half-finished wood carving on the desk. Didn’t peg him as the artistic type.
There’s something strangely intimate about being in someone’s space when they’re not around. My fingers trail over the dresser, pausing on a small framed photo—Oli with his brother Damien and a girl who must be his sister.
Emely.
Axel’s first love.
They share the same dimpled smile, though Oli’s red hair stands out against his siblings’ darker shades.
Where Damien is the shadow, Oli is the sunshine.
Not weak, I’ve seen him hold his own in training, but gentler.
Kinder.
I move to the bookshelf, running my fingers along the spines—fantasy novels, comics, and battered notebooks. I pull one out, curiosity getting the better of me, then think better of it and slide it back.
Snooping in a wolf-shifter’s room?
Probably not my best idea.
I shake off the thought and return to work, humming a half-forgotten tune my mother used to sing. The melody feels foreign in my throat—I haven’t sung it since the fire. The memory pinches, so I push it aside and focus on the task at hand.
“Alright, let’s get this over with,” I mutter, yanking back the covers. My task is simple: change the sheets, collect the dirty laundry, and don’t snoop.
I flip the comforter back, and something moves.
A ripple under the sheet.
I freeze. Fingers clenched on the fabric.
What the—
Living here has taught me to expect the unexpected, but I’m burning this place to the ground if this is a snake.
The lump moves again, traveling upward toward the pillows.
Please don’t let it be a snake.
My heart hammers against my ribs, adrenaline surging.
Alpha wolves? I can handle.
Humans? Even the irritating, stupid douchebag variety. Manageable.
But unexplained moving lumps in beds? No. Absolutely not.
The lump moves again—more deliberately this time. I grab the closest weapon—a hardcover book about forest wildlife, ironically—and hold it above my head. If this thing lunges, it’s about to get a crash course in its own biology.
“I swear, if you’re what I think you—.” The sheet rustles and parts.
First come ears. Long, velvet-soft, twitching with life.
Definitely not a snake.
Then a button nose, pink as bubble gum, followed by wide eyes that seem to ask what exactly I think I’m doing, interrupting nap time.
I lower the book slowly, blinking.
“No way,” I breathe.
The bunny inches forward, fully emerging from the sheets.
A bunny.
In a wolf-shifter’s bed.
I stare.
It stares back.
The rabbit is small and compact, its fur rich and reddish-brown. It sits on its hind legs, front paws tucked against its chest, watching me.
I burst out laughing. The sound startles us both—the bunny’s ears flatten momentarily before perking back up.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say, setting the book down and cautiously approaching the bed. “A rabbit? In a house full of wolves? That’s either the bravest or dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.”
The bunny’s nose twitches faster, taking a tentative hop toward me.
Something about that small gesture of trust makes my chest tighten.
“Hey there, little guy,” I murmur, my voice instinctively softening. “What’s your deal? Are you someone’s secret snack? A pet?”
I reach out slowly, giving the bunny time to retreat if it wants to. It doesn’t. Instead, it leans forward.
The fur is unbelievably soft beneath my fingertips, plush and warm. This isn’t some wild rabbit that snuck in. This little guy is cared for.
“What are you doing here, huh?” I ask, still stroking between its ears. “This has to be the most dangerous place in the world for something like you.”
To my surprise, the bunny hops forward, carefully sniffing my fingers. Its whiskers tickle my skin, and I laugh before I can stop myself.
“Brave little thing, aren’t you?” I whisper, something warm unfurling in my chest.
The bunny nuzzles into my palm, eyes half-closing in contentment.
It’s so small, so trusting.
“Is this Oli’s secret?” I wonder aloud. “A wolf with a pet rabbit? That’s… actually kind of sweet.”
The bunny twitches its nose as if responding to Oli’s name. It’s so expressive that I laugh again.
“You’re a cute little contraband, that’s for sure,” I tell it, stroking down its back. “Though I’ve got to wonder what the others think about this arrangement.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, and the bunny immediately hops closer, investigating the hem of my shirt with curious nibbles.
“Hey, watch it. That’s my favorite shirt, and I don’t have many.” I gently redirect its attention to my hand instead.
As it nuzzles against my palm, I feel something inside me shift. It’s been so long since I’ve had any gentleness in my life.
“So what’s your story?” I ask the bunny, who has now climbed partway onto my lap. “How did you end up as the secret roommate of a wolf?”
The bunny just looks at me, ears twitching occasionally, as if it’s actually listening. Its eyes are strangely intelligent, following my movements with more awareness than I’d expect from a rabbit.
“I should probably put you back where I found you,” I say, though leaving this small, defenseless creature alone makes me uncomfortable.
The bunny presses closer to me as if understanding my words and protesting them. I hesitate, looking down at its fluffy form, now resting comfortably in my lap.
“Or,” I find myself saying, “I could take you with me for a bit? Just to make sure you’re okay.”
I carefully scoop the bunny into my arms. It doesn’t struggle, settling against my chest like it belongs there. Its tiny heart beats rapidly against my skin, a fragile percussion.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper, cupping my hand around its small body. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
And I mean it because I understand what it means to feel like prey.
My chores can wait. Right now, I have a bunny to cuddle.
I lie back on Oli’s bed; the bunny curled against my chest like a small, breathing furnace.
“This stays between us, Fluffy,” I murmur, running a finger along one silky ear.
I shift into a more comfortable position, and the bunny adjusts with me, tiny paws pressing indentations into my collarbone. Its dark eyes lock onto mine with what I swear is affection, though that’s ridiculous.
It’s a rabbit, not a person.
Still, there’s something in that gaze… something knowing.
Before I can stop it, my mind drifts back to memories I usually keep locked down tight.
My mother’s garden and the small plot behind our house, where she grew vegetables and herbs in neat rows.
The rabbit that used to visit at dusk, nibbling cautiously at the lettuce she left out.
I was seven, maybe eight, sitting perfectly still for hours just to catch a glimpse.
“We had a wild rabbit that visited our garden,” I murmur, my throat tightening. “My mom called him Mr. Whiskers. Not very original, but I thought it was the best name ever.”
The bunny nuzzles closer, its whiskers tickling my chin as if in response. I swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat.
“That was before,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “Before the fire. Before everything changed.”
I never talk about the fire.
“When they brought me to the hospital, I was barely conscious for weeks. The nurses told me a young man came daily, asking about me. Never gave his name. Never asked to see me.”
I pause, shifting slightly as the tiny creature curled against me nestles deeper. My fingers graze over soft fur, grounding me.
“They said he slept in the visitors’ lounge at night.” I swallow hard. “For weeks.”
My chest tightens.
“The night shift nurses felt bad for him. He never caused trouble or demanded anything, so they let him in one night.”
The bunny twitches its nose.
“I don’t remember it. I was too out of it. But they said he just sat beside my bed for a while. Didn’t say anything. Just… held my hand.”
A slow exhale escapes me.
“I know someone pulled me out of that fire. Maybe it was him.” A humorless chuckle slips past my lips. “Then they moved me to rehab, and he was gone. Like he never existed.”
My fingers stilled in the bunny’s fur. “Strange, right?”
A bitter smile tugs at my lips, but it doesn’t last.
“Sometimes, I wish he hadn’t saved me.”
The bunny snuggles deeper into my hold, warm and steady against my chest.
“You’re a good listener,” I whisper, feeling foolish but unable to stop.
The bunny’s nose twitches, and one ear flops forward almost comically.
The bunny shifts in my arms, pressing its soft head under my chin as if offering comfort. My eyes burn, and I blink rapidly at the ceiling.
“Look at me, getting all emotional.” My fingers continue to stroke through its fur, finding a rhythm that soothes us both. “If Damien could see me now, he’d have material to mock me for months.”