CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
KNOX
I wake with Aubrey's scent surrounding me like a dream—vanilla and jasmine mixed with the musky aftermath of our lovemaking.
My arm tightens around her waist automatically, pulling her warm body closer to mine as consciousness slowly returns.
The memory of last night hits me in waves: her desperate kisses, the way she came apart in my arms, the sound of my name on her lips as I claimed her completely.
I press my face into Aubrey's dark hair, breathing in that addictive scent while my hand traces lazy patterns across the smooth skin of her hip.
She's still naked beneath the sheets, her body fitting perfectly against mine like she was crafted specifically for this purpose.
Which, according to the Moon Goddess, she was.
"Good morning, beautiful," I murmur against her shoulder, my voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.
My lips find the delicate skin at the base of her neck, pressing soft kisses there while my hands begin their exploration anew.
The memory of how she responded to my touch last night makes my body stir with renewed interest.
"Last night was..." I trail off, searching for words that could possibly capture the intensity of what we shared. Mind-blowing. Life-changing. Perfect.
"Necessary," she finishes, her tone so cold it stops my wandering hands mid-caress.
The word hits me like ice water, but I push aside the unease it creates. She's probably just overwhelmed by everything that happened between us. The mate bond can be intense, especially after such a passionate first time. Of course, she needs time to process.
I continue my gentle exploration of her body, letting my fingers trail down her spine while I scatter more kisses across her shoulder. The skin is silk-soft beneath my lips, and I can feel her pulse fluttering against my mouth. My wolf practically purrs at the contact, reveling in our claim on her.
"Wait."
The single word freezes me completely. My hands still against her waist as concern floods through me. Did I hurt her last night? Was I too rough? She seemed to enjoy it—more than enjoy it—but maybe I misread her responses.
"What's wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you sore—"
"I'm fine," she cuts me off, turning in my arms to face me.
What I see in her expression makes my chest tighten with confusion.
Gone is the desperate passion from last night, replaced by something cool and calculating that sets my teeth on edge.
Her blue eyes study me with an intensity that feels clinical, like she's examining a specimen rather than looking at her mate.
The silence stretches between us until my skin prickles with unease. Something has shifted overnight, some fundamental change I can't identify. But before I can ask what's wrong, she speaks.
"I'll be your Luna."
The words hit me like a physical blow. My eyes widen as shock and hope war for dominance in my chest. Did she just—? Is she really saying what I think she's saying?
"You... what? Aubrey, do you mean—"
"I'll marry you," she continues, her tone as calm as if she's discussing the weather rather than agreeing to bind her life to mine forever. "I'll stand beside you at your ceremony. I'll be your queen, bear your heirs, play whatever role you need me to play."
Joy explodes through my chest like fireworks, so intense it nearly steals my breath. She said yes. Against all odds, despite my spectacular failure last night, she's agreeing to be mine.
"Something's wrong," Liam whispers urgently, but I barely hear him over the roaring of my own elation.
"But," Aubrey continues, and that single word cuts through my euphoria like a blade, "I have three conditions."
The wariness that creeps into my chest feels like betrayal after the soaring hope of moments before. Conditions. Of course, there are conditions. Nothing with Aubrey has ever been simple.
"What conditions?" I ask, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the growing unease.
She smiles then, and the expression sends chills down my spine. It's cold, sharp-edged, nothing like the soft smiles I've occasionally glimpsed from her. This smile belongs on the face of someone planning conquest, not discussing marriage.
"First," she says, settling back against the pillows with feline grace, "I retain my warrior status and complete freedom of movement. I won't be locked away in some tower, playing the pretty princess while real life happens around me."
My immediate instinct is to refuse. A Luna has no place on the battlefield—it's too dangerous, too unpredictable. The thought of Aubrey facing down rogues or enemy forces makes my wolf snarl with protective fury.
"Absolutely not," Liam growls. "Our mate doesn't belong in combat. She belongs safe, protected, carrying our pups."
But even as the refusal forms on my tongue, I remember how she moved during training. The fluid grace, the deadly precision, the way other warriors looked at her with hard-earned respect. Fighting isn't just something she does—it's part of who she is. Take that away, and I might lose her entirely.
I exhale slowly, biting back my protest. "Fine," I say reluctantly. "But you have to promise me you'll prioritize your safety. No unnecessary risks."
That cold smile widens slightly, and something about it makes my stomach clench. "Of course."
"What's the second condition?"
"I want to be involved in all major family decisions," she says, her tone casual but firm. "Full access to historical records, pack documents, military strategies. Everything."
My eyes narrow as suspicion flickers to life. "Why?"
She shrugs, the gesture too calculated to be truly casual. "It's part of my role as Luna. I want to understand everything about the kingdom, its history, and its traditions. How can I serve effectively if I'm kept in the dark?"
The explanation sounds reasonable, but something about her tone sets my teeth on edge. There's an undercurrent there, some hidden agenda I can't identify. But what choice do I have? If these are her terms...
"Agreed," I say, though the word tastes bitter.
"And finally," Aubrey continues, her voice dropping to something soft and dangerous, "there will be no marking. At least not until we've fully adjusted to each other."
The words hit me like a physical blow. My entire body goes rigid as fury surges through me, so intense it's like being doused in liquid fire. Liam even releases a snarl of pure rage that echoes through every cell of my being.
"She can't be serious," he roars. "We claimed her last night. She's OURS. The marking should have happened already!"
"Do you even understand what you're asking?" The words come out sharper than I intend, cold as winter ice.
The marking isn't just some quaint tradition—it's the physical manifestation of our bond, the visible proof of our connection. For a Luna to refuse marking is like refusing to acknowledge the mate bond entirely. It's a slap in the face to everything we are as werewolves.