27. Luna
LUNA
Isit quietly and pretend not to notice them staring.
The town just north of the compound is fairly small, but seven customers still cramp the space of the bank—a couple applying for a loan, a flustered mother holding a squirming toddler as she waits in line, the older gentleman in front of them faking obliviousness.
A young man in the bathroom, and two people by the front door who don’t appear to be waiting for anything other than me.
The two women at the door lean toward each other, mouths moving as they whisper and stare pointedly as if I have no eyes. Or ears. Or senses of any kind.
My gaze stays pointed in front of me while my palms sweat onto wool pants that feel far too warm for this building.
In the wintertime, they blaze a furnace until the clerks no longer need jackets or even sleeves—the woman behind the counter wears a low-cut pink sleeveless blouse.
In the summertime, they blast cold air until the hairs raise on their customers’ arms. In the outside world, seasons mean nothing.
But it’s me who is the freak.
“Is that the cult woman?” the mother with the fussy toddler asks as she steps up to the counter; meanwhile the old man gives a friendly wave and a bellowed goodbye as he tucks an envelope into his jacket and starts to leave.
He stops to chat with the women at the door, his voice noticeably louder than theirs.
He seems to be the only person who isn’t made uncomfortable by my presence.
From the corner of my eye, I watch the clerk nod and lean over the counter while cupping her mouth. She says something that makes the mother sigh. “I wish you’d put a sign on the door or something. It’s confusing for the kids.”
My chest tightens, but I keep my expression neutral.
The urge to look at the child finally pulls my gaze that direction, and I find her staring at me as intently as the others had.
Except, unlike the cowards, she doesn’t look away.
Her wide, glassy eyes hold so much curiosity, you’d think she was looking at a two-headed raccoon.
I feel my face heat but can’t find it in myself to be angry at the little girl. I know what she’s seeing, what she’s thinking.
Why is your hair white?
Are you old?
I pull my lips into what I think is a small, friendly smile and lift my hand to give a little wave.
The mother turns just as my hand lifts. Her eyes are as wide as her daughter’s, but instead of curiosity, they blaze with anger.
She shifts her daughter into her other arm and holds her against her chest while the little girl protests.
“Miss Luna?”
Spine straightening, I turn my attention to the pant-suit wearing woman with her hands clasped in front of her. She has the same tight smile on her face as always, but today her blonde hair is brown. She must’ve dyed it.
It amazes me how fluid these people’s bodies are. The idea of changing your hair color for the sake of … what? Somehow I doubt people ridiculed her for being blonde.
I bend to pick my black duffel bag off the floor then stand and follow the woman—Brittany—into her office.
She gestures to the chair in front of her desk before plopping in her own. I perch on the edge of the chair and cross my legs, my hands resting on my knees.
“So…” Brittany absently reaches into the bowl of candy on her desk while she stares at her computer screen.
“The check you brought us on the fifth was five hundred thirty-seven thousand seven dollars and fifty-three cents. You took home the two hundred thousand we could give you at the time, leaving you with a balance of three hundred thirty-seven thousand seven dollars and fifty-three cents. And you’d like to withdraw the total balance today, correct? ”
When I dip my chin, she gives me a curt nod back. “Great, I thought so.” She pops the candy in her mouth and fills the silence with her crunching while she bends to retrieve several clear stacks of cash wrapped in plastic.
She slams them on the desk in a row and reaches for another candy—but hesitates. She picks up the bowl and offers it to me. “M&M?”
Instead of answering, I take the first stack and begin unwrapping the plastic. She says nothing when I start to count the bills, instead just goes on eating poison.
I’m glad it’s her here today. Two months ago, she was out sick, and it was her manager who handled the withdrawal. He kept repeating himself and asking me questions he should’ve known I wouldn’t answer.
I have very strict instructions when dealing with the people in town.
I am not to speak unless absolutely necessary. I’m not to make eye contact. I’m not to pause for anyone other than the bank employees. Anyone wearing a law enforcement uniform is to be avoided at all costs.
I bring that month’s check plus a note that says withdraw along with my bank account number. That’s all. I don’t even bring an ID here anymore. Brittany understands and respects this.
Once I’m through the second stack, she unravels a third and sets it in front of me to count. The first few trips to the bank, she tried assuring me they use machines that don’t make errors like humans. Now, she just waits. Sometimes, she eats her lunch.
A crackle sounds just before a pop as she opens a can of her usual soda, red letters fanning like ribbons on the silver. It slows the numbers in my head, but as she slurps, I quicken my pace.
After I finish with the count, I pack away the bills inside the duffel bag and stand. Brittany jumps from her chair and strides to get the door for me.
“Thank you for coming in… It’s always a pleasure.” She forces another tight smile that she can’t expect me to return. I give a single nod before carrying the duffel bag from the bank, a fresh set of mouths whispering behind me.
Bo, my driver today, opens the back door of the SUV as I approach, and I climb inside and take a deep breath.
My eyes close, but as soon as the SUV begins to move, I open them to watch the buildings, houses, and cars we pass.
I’m never more uncomfortable than in the presence of people in town, but nothing is more fascinating than watching their lives from a distance.
A strange thought enters my mind: I wonder if Persephone will feel the same.
I’m exhausted by the time we get back to the Shadow Sanctum.
Going out always seems to tire me, so instead of making the trek to the mines, I carry the duffel bag to my room. My eyes feel heavy, but when I open the door and spot Thorne sitting on my bed, they widen.
“Hi,” I say, shifting the duffel bag into my other hand. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on patrol.”
The bed creaks as he stands. “Hey… Yeah, I know. Your father pulled me off. He needed some things, but…” He wanders to me—a slight hitch in his step—and takes the duffel bag only to set it down at our feet. “I’m finished now. And I missed you.”
“What things? And why are you limping?”
Instead of answering, he takes hold of my shoulders and pulls me into him, lips finding mine. I’m hesitant at first. There’s passion to his kiss that catches me off guard, and it hits me how long it’s been since I felt his tongue.
I close my eyes and lean into him. My arms weave around his neck as I try to relax. But I can’t. Not really.
There’s a duffel bag full of cash on the floor when it should be in the bottom drawer of my desk—waiting until I take it to the mines. My bun is pulled too tightly on my head. Thorne is supposed to be on patrol.
I can handle surprises. I’m not fragile. But I don’t especially like them.
Thorne’s hand tucks beneath my sweater and snakes its way up to my breast while he guides me back against the wall, his mouth moving with an intensity I’m not used to from him.
My arms around his neck tighten, and I do my best to match his enthusiasm. When he squeezes my breast, I whimper. When he nudges my legs apart with his knee, I spread them even wider.
My eyelids clench at a thought: Is this how he was with Zephyr?
“I love you so much,” he groans after ripping from my mouth.
I gasp as he lifts me and carries me to my bed. He lays me down and quickly crawls on top of me before reclaiming my mouth once again.
Tension builds as we kiss, and though I maintain my enthusiasm, I can’t seem to take joy in it. It doesn’t feel like the tension I experience with Sawyer. There’s no winding in my core nor buzzing in my fingertips. My nipples don’t pebble. My shoulders don’t melt into the bed.
The tension is something else entirely. It feels a little like dread.
Thorne’s lips move to my neck while he grinds his hips against me, his breaths labored, his hand on my breast too firm.
Too intense. It isn’t like him.
“Hey.” I massage my hand up the back of his neck into his brown hair. It isn’t shaggy like Sawyer’s, just long enough for me to tug it between my fingers.
“Let’s slow down a second.” I try to crane my neck away from him, but he doesn’t seem to understand. “My love…”
He breaks away from my neck to look me in the eyes. As soon as I see the turmoil swirling in the warm caramel, my body tenses. My fingers clamping his hair release.
“I love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re my life.” He removes his hand from my sweater so he can cradle my cheek. “I have always loved you.”
My lungs shrink.
“Thorne,” I whisper while searching his eyes.
He kisses me again until I turn my face away. “Thorne.”
“I love you.” He forces my lips back to his while he lets his weight settle on top of me—suffocating. Suddenly, the room feels smaller. Thorne’s embrace becomes a cage.
I try to pull my mouth away, but he’s relentless, his lips pinned to me with so much force, they’re two slices of steel. I try again, and again, until I finally succeed with a fierce whip of my head. I suck in a panicked gasp. “Thorne, stop.”
“Tell me you love me,” he demands. “You never tell me you love me.”
What?
“I call you ‘my love’ every single day.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it, though?” I huff, as though now is an appropriate time to be defensive.
It isn’t.
I blow a breath against his lips and run my nails along his temple. “You know I love you… Tell me what’s wrong. Did something happen?”
Sawyer.
A million things could trouble my bleeding heart mate, but that is the only word that pops into my mind. I hold my breath while lazily trailing Thorne’s hairline.
He shakes his head. His eyes shine with a gleam that hits me right in the gut.
“I need to know that I matter more than your projects. I need you to say it.”
My heart skips as I meet Thorne’s eyes, lungs crushed under his weight. I give my head a small shake. “Why?”
Sawyer.
He just stares at me. Like a coward, he can’t bring himself to answer.
“What happened?” My voice grows bolder. “What things did my father have you do?”
He shakes his head. “I disagreed with him. I tried to convince him otherwise, I swear to you. But he’s the Chief Elder, Luna. Someone has to fulfill his wishes, and I knew if it wasn’t me, it’d be you. Please understand I was only trying to protect you.”
Oh God.
My stomach bottoms out as pressure builds behind my eyes, and it takes more effort than necessary to glare. Show anger, not…
“Protect me from what?”
He doesn’t answer. He won’t answer.
Is he dead? I want to scream the question, the only question that matters—but I don’t know that I’m capable without my voice shattering.
Aiden would know.
“Get off me.” I shove at Thorne’s chest until he lifts himself and I’m able to scramble from beneath him. I stand up and yank my sweater down, my ears burning.
“Luna…”
“No.” I whip toward him. White waves spill over my shoulders as I tug my hairtie free of the too-tight bun. “To answer your question, no, you do not matter more than my projects. The work I do is for my people, and my love for them trumps all. I hope you understand what you’ve destroyed.”
I spin toward the door and take two steps before Thorne’s weak voice stops me.
“I didn’t kill him.”
My teeth clamp even as my chest releases.
“I should have. He attacked me and compromised your father’s wishes. But I didn’t kill him. For you.”
I don’t turn to look at Thorne. I don’t think I can. “Where is he?”
“The mines.”
Without another wasted breath, I storm from the room, giving the duffel bag a kick on the way out. If there were time, perhaps I’d burn it. Light a flame to the mines and burn it all. Empty out every account we have.
My father has always told me words are useless. It’s what people do, not what they say that reveals all.
This, I still believe.