His Luna Was Never Me - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
You are reading His Luna Was Never Me, Chapter 10: Chapter 10. Read more chapters of His Luna Was Never Me.
His response was instant, his voice sharp with accusation. "Do I really need to spell it out for you? Who else could it be but Alpha Atlas Olcon?"
Atlas. The name lingered in the air like a dark cloud.
The memory of that day flashed through my mind—right after our wedding, after Ronan's cruel words had shattered me. I'd fled the pack, desperate for escape, and ended up in a dingy little inn in the nearest town, drowning my pain in cheap liquor. That same night, some drunk had cornered me, his hands roaming where they didn't belong. I'd been frozen, unsure what to do—until he showed up.
Atlas.
Even as a kid, he'd carried himself like a leader, but now? Now he was pure dominance—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that always fell just a little too long over those piercing blue eyes. Eyes that saw everything. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and the way he moved—like the world bent to his will—left no doubt he was an Alpha through and through.
He'd stepped in that night, sent the drunk stumbling away with a single glare, then driven me back to Obsidian Howl. At the time, I'd been too numb to think much of it. But now? Now Ronan was twisting it into something filthy.
"Ronan," I snapped, defiance lacing my words, "what exactly are you accusing me of?"
He sneered, closing the distance between us until his body pressed against mine. His fingers dug into my wrist as he shoved me against the door, his eyes burning with fury. "The day after our wedding, you left the pack. Went to that town, didn't you?"
My mind raced back—the sting of his rejection still fresh, the need to escape overwhelming. I hadn't gone looking for trouble. But Ronan had already made up his mind.
"Adeline saw you," he hissed. "Saw you and him go into a private room at that inn. Saw you leave together."
Adeline. Of course it was her. My stomach twisted. She'd always been lurking in the shadows, waiting for her moment.
"Anastasia," Ronan growled, "right after our mateship ceremony, and you couldn't even be discreet? Greedy little thing, wanting it all. And to think I actually believed—"
I didn't care what he'd believed. The man in front of me wasn't the one I'd loved. He was a stranger, warped by his own paranoia and the whispers of people who wanted us broken.
With a sharp shove, I pushed him back. "So you're saying Kieran isn't yours?"
His gaze turned to ice. "Isn't he? Tell me—what part of him looks like me?"
The sheer stupidity of that question made my blood boil. Newborns all looked the same! But arguing was pointless.
And damn him—if he'd bothered to see Kieran even once in the past two years, he'd know how ridiculous this was. But he hadn't. He'd never even tried.
Turning away, I strode into the bedroom, to the drawer where I kept the last traces of my son. His tiny toothbrush. A plastic bag with strands of his hair, fallen out during his treatments.
I thrust them at Ronan, my voice hollow. "Take them. Find out for yourself."
Atlas. The name lingered in the air like a dark cloud.
The memory of that day flashed through my mind—right after our wedding, after Ronan's cruel words had shattered me. I'd fled the pack, desperate for escape, and ended up in a dingy little inn in the nearest town, drowning my pain in cheap liquor. That same night, some drunk had cornered me, his hands roaming where they didn't belong. I'd been frozen, unsure what to do—until he showed up.
Atlas.
Even as a kid, he'd carried himself like a leader, but now? Now he was pure dominance—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that always fell just a little too long over those piercing blue eyes. Eyes that saw everything. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and the way he moved—like the world bent to his will—left no doubt he was an Alpha through and through.
He'd stepped in that night, sent the drunk stumbling away with a single glare, then driven me back to Obsidian Howl. At the time, I'd been too numb to think much of it. But now? Now Ronan was twisting it into something filthy.
"Ronan," I snapped, defiance lacing my words, "what exactly are you accusing me of?"
He sneered, closing the distance between us until his body pressed against mine. His fingers dug into my wrist as he shoved me against the door, his eyes burning with fury. "The day after our wedding, you left the pack. Went to that town, didn't you?"
My mind raced back—the sting of his rejection still fresh, the need to escape overwhelming. I hadn't gone looking for trouble. But Ronan had already made up his mind.
"Adeline saw you," he hissed. "Saw you and him go into a private room at that inn. Saw you leave together."
Adeline. Of course it was her. My stomach twisted. She'd always been lurking in the shadows, waiting for her moment.
"Anastasia," Ronan growled, "right after our mateship ceremony, and you couldn't even be discreet? Greedy little thing, wanting it all. And to think I actually believed—"
I didn't care what he'd believed. The man in front of me wasn't the one I'd loved. He was a stranger, warped by his own paranoia and the whispers of people who wanted us broken.
With a sharp shove, I pushed him back. "So you're saying Kieran isn't yours?"
His gaze turned to ice. "Isn't he? Tell me—what part of him looks like me?"
The sheer stupidity of that question made my blood boil. Newborns all looked the same! But arguing was pointless.
And damn him—if he'd bothered to see Kieran even once in the past two years, he'd know how ridiculous this was. But he hadn't. He'd never even tried.
Turning away, I strode into the bedroom, to the drawer where I kept the last traces of my son. His tiny toothbrush. A plastic bag with strands of his hair, fallen out during his treatments.
I thrust them at Ronan, my voice hollow. "Take them. Find out for yourself."
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