The Rogue's Luna

Frayed

My first morning breath felt clean. There was no burn at the back of my throat. No bitter aftertaste riding the air. No whisper of poison curling through my veins. I watched the dust spin in the morning light, and I realized that the ache inside my bones was nothing but old pain loosening its grip. The last of the wolfsbane was gone.

“Morning,” I said into the quiet. The cabin answered with the gentle pop of the fire. Outside, rain dripped from needles and leaves in a slow, steady rhythm. The storm that had grumbled through the night had moved on, leaving the world damp and oddly new. “I can walk,” I told myself as I swung my legs off the bed. My feet hit the floor with more strength than yesterday. My side tugged where the deepest cut had been, but it was a tug and not a threat. Good enough. Thorne was by the table, head bent over a pile of supplies. Rope. A folded tarp. A worn jacket he shook out once before rolling it tight. He moved like a man who had a plan and did not intend to explain it. The scent of coffee slid through the air and wrapped around me. He had already poured a cup and set it near the edge of the table, like he knew I would come looking. “Morning,” I tried again.

“Drink,” he said without looking up. He tied the rope with a short, sharp pull that said he did not trust knots unless he made them himself. I wrapped my hands around the mug. My fingers did not shake. That was new. I took a sip and let the heat bite my tongue. The taste was strong and a little bitter, and it grounded me in a way the bed could not.

“I feel better,” I said.

“You look better,” he didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. His words were plain, but heavy. I watched him for a moment. He had stripped down to a dark shirt, and the muscles in his forearms flexed slowly as he worked. A long white scar tracked over one wrist and disappeared under the cuff. I had noticed it before, in the way one notices the shape of a blade out of habit, but today it tugged my attention and did not let go.

You are staring like a fool.

I took another sip and set the cup down.

“I can help with whatever that is,” I said.

“No,”

“I can carry something,”

“You can finish your coffee,” he stated firmly. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping. He was not wrong. The weakness was almost gone, but almost was not enough out here. Still, the stubborn part of me rose on instinct.

“I hate being useless,”

“You are not useless,” he argued, but he still didn’t look at me. And once again, his words were plain but heavy. The quiet stretched and thinned. My skin felt too tight. The cabin that had been a nest while I was shaking with fever now felt like a box that was one breath from cracking. The calm after the storm pressed around us, and under it something else beat slow and relentless. I could smell him. Clean sweat and smoke and pine. It did not make me want to run. It made my pulse jump in a way I could pretend was annoyance if I wanted to lie to myself. I set the cup down with a soft thud.

“I think we should talk about it,” I said. He paused with the rope half looped, but still he didn’t look at me.

“About what?”

“You know what,” I said, and he pulled the loop through and set the rope aside. He reached for the tarp and folded once, twice, precise edges meeting like he was afraid of letting it get messy. He took his time. I let him. The words gathered in my chest until I could feel them pressing against my ribs. “It is there,” I said. “Between us,” of course, I was referring to the mate bond. The bond we had ignored. Until now.

“Now is not the time to discuss it,” he said, and I sighed.

“Come on, Thorne. We both know it’s there,”

“I said, drop it,”

“No, I won’t,” I replied stubbornly. His hands stilled on the tarp, and he finally lifted his head. His eyes were calm. That was worse than anger. Calm meant he had already decided.

“Say it then,” he said.

“We are mates,” I said, and my voice did not shake. His jaw flexed once. “There,” I added. “It is spoken,” he watched me like he was measuring the weight of what I had just put on the table. The silence became a wire strung tight between us.

“No,” he said.

“No…no, what?”

“No,” he repeated. “I do not want it,” my mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“You do not want the bond,” I said at last as I understood. My heart sank, and I wasn’t even sure why.

“I do not want a pack. I do not want a house full of people. I do not want promises I cannot keep and a future I did not choose. I have lived alone long enough to know it is the only thing that keeps me sane,”

“That is not…” my voice trailed off as I shook my head. Thorne leaned his weight into the table as he stared at me.

“I will keep you safe while you are here. I will get you strong enough to walk out of here and back to your life. That is what I can give, and that is all,” the sting of his words surprised me. Again, I wasn’t sure why. It shouldn't hurt at all. It wasn’t as if we had accepted the bond between us.

“Right,” I said, and the word tasted like iron. He watched my face for a breath.

“This is not about you,” he said.

“I did not say it was,”

“It is about me,”

“I…I understand,”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he shot back.

“Thorne…I know you think I am asking for fairy tales. I’m not. I am simply asking for the truth. The bond exists. You feel it. I feel it. We can ignore it…but I don’t want to hear you say that it isn’t real just because you don’t want it,” his eyes flashed, and then he tied the tarp with more force than needed. The rope snapped taut.

“We are taking the truck down the ridge at first light,” he said. “I want it hidden before anyone with a nose wanders close. Eat something now. Sleep early,”

“Yes, Alpha,” I said, and there was a slight teasing to my tone of voice. Thorne didn’t even smile.

“I am not your Alpha,”

“You don’t say?” I replied sarcastically. Thorne grunted in response. I watched as he continued getting things ready. I decided that I wasn’t interested in this anymore, so I went over to the couch and sat down. I grabbed a book from the wonky table and got comfortable. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. He paid no attention to me. In fact, it was almost as if he was going out of his way to avoid me. And the truth was that I was sulking. It wasn’t pretty. It was honest. He didn’t want this. In turn, that meant he didn’t want me. Thorne could say that it wasn’t about me, but it was. It was about us. Thorne didn’t even consider the possibilities. But I closed my eyes and held onto the hurt for a moment. Thorne was a wild, ruthless rogue. He couldn’t and wouldn’t be tamed. I had to accept that.