The Alpha's Shadow Luna

Chapter 9

Dawn pierced through the dark and I was ready. I'd been awake for an hour already, watching the light creep across my ceiling in slow degrees, tracing the cracks in the plaster like a map to somewhere else. Somewhere better. My duffel sat by the door, packed and zipped, a monument to my resolve. I'd rehearsed this moment in my head last night a dozen times, but now that it was here, my hands were steadier than I'd expected. Maybe it was easier to be brave when you had nothing left to lose.

I descended the stairs with my spine straight, each step deliberate. I made it halfway down the stairs before I heard their voices, one pitched low, the other bright and chipper.

Shane and Mary were already at the breakfast table. They sat across from each other, the remnants of a meal scattered between them. Mary wore a new lemon-yellow dress that she probably had Shane buy for her. She looked like spring incarnate, all warmth and bloom, while I felt like midwinter in my plain hoodie and jeans. Her laughter rang out as I entered, high and crystalline, and Shane's face softened in response. They didn't notice me at first. They never did.

I cleared my throat.

Shane's head snapped up, eyes widening just a fraction, but I saw the set of his jaw. Defensive. He was preparing for an argument. Mary's smile froze, then rearranged itself into something more curious, more calculating.

“Morning,” I said, not bothering to make it friendly.

Mary’s lips parted, then pressed together in a perfect little pout. “You’re up early,” she said, as if it were a crime.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I replied, opening the fridge.

Shane cleared his throat. “Rough night?” As if he cared.

I turned, leaning against the counter, a cold glass of juice sweating in my hand. “Not really. Just had a lot on my mind. We need to talk,” I said, eyes locked on Shane. I walked to the table and stood at the end, hands loose at my sides. I'd thought I'd be nervous, that the words would catch in my throat and choke me. But all I felt was a strange, floating calm.

“The wedding is off. I'm breaking up with you, Shane," I said. My voice didn't waver. It didn't crack. It just was.

The silence that followed was thick enough to drown in. Shane blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping on dry land. Mary's expression shifted through a dozen micro-emotions, surprise, confusion, something that might have been concern if I didn't know better. And maybe even … smug?

Mary recovered first, her voice a hair softer. “Leah, don’t you think this is a little sudden?”

I laughed. It bubbled up from somewhere deep, light and almost genuine. "I don't want to be in a shallow, meaningless relationship," I said, the words tasting like freedom on my tongue. I looked at Mary, let my gaze linger just long enough to see a flicker of something in her eyes. "I hope you two will be happy together."

Shane’s brow furrowed. “That’s not—”

I held up a hand. “Don’t. I know what this is. And I don’t want to do it anymore.”

He went quiet, his lips pressed together. He wasn’t going to fight it, not really. I could see the relief pooling behind his confusion.

Mary pretended to act innocent. "Leah, I don't know what you think—"

The door behind me swung open, cutting her off. I didn't need to turn to know it was Anton. I could feel him, the weight of his presence, the barely-leashed fury that always simmered just beneath his skin when it came to protecting the people he loved.

But it wasn't just Anton.

There was someone else with him, a figure that pulled the air taut just by existing. I turned and felt my breath catch despite myself. Darien, the man who was with my brother last night, stood in the doorway, tall, muscular, and imposing, dressed in dark clothing that made him look like he'd been carved from shadow. His silver eyes swept the room with the precision of a predator taking inventory, lingering on Shane and Mary before settling on me. There was something cold in that gaze, something sharp and unforgiving, but not unkind. Just … assessing.

"Darien needs to speak with you, Leah," Anton said, his tone clipped and professional. But I heard the undercurrent, the promise of violence waiting for the right moment.

Shane stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Who the hell is this?" he demanded, puffing up like he still had any authority over me, over anything in this room.

Anton's lip curled back, a snarl building in his chest. "We have things to discuss later, Shane." The way he said it made it sound less like a promise and more like a threat. Shane paled, but he didn't sit down.

Mary, ever the opportunist, brightened immediately. She rose from her seat with a fluid grace, smoothing her hands over her dress as she glided toward Darien. Her smile was practiced, perfect, the one she used when she wanted something. She tilted her head just so, letting her hair fall over one shoulder, her eyes wide and sparkling with manufactured delight.

"Well, hello," she purred, her voice dripping honey. She stopped just a little too close to him, batting her eyelashes in a way that would have been comical if it wasn't so calculated. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Mary."

Darien didn't smile. He didn't soften. He looked at her the way you might look at a bug crawling across your dinner plate, with cold, detached disdain. “I know who you are.” His voice was deep, frosted over with contempt. “And I don’t care.”

Mary stumbled back a step, her face crumpling in shock. For a moment, she looked genuinely hurt, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. I almost felt bad for her. Almost. But then I remembered the way she'd pressed herself against Shane, the way she'd laughed when he disregarded me, and the sympathy evaporated.

I studied Darien with new interest. He hadn't flinched, hadn't softened, hadn't fallen into Mary's orbit the way everyone else did. It was refreshing. Intoxicating, even. “Do you have somewhere we can talk?”

"Follow me," I said, my voice steady and professional. I didn't wait to see if he would comply. I just turned on my heel and walked toward my office, my posture straight, my shoulders back. Behind me, I heard the measured fall of his boots against the hardwood.