The Alpha's Chosen Luna

Chapter 7

Benjamin

The study door clicked shut behind me with the finality of a coffin lid.

I didn’t bother lighting more than the single desk lamp. The room preferred shadows anyway with dark walnut panels, shelves heavy with centuries of pack law and blood oaths, the faint scent of old leather and gun oil. My space. My man cage.

I dropped into the high-backed chair and stared at the empty fireplace like it owed me answers.

The bond was still thrumming under my skin, low and vicious, like a taut bowstring someone kept plucking. Every time I closed my eyes I saw her wide blue eyes, parted lips, the tiny tremor that ran through her when my thumb grazed her ear. I could still feel the exact shape of her breasts pressed against my ribs. Could still taste the ghost of her breath against my mouth.

I dragged both hands down my face and cursed under my breath.

"Get a f*****g grip, Benjamin."

Elara’s portrait watched me from the far wall. Painted the summer before the ambush. She was laughing in it, with her head thrown back, throat exposed, sunlight caught in her dark-gold hair. The artist had captured the exact way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she was truly happy.

I hadn’t looked at that painting in months.

Tonight I couldn’t look away.

“I’m trying,” I said to the silence. To her. “I’m f*****g trying.”

The knock was so soft I almost missed it. I stiffened, sniffing the air only to catch Olivia's Scent.

The door opened a crack before I could snarl at her to leave.

Olivia stood in the threshold barefoot, still wearing the ruined red dress which was torn at the hem, stained with creek water and dirt, clinging to her like a second skin. Her hair was a wild black fall around her shoulders. She looked small against the towering doorway.

My wolf, Timber paced back and forth, eager to taste her...But my Jaguar spirit side ...Thorn.... was a ruthless cursed side that wanted to hold on to Elara and nobody else.

She lifted her chin the way she always did when she was trying to pretend she wasn’t terrified.

“I’m hungry,” she said. Flat. No please or elaboration, just a simple fact.

Something cracked open in my chest..something warm and stupid and dangerous.

I stood before I could talk myself out of it.

“Come in.”

She hesitated, eyes flicking over the room like she was cataloguing exits, weapons, weaknesses. Then she stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind her.

I crossed to the sideboard. There was always food here...pack tradition, Alpha’s study stocked for long nights. I pulled out the covered tray that had been left earlier: cold roasted pheasant, honey-glazed root vegetables, fresh bread still soft, a wedge of sharp cheese, a small bowl of blackberries.

I set it on the low table in front of the leather sofa.

“Sit,” I said.

She didn’t move.

I met her gaze. Held it.

“Olivia. Sit.”

Something flickered in her expression...defiance, exhaustion, maybe a trace of curiosity. Then she walked over and sank onto the edge of the cushion like she might bolt at any second. She looked like a mother who just lost her pup...Her scent gave me a lot of questions.. Questions I wasn't interested in asking because it was not meant to be personal but duties only.

I sat across from her on the ottoman, close enough that our knees almost brushed.

I tore a piece of bread, dipped it in the little dish of herb oil, and held it out.

Her eyes narrowed. “I have hands.”

“I know.” I didn’t lower my arm. “Open.”

She stared at me for a long beat. Then..slowly, suspiciously she parted her lips.

I fed her the bread.

She chewed once, twice. Her lashes fluttered. A tiny sound escaped her throat ..barely a moan, but it hit me like a fist to the solar plexus.

I tore another piece. This time with a sliver of pheasant. She accepted it without argument. Her tongue brushed the edge of my thumb by accident. My c**k jerked against my zipper like it had been trained to that sound.

I kept going.

A blackberry next. I crushed it slightly between my fingers so the juice wouldn’t drip. She caught the fruit with her lips, sucked the juice from my skin before I could pull away. My breathing turned ragged.

Her gaze lifted to mine while she swallowed.

The air between us thickened, sweetened with her scent..night-blooming jasmine, rain-soaked cedar, and that sharp feminine heat that was starting to drive me insane.

I fed her another bite. Then another.

Each time her lips closed around my fingers I felt the bond flare brighter, hotter. Chloe was awake in her eyes—golden, predatory, pleased. Olivia’s cheeks flushed deeper with every bite. Her breathing grew shallow. Her thighs pressed together.

I was drowning.

And then she leaned forward just a fraction and took the last blackberry straight from between my thumb and forefinger with her teeth. The soft scrape of enamel. The wet heat of her tongue. The way her eyes never left mine.

I froze.

The tray was empty. Silence roared.

My hand was still hovering near her mouth. Her lips were stained dark with berry juice. She looked wrecked. Beautiful. Mine.

'Mine.'

The word slammed through me like a war drum.

And then Elara’s laugh echoed in my memory brightly and unguarded, the sound she made when I tried to feed her strawberries in bed and she bit my finger instead.

The room tilted.

I jerked my hand back like I’d been burned.

Olivia blinked, startled.

I stood so fast the ottoman scraped backward.

“I can’t,” I rasped.

She frowned. “What?”

“I can’t do this.” My voice sounded shredded. “I *won’t*.”

Confusion flashed across her face, then something sharper. Hurt, maybe. Or pride. “You were literally just—”

“I know what I was doing.” I turned away, bracing both hands on the mantel. The cold stone didn’t help. Nothing helped. “It stops here.”

She stood slowly. I could feel her gaze drilling into my back.

“Did I ask you to feed me with your hands?” she asked quietly.

I didn’t answer. The portrait was right there.

Olivia let out a short, bitter laugh that had no humor in it.

“Right. You are so f*****g weird...” She wrapped her arms around herself. “You think I want this any more than you do? You think I *asked* for a bond with the man who burned my pack’s fields and killed half the people I grew up with?”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

I closed my eyes.

“But I’m here,” she said. “And I’m starving. And you—” She stopped. Swallowed. “You fed me like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just a prisoner. And then you remembered you’re supposed to hate me and pulled away.”

I turned to face her.

She looked impossibly young in that moment. And impossibly strong.

“I don’t hate you, You should just fulfil your duty as my Luna and do as I say....Wether I feed you or f**k you...” I said. The words scraped my throat raw. “That’s the f*****g problem.”

Olivia stared at me for a long time.

Then she nodded once....small, tight.

“Okay,” she said softly.

She walked past me toward the door.

I caught her wrist before she could pass.

Not hard. Just enough to stop her.

She looked down at my hand, then up at my face.

“I’ll have food sent to your room every few hours,” I said. “Proper meals. Not this… whatever the hell this was.”

Her expression shuttered then she stepped back.

“Goodnight, Alpha Benjamin...”

She left without looking back.

The door closed with a soft click.

I sank back into the chair and stared at Elara’s portrait until the lamp burned low.

The bond still pulsed through my veins.....