Luna Paige's Arc

Chapter 2 of 10

Luna sat where Michael pointed. The chair was velvet and too soft. The silver wolf lay across his boots and watched her like she was meat. She set the moonflower on the side table and slid the book toward him. She had come to save herself. First she had to make this man like her enough to let her stay. "Tell me about the day it followed you home," she said. Michael's eyebrows lifted. "That's your opener?" "You said I had an hour. I'm not spending it on the weather." He laughed once, surprised. He sank into the chair across from her and rubbed the wolf's ear without looking. "I was walking the border. I stepped over the stones by accident. When I turned around, he was behind me. He hasn't been more than a room away since." "Were you afraid?" "I was annoyed. My tailor had just finished these boots." Luna smiled before she could stop it. The wolf's tail thumped once against the rug. Michael noticed. "Your turn," he said. "Where did you grow up, cousin-of-somebody?" She had a story ready. A country house, a governess, a mother who died young. She told it clean. She kept her hands still. She asked him about his mother next, and he answered, and then about the mansion, and he walked her to the window and pointed at the willow his grandfather planted. He talked about the steward like a friend. He talked about the wolf like a brother he had not asked for. An hour passed. Neither of them stood. "You're easier than I expected," Michael said. He poured her a second glass of something amber. "Most of the girls who come up this drive want to see the freak show. You brought reading material." "I like books." "You like this one. You've read it." Her hand froze on the glass. The book was supposed to be a stranger's gift. "I skimmed it," she said. "On the ride over." He watched her a long moment. Then he reached across and opened the cover. A dried petal was pressed inside the flyleaf, brown at the edges. Her petal. She had used the book for a night in the wood and forgotten. Michael lifted the petal between two fingers. The silver wolf stood up. It walked to Luna and pushed its nose hard against her knee, and did not move away. "Cousin," Michael said, quiet now, "where did you really get this book." Luna's throat worked. The wolf leaned harder. She had spent an hour earning a seat in his parlor. She had earned it. And she had just lost the lie that let her keep it. "From the herb woman at the crossroads," she said. "I traded my mother's ring for it." Michael set the petal down. He did not throw her out. He did not smile either. "Start over," he said. "The true version this time."