Blood on the Moon
Chapter 18: Seeing the Light

Asher

I walk down the hallway, my vision out of focus, feeling disconnected from all sensations.

What have I done? Did I open a Pandora’s box I’ll have no hope of closing again?

I’m not close with Evander, the Alpha of the River Run Pack, mainly because Genevive doesn’t allow me to contact the other Alphas. But I respect him. I care about my fellow werewolves and hate the idea that I’m sending a ticking time bomb after him, and he has no idea.

What seeds have I sown? What terrifies me is I won’t know until I must reap them.

“Hey, Asher!”

I look up.

“Margaery,” I greet, trying to rouse more excitement in my voice, but it’s pointless. “Where are you headed?”

“Nowhere in particular, probably my office,” she answers, the stale hallway in the packhouse feeling a little too narrow. “What about you?”

I rub my neck, hoping to ease my tense body. “Uhm, just out for a walk.”

She arches her eyebrow, moves closer to me, and examines my neck.

“Asher,” she says sternly, her voice like a mother’s rather than a friend’s. “What the fuck is on your neck?”

“It’s, uhm,” I stutter. “Just a hickey.”

“I know damn well that’s a lie!” She protests, grabbing my wrist and yanking me into the conference room on our right. She locks the door.

“Be honest with me this time,” she says. “What is on your neck? I know it’s not a hickey.”

“I-” I stammer. “Why do I need to say it? It seems like you already know what it is.”

“So Genevive did that?” She asks, her voice soft and eyes sad. She looks as though she’s about to cry.

“Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Ash,” she sighs, wrapping her arms around my torso.

“Stop.”

“What did she do to you?”

“Marg, please, don’t make me say it!” I cry, burying my face in her shoulder. “It’s fucking embarrassing!”

“It’s me, Asher. You know I’d never judge you.”

She pulls away, moving my hair away from my face, revealing the nasty bruise on my temple.

“My Goddess.”

“I didn’t cover them up very well, did I?” I chuckle.

“This isn’t funny, Asher,” she scolds. “What did she hit you with?”

“An extension cord,” I admit, knowing there’s no use arguing with her. She’ll pry the truth out of me eventually. She always does.

“Fuck, Ash,” she says as she winces. “Did she…”

“Choke me with it?” I ask, gesturing to the long bruise around my neck. “Yeah. That’s what that is.”

“She could have killed you, Ash!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” I hiss, turning my back to her. I can't face her. I don't want her eyes to be filled with pity. I don't want her to look at me like I'm a child.

Fuck, I just feel so weak. So powerless.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I sigh. “I know. I’m just stressed.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, facing her again as I drag my hand down my face. “But I know I can’t keep living like this.”

“Are you planning to leave her?” She asks, biting her lip warily.

I hesitate.

Will she tell Genevive if I say yes? I’ve always assumed her allegiance was more to me than to her sister, but I could be wrong. Genevive could have her wrapped around her finger just as tightly as I was a week ago. Hanging on every word, desperate for change that was promised but never came.

Margaery could still believe in her. And if she offers Gen this information, she may see that as a way to get in her good graces.

“Do you trust me, Asher?” Margaery asks.

“Can you read my mind?”

My poker face could use some work around her.

“Answer my question.”

I rest my hands on my hips, my eyes glued to the floor. I don’t want to hurt her, but I know I need to be honest. “I don’t know, Marg. It feels like I can’t even trust myself anymore. The only person I do trust is R-”

I stop myself.

“Who, Ash?”

My face flushes red. I can’t let her know about Rose. Even if she is trustworthy and wouldn’t tell Genevive, there’s no telling what she might say in a moment like the one I was in with a cord wrapped around my neck.

Protecting Rose from Genevive is most important, even if it means lying to Margaery.

“No one,” I correct. “I was going to mention my family, but I don’t know if I can trust them, either. Not that they don’t love me or wouldn’t care, but they wouldn’t know what to do with this information. They’d scream from the rafters to have Genevive’s title challenged. And that's not a good idea right now.”

“Are you sure about that?”

I snap my head up to look at her, taken aback. My heart races with anticipation, my body registering that she’s about to tell me something big even though I have no way of knowing that’s true.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Can I trust you, Asher?”

“Of course,” I answer, with no hesitation. “Look at what she did to me, Margaery!”

“I know,” she replies. “But what if you’re in a situation like that again? You wouldn’t sell me out?”

Funny how the thing I’m afraid of with her is reciprocated.

Stalemate.

“I…” I trail off.

Am I willing to make this kind of promise? I love Margaery like a sister, but what if this backfires in my face? What if I can’t keep my promise? Or, worse, what if I’m put in a position where I must choose between my life and my word?

“I’d be willing to give my life for you, Asher,” she says, her eyes glowing with her wolf, baring her honest soul. “Genevive must be stopped. That’s been clear for a while. And, with the information I have, it’s never been more apparent.” She pauses, grabbing my hands, asking with conviction, “Are you planning on leaving her?”

“Yes,” I say, the word more of an exhale than a syllable. “I don’t know when or how, but I…” I trail off, my lips trembling, my heart breaking, mourning the life I should have had. “I need to leave.”

“I’ll ask again, then,” she reiterates. “Can I trust you?”

I squeeze her hands, my stomach tied in knots.

There’s no going back after this.

“I promise that if it comes down to it, I’ll die before giving you up.”

“I hope I never have to hold you to it,” she says, kissing my cheek. “But it’s good to know we’re on the same side.”

“What information do you have?” I ask, hoping to move on from this subject. I don’t want to dwell on the verbal contract I just signed. It feels like my life is on a dotted line now. Who knows when I’ll have to pay the piper?

“I was out walking earlier today. That’s what I’m coming back from. Genevive was meeting with someone.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, but he was strange. I had this weird feeling that there was dark magic surrounding him.”

“A warlock?” I ask.

“No,” she replies. “It felt like the Night God’s dark magic.”

“How would you know what that feels like?”

“I have a theory that-”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Hey, why’s the door locked? We need this room for a meeting!” Someone calls from outside.

“We’ll be right out!” Margaery answers. “The Alpha and I are having a private conversation.”

“What’s your theory?” I ask, my voice hushed.

“I’ll talk to you again about it later. But you should look into it. See if you can tail her at some point to catch her meeting with him again.”

“I’ll think about it,” I answer, my head spinning.

What theory does she have? Why does she think the Night God is involved? And why would Genevive be working with Him in the first place?

She opens the door before I can ask her any number of burning questions, letting in the group waiting.

I follow her out, and she’s already disappearing down the hallway once I make it through the throng of people pouring into the room.

She gives me one final look over her shoulder.

“Be careful, Ash.”

I lick my dry lips. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

“I’ll try.”

Rose

I sit in the dark.

One might think this is a pleasant pastime for a vampire, but they’d be wrong. We love artificial light because most of us can’t experience the real thing. I can, which makes me even more appreciative of it.

But I sit in the dark, the shades drawn and lights out, cross-legged on my bedroom floor.

I haven’t moved since I returned from Asher’s cabin yesterday. Haven’t eaten or spoken with anyone. I’m sure Victor has tried to contact me, and I’ll have some explaining to do later, but I don’t care.

My heart doesn’t beat, yet I feel the pain of it being ripped out of my chest.

He told me he cared about me, but his actions suggest otherwise. He left me. He left when I needed him. He left me just as my father did. Just as my mother did as soon as I was old enough to be alone.

See the pattern?

Why have I been cursed with feelings for this man? Why has the Night God or Moon Goddess damned me to pine for someone unattainable? Does he only desire the flesh? I watch how he fights off his arousal every time we're together. I can smell it. I see the shifting of his posture, repositioning his pants.

He wants me.

Yet, he left.

Where does that leave us? In a perpetual game of will-they-won’t-they? I loved those stories as a teenager, but living in one is far less glamorous and exciting. It’s torture.

All I want is to feel him. I want his lips on mine; chests pressed together. I want to tangle my hands in his hair and feel him breathe life into me. I want to feel all the emotions of blood rushing and cheeks flushing. I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing after the high he gives me.

I’m addicted. I crave him. I do. I think about him day and night. But mostly night. I want to know what it’d feel like for him to whisper his words in my ear, telling me sweet everythings. I want to see him smile after I kiss his cheek, the light running through his eyes and pouring out of his soul. He is sunlight, and I am darkness. I want him to bathe me in his rays and feel his warmth.

And, God, I want to be a sweet relief to him. I want to cool his fiery pain. I can see it swimming in his eyes—the pain she causes. I want to be his place to rest, a cool shower after a hot summer day. I want to be sleep after a tiring workday. If only he’d let me! I can see he wants it. I know he craves it; that’s why he keeps coming back for more.

So why won’t he give in? What is holding him back?

Why did he leave me when I needed him?

God, look what he’s turned me into! A mess of the independent woman I was. Where did she go? Where is the woman who would have cursed him out and told him to go fuck himself after the stunt he pulled? Why aren’t I angry at him? Why am I sad?

I tilt my head back, hot tears streaming down my face.

Shit.

What should I do? I can’t allow myself to feel this way all the time. What kind of eternity would that be?

Maybe I need to cut ties with him? That might be the only way for me to move on. If I allow myself the temptation, I’ll never quit him. I have to put myself and my mental health first.

And if that means never seeing him again, then…

My heart clenches, and my body writhes, fighting my mind on its conclusion.

I don’t want to stop seeing him! That’s like asking me to never drink blood again! Or a werewolf to never shift or a warlock to never cast a spell.

He’s been woven into the very fabric of my being, and I don’t understand how or why.

It’s that stupid force. The stupid pull of destiny or fate or a fucked up psychopath deity meddling in my business.

Either way, I want no part in it anymore. Let me be the way I was before.

Was I lonely before meeting him?

Yes.

Losing him would likely reopen the hole in my heart filled with loneliness and a burdensome desire for connection I've carried my whole life.

But, even if I must lose him, that doesn’t mean another won’t come along. Perhaps a lover who won’t cause me as much pain? One who will willingly and wholeheartedly choose me?

One who will stay because he wants to. No, needs to.

Could Asher ever provide that? Does he even want to? Do I want him to? Genevive is still in the picture, that stupid wrinkle in my grand plans to fall in love.

Is that what this is? Am I falling in love?

I’m not sure I know what love is. I think I feel it for Victor as a friend, but I can’t be sure. I never knew my father, so I couldn’t love him, and I wouldn’t describe my relationship with my mother as love, either. It felt more professional than anything else.

So what do I know of love? Or any matters of the heart, really?

I’ve never had one that beats.