23. Luna

Chapter 23

Luna

I 'm behind the steering wheel, my hands gripping it so tightly my knuckles are white. The road ahead is dark, illuminated only by the weak glow of my headlights and the occasional streetlamp. Snow falls in thick flurries, obscuring my vision.

The inside of the car is too warm, stuffy with the scent of alcohol and my father's expensive cologne. Christmas music plays softly on the radio, a cheerful counterpoint to the tension I can feel building in the back seat.

"Watch the road, Luna," my mother says, her voice tight with forced cheerfulness. "It's getting slippery out there."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror. Dad's face is flushed, his eyes glassy. He's muttering under his breath, and I can see Mum's hand on his arm, trying to calm him.

"I saw the way you were looking at him," Dad suddenly growls, his words slightly slurred. "Laughing at his jokes. Making me look like a fool."

"Darling, please," Mum whispers. "Not now. Luna's driving."

But he's not listening. His voice rises, filling the car. "You think I didn't notice? You think I'm stupid?"

I grip the wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road. The car feels like it's sliding slightly, and I ease off the accelerator.

"Dad," I say, my voice trembling. "Maybe we should pull over?"

He ignores me completely. "Answer me!" he shouts at my mother. "Were you flirting with him? Planning to leave me for that smug bastard?"

"Of course not," she says, her voice cracking. "You're being ridiculous. You've had too much to drink."

I see his hand raise in the mirror, and my heart leaps into my throat. "Dad, no!" I cry out, turning in my seat.

Everything happens in slow motion. Dad's hand comes down, but Mum flinches away. He lunges for her, and she presses herself against the car door. I reach back, trying to intervene, my eyes leaving the road.

That's when I feel it. The car hits a patch of black ice, and suddenly we're spinning. The world outside the windows becomes a dizzying blur of white snow and dark trees. I hear Mum scream, feel Dad's hand grasp my shoulder hard enough to bruise.

I turn back to the front, yanking the wheel desperately, but it's too late. We're sliding off the road, picking up speed as we roll into a ditch. Through the windshield, I see the massive trunk of a pine tree rushing towards us.

The impact is deafening. Metal crunches, glass shatters. My body jerks forward, then slams back into the seat. Pain explodes everywhere at once. Something warm and wet trickles down my face.

For a moment, everything is silent except for the hiss of steam rising from the crumpled hood. Then I hear it – a low, pained moan from the back seat.

"Mum?" I croak, my voice barely a whisper. "Dad?"

No response. Just that awful moaning.

I try to turn, to look back, but I'm suspended upside down and a sharp pain is lancing through my neck and back. My legs feel strange — heavy and yet somehow not there at all. Panic rises in my throat.

"Help," I call out weakly. "Someone help us!"

But we're alone. No one is coming.

The smell of petrol fills the air, mixing with the metallic scent of blood. Somewhere in the distance, I hear sirens. Or is that just the ringing in my ears?

I blink, and suddenly I'm outside the car. How did I get here? I'm lying on the cold ground, staring up at the sky. Snowflakes fall on my face, melting instantly. They should feel cold, but I can't feel anything.

Shadows move around me. Voices shout, but they sound far away, underwater. Blue lights flash, painting the ground in strange colors.

"We've got a live one here!" someone yells. A face appears above me, a man in a paramedic's uniform. "Can you hear me, miss? What's your name?"

I try to speak, but no words come out. My eyes drift past him, to the mangled wreck of our car. I can see a still form being pulled from the back seat.

No. No, no, no.

The paramedic is speaking again, but his words fade into a dull roar. Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. I try to fight it, but it's too strong.

As consciousness slips away, one thought echoes in my mind: this is all my fault.

I jolt awake, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The room is pitch black, and for a moment, I'm back in the car, trapped in the wreckage. Panic claws at my chest, stealing my breath.

"No, no, no," I gasp, my hands flailing out, searching for something, anything to ground me.

They connect with something solid and warm. Lucien. He's here, kneeling on the bed beside me. The realization should calm me, but instead, it amplifies my panic. I'm trapped. Locked in. Caged.

"Luna?" His voice is thick with concern, but all I can hear is the crunch of metal, the shattering of glass.

"Let me out!" I cry, my fists connecting with his chest. "I can't be here. I can't be locked in anymore. I can't!"

My voice rises to a shriek as I pummel him. I need to get out, need to breathe, need to escape.

Lucien doesn't try to stop me or restrain my flailing arms. Instead, he scoops me up. I feel the rush of air as he moves at inhuman speed, and suddenly we're in the hallway.

"Let me go!" I demand, still fighting against his hold. "Put me down!"

He doesn't respond, just tightens his grip and keeps moving. We're going downstairs now, my stomach lurching with each rapid descent. I squeeze my eyes shut, torn between the claustrophobia of being held and the fear of being dropped.

And then, abruptly, we stop. Cold air hits my skin, and I gasp. My eyes fly open.

We're outside.

I'm wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of black underwear, and it's the middle of winter. Goosebumps slither over my flesh.

The panic recedes slightly as I gulp in the crisp night air. Stars twinkle overhead, so bright and clear it takes my breath away. I've never seen them like this in the city.

Lucien is still holding me. I become acutely aware of my state of undress, but the cool air feels good against my overheated skin.

"Better?" Lucien asks softly, his breath warm against my ear.

I nod, not trusting my voice just yet. My heart is still racing, but the blind panic has subsided.

He starts moving again, this time at a normal pace. We descend a series of stone steps, winding through a beautifully landscaped garden. In the moonlight, I can make out the shapes of sculpted hedges and delicate flowers.

The path ends at what looks like a large, steaming swimming pool. The water's surface ripples gently, sending tendrils of mist curling into the night air.

Lucien sets me down gently at the top of the pool steps. "Get in," he says.

I hesitate, wrapping my arms around myself. "I don't have a swimsuit."

A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "You don't need one. Just get in."

Part of me wants to refuse. But I can feel the residual panic still thrumming through my veins and the thought of being in the water, being lighter and cocooned by something smooth and warm and beautiful, draws me in.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the pool. The water is deliciously warm. I wade in deeper, my underwear and my t-shirt soaking up the water.

When I'm waist deep, I turn back to look at Lucien. He's standing at the edge of the pool, watching me intently. In the moonlight, the red flecks in his eyes are more visible. Yet, in this moment, I've never felt safer.

I wade out further until the water reaches my shoulders, then lean back, letting myself float. The water cradles me effortlessly. Above me, the stars shine brilliantly in the vast expanse of sky.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I can breathe freely. The nightmare, the memories, the pain - they're still there, but they feel less immediate, less overwhelming.

I close my eyes, focusing on the sensations around me. The gentle lapping of water against my skin. The cool breeze on my face. The distant rustle of leaves in the garden.

When I open my eyes again, Lucien is sitting at the edge of the pool, shoes beside him, bare feet dangling in the water. He's watching me with an expression I can't quite decipher — part concern, part fascination.

"Thank you," I say softly, moving toward him.

"You're welcome, Luna."

"Come and join me?"

"I don't swim."

"Lucien. Come and join me." I address him more forcefully now.

He raises an eyebrow at me. Something inside him both resents me and adores me when I talk to him like this; I can see it in his eyes.

Slowly, he stands up and slips off his shirt.

"Pants, too," I tell him.

He rolls his tongue over his fangs and smirks at me.

"Boxers." I bite my lower lip as he rolls them over his hips, exposing his cock. In return, I peel off my wet t-shirt then reach beneath the water and take off my panties, too.

Lucien flexes his shoulders, then stands at the edge of the pool and dives in. He disappears underwater, moving like an Olympic swimmer, and appears again at the other end of the pool. He flicks his wet hair from his eyes then swims toward me.

"I thought you said you don't swim?"

"I should have said I don't like to swim."

I loop my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. I can feel his cock at my entrance. Without any lead up, I slide down onto him and gasp as he fills me. He groans loudly and his eyes flash with pleasure.

But then he brushes my damp hair from my face. "Are you all right?"

I continue staring into his eyes. "It was a nightmare."

"Your parents?"

I nuzzle into his neck and focus on moving up and down on his shaft, pleasure slowly building. "I don't want to talk about it."

"What do you want to talk about?" His breath hitches as I tilt my hips. He kisses my throat. His teeth graze my skin but do not break it, and I realize that a part of me wants him to.

I comb my fingers through his wet hair.

"Tell me the truth, Lucien. Tell me why you're keeping me here."

"Luna..."

"If you want me to trust you, you have to tell me the truth."

There is a pause. Lucien has stopped moving. He takes his hands from my waist and then he's gone. He's no longer inside me. "Why would I care if you trust me?"

His tone is hard and dark. His eyes are dark, too.

"Because we..."

"What?" He swims to the edge of the pool and levers himself out of it, grabbing his clothes, cock still hard. When he turns to face me, he meets my eyes. "Because we fucked?"

He holds my gaze defiantly, daring me to challenge him and to say out loud that it was more than just fucking.

"You can tell me what to do when we're in bed," he growls. "But you don't tell me how to run my business. You let me handle it. Understand?"

His tone sends shivers through me. Not the good kind. It reminds me of Steven, and my father, and suddenly I have no words. My strength is gone. My voice is stuck in my throat, and I feel like I want to cry and run and hide all at the same time.

"Do you understand?"

The last time he asked me that question, it was with tenderness. This time, he sounds vicious. He sounds like them .

I lower my gaze. I can't look at him.

"Time to go back inside." He strides to a small structure that looks like a pool house and returns seconds later with a towel. He stands at the top of the steps and holds it out for me.

Disappointment, embarrassment, and hurt hum on my skin.

As Lucien watches me, his whole body stiffens. He hands me the towel but does not wrap it around me or kiss me. Then he turns and marches back toward the house.

And I follow him. Because what else can I do?