Blood on the Moon

Asher

The sun’s glow is soft, filtered through the white curtains, covers my face in its warm glow. Rose’s skin glitters, too. Not Twilight glitter, that’d be stupid, but in my mind’s eye. I can see her shining from within, blurring all other sights around me.

Her lips are partly agape, her head on the pillow, and her blonde hair frayed only a little from sleeping. I smile, admiring the effortless beauty in front of me. She’s a natural wonder, a worthy rival of the Rocky Mountains and Grand Canyon. The vast woods north of here that was once a national park called Yellowstone and the pearly beaches of the south have nothing on her. Her eyes are bluer than those seas, her hair full of the movement of the waves crashing on the shores.

Her lips? Redder than the rocks of the west, the color more vibrant and lively. Most would liken them to blood, mostly since she’s a vampire, or maybe roses since the comparison would be easy given her name. They remind me more of leaves in autumn. The seasons are currently changing from summer to fall, and the leaves with it. Every season is gorgeous in this region, but I’ve always preferred the fall. Because of those trees and how the leaves fit on the floor, crunching under shoes or paws.

She smells like autumn, too. More in the sense of the feeling of coziness, as if you’re in a bookstore with vintage books and creaking floors. She smells like coffee on a chilly morning, a candle lit next to a warm bath, and bread in the oven. Things that bring comfort and joy. Little things we often take for granted.

She’s not a big, brief moment of joy. She’s a million little moments of joy. She’s happiness personified, not in the sense that she’s somehow naive in being happy all the time. She’s vastly more complex than that. But that’s the feeling I get from her.

A million moments of joy.

Her skin calls to my hand, so I brush my fingers softly against her cheek. Her skin is cool, a side effect of being bloodless but not cold. Nothing about her is cold. Well, maybe, unless you’re on her bad side. I imagine her words cut like knives and fangs even sharped when you cross her. But with me?

No, she’s never been cold. She’s always been fair and more than understanding. A woman of both compassion and nerve. Patience and high expectations. Kind and clever. Powerful and polite.

She is everything all at once. She is balance. She has flaws but is simultaneously flawless.

She is the saved and the savior. I know in my soul that she’s the only reason I’ll live to see the next year, but I can’t help but think maybe I’ve done the same for her? Maybe not to such an extreme, but… She saved me from abuse in a way I saved her from loneliness. We both needed homes and found them in each other. Different kinds of homes, for different reasons.

But home nonetheless.

“Did your mother ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?”

A small smile creeps on the corner of her lips as she stretches, her scratchy voice hanging in the air still as a chuckle at her joke. Her eyes flutter open, shining like crystals in the soft lighting.

She’s a diamond in the rough. The rough being life, the diamond being her love. And I’ve suddenly become a poet, even though I’d never speak words like these. Not out loud.

Well… Maybe to her. One day. But nobody else. I wouldn’t want the outside world to hear how she makes me feel because it’s too precious and special. They’re words fit only for her ears, fit only to fill her heart.

Maybe one day, if I work up the courage.

“How long have you been awake?” She asks.

“Only a few minutes,” I reply, kissing her forehead. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like the dead.”

She laughs at her own joke, and I join the orchestra.

“I thought about last night a lot,” she says with a wink, and my cheeks flush. “I’ll have to plan something nice for you next time we can steal away together.”

“We can alternate,” I suggest. “Make a little game of it.”

“So competitive,” she teases. “We still need to have a rematch on chess. I am still convinced you cheated somehow.”

I roll my eyes, resting my head on her chest and groaning sarcastically into her skin.

I feel the vibration of her voice as she laughs, combing my hair with her slender fingers. I take a deep breath, committing her scent to memory so I can carry it with me until I see her next.

“So, I’ve been wondering,” she begins, her tone shifting to a more serious cadence. “What information did your sister give you?”

“She said that there have been disappearances within the military,” I tell her, my eyes closed as I kiss her collarbone. “There are rumors that Gen is running experiments on them. She’s been seen with a mysterious man. They think this guy has a connection to the Night God.”

“That’s concerning,” Rose admits. “But rumors are only rumors. Who knows if it’s true.”

“Exactly,” I reply. “But it is a little too coincidental to be nothing. Whether or not the Night God is involved though? I’m skeptical.”

“Could explain why she’s so batty, though.”

I furrow my brows as I lift my head off her chest. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a chicken or egg situation,” she explains. “People who are already inclined to be evil are more likely to seek His help. However, once they start working with him and making deals, His magic can corrupt. Can exacerbate pre-existing issues or create new ones. Drives people mad.”

“I guess you’re right,” I reply, biting my lip as I consider this. “My worry is Margaery believes Gen can be saved.”

“And you don’t?”

I scoff. “Even if she can be, that’s not my concern. Maybe for Margaery’s sake, I do, but it’s inconsequential to me, considering all she’s done. But, to answer your question, no. I’m not sure she can be. I’m sure Margaery knows that deep down, too. But it’s hard for her.”

“I know how that feels,” she admits. “My family is complicated, as you know. It’s hard sometimes to separate my love for who I wanted them to be from who they really are.”

This time, I hold her to my chest, running my fingers through her hair as I kiss her head. She hasn’t told me much about her upbringing as far as specifics. Only that it was hard, and she lacked love. I also have the inkling that she’s not telling me the whole truth.

I don’t mind, though. I didn’t tell her the whole truth about Genevive until it was forced out of me by circumstance. My only hope is she’ll feel safe enough to tell me before something compels her to.

“Asher, I’m going to miss you,” she mumbles into my neck, curled in a ball on my lap. “When will we see each other again?”

My heart clenches, the mate bond like a rope pulling tighter. Some knots become undone with pressure; others become so tight they can never be undone the more you pull.

The mate bond is the latter, and her pull on me grows stronger with each passing second.

And the further she is away, the longer I go without seeing her… It’s like madness could wash over me. The restless jitter of an addict, except it’s far more profound than a chemical reaction.

“I don’t know, Rose,” I reply. “As soon as possible. That I can promise.”

“How much longer can you stay this morning?”

“At least a few more hours,” I reply, not sure when Gen gets back. But I don’t care. If I’m not home when she arrives, that’s easy enough to explain away. And, even if it weren’t, I wouldn’t care.

We must care. We must keep the peace, or that could negatively affect our family and pack.

I’m well aware of the repercussions of our actions when it comes to Gen, but our mate needs us. She needs us to stay a few more hours.

I know… Cato replies with a longing, heavy sigh. But it may not be the smartest move right now.

“Is your wolf telling you that you need to leave?” Rose asks.

I frown, unwilling to lie to her, despite wanting to so I can put her mind at ease. “He is.”

“Do you think…” She trails off, biting her lip.

“Do I think what?”

“That maybe your wolf isn’t on board with the mate bond thing? Maybe it’s only your soul tethered to me, not his?”

Not true. Not even a little.

I hold her tighter, kissing her head. “Trust me when I say the entirety of my soul belongs to you. And only you.”

“So he’s just nervous about what might happen if Gen doesn’t see you when she gets home?”

“Yes,” I reply. “But I don’t care. I can explain it away or take a beating if that’s what she wants to give. I can’t fight back. We know what happened last time, but I can take it. It’s only temporary.”

“I don’t want you to take a beating for me,” Rose whispers, her face blank and eyes sorrowful.

My heart breaks, my emotions tied to hers like a balloon to a string. I rise and fall with her.

“Don’t worry about me,” I reply. “I want to spend the morning with you. Leaving you would hurt more.”

She settles into my embrace now, taking my words as ones that can’t be argued, even if she wants to. Which, deep down, she doesn’t.

“Mate,” I whisper in her ear, the word sliding off my tongue as if it’s a permanent fixture in my mouth. A tattoo on my tongue. Couldn’t be ripped from me if someone tried.

She smiles, but not wide with excitement. It’s more content. Calm and just for us.

The kind of smile you get when you come home after being away for a long time.

“Mate.”