Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 40: A Way Out
Karl
The sting of rejection pulses through me, acute and raw, as I distance myself from Abby’s place.
My footsteps echo through the quiet city streets, the usual hustle and bustle of the nightlife seemingly
dimmed tonight. Each step aligns with the rapid beat of my heart.
I can’t shake the feel of her, the nearness of our last moment.
Abby looked beautiful. She clearly put a lot of effort into her appearance today; her hair and nails
looked freshly done, she was wearing makeup, and a gorgeous dress.
A few years ago, I might have been bothered by the way that she dressed tonight. But lately, for some
reason I’ve been finding myself attracted to it. She’s se xy, always has been, but is somehow even
sexier now.
But what pi sses me off more than anything is that she was dressing like that for another man who
doesn’t even show any interest in her despite the ring he put on her finger. What gives? Why won’t she
just leave him already?
Shoving my hands deep into my pockets, I aimlessly kick a small rock ahead of me. Its journey,
haphazard and unpredictable, mirrors the state of my own emotions.
“She wanted me,” I find myself mumbling aloud, holding onto the raw intensity of our almost-kiss.
My wolf stirs within, a familiar presence anchoring my thoughts. “She did,” he rumbles in agreement.
“But she held back. If you’d just be patient and let her come to you, she’d see the depth of our love”
“I did let her come to me,” I reply. “She’s the one who called me tonight. But at the end of it, she still

can’t stop thinking about that pr ick.”
My wolf growls in annoyance. “Give her time.”
The anger is right there, bubbling at the surface. “Time? And for what? For Adam?” I snap, frustration
bleeding into every word. “Who leaves their fiancée high and dry like that? Especially when she clearly
put in so much effort?”
A car horn in the distance snaps me back momentarily, but my wolf’s voice, deeper and more
introspective, grounds me again. “She’s changed. She’s not the young girl we once knew. She’s a
woman now, more intricate, more nuanced. You have to adapt.”
Bitterness takes hold. “Did you see her tonight?” I spit. “The lengths she went to for him? The hair,
makeup, that dress...” The words come out more as a growl. I don’t keep them in my head like I
probably should, but say them out loud, unable to contain my anger.
And yet, my wolf muses, a soft chuckle punctuating my thoughts. “She resisted you. That tells you
something.”
I can’t help the growl that rises in my throat, frustration evident. “She wants me. It’s palpable. I felt it,
every dam n second.”

My wolf is calm in his rebuttal, his wisdom clear. “Wanting and acting on it are worlds apart. You broke
her heart. She’s cautious now. You can’t simply push and expect her to yield.”
I halt, drawing in a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs. It’s hard to admit, but there’s truth in
what my wolf says.
“You might be right,” I murmur, the weight of realization pressing down.
“Show her the change. Be genuine. Earn her trust,” my wolf advises, his tone firm. “A true leader knows
when to assert and when to listen.”
I take a moment, lost in thought. The journey back to my apartment is nearing its end, and I’m not sure
I’m ready to face the solitude of my own space. But I can’t wander the streets forever.
“Tomorrow,” I whisper to myself, thinking of Abby, of what I need to do. Tomorrow, I’ll find a way to show
her. My wolf rumbles in agreement, its presence a constant reminder that this fight, this pursuit, is far
from over.
...
The evening shadows stretch long against the hardwood floors of my apartment, dancing in harmony
with the gentle flicker of a solitary candle on the coffee table.

I’m caught in contemplation, my fingers mindlessly caressing the leather armrest of my chair. It’s an old
piece, weathered from time and countless brooding sessions—much like the thoughts whirling within
my mind.
Adam. The very mention of his name leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Every time I think of him letting
Abby down, I’m tempted to intervene. But tonight, it’s not just Abby or Adam that burdens my thoughts.
My phone buzzes to life on the table beside me, momentarily breaking my reverie. The screen
illuminates Gianna’s name, my ever-efficient secretary. Swiping to answer, I keep my voice steady.
“What’s up, Gianna?”
“Alpha,” she starts, a hint of hesitation evident in the tone of her voice, “there’s something you should
know.”
“Go on,” I urge, straightening up.
“Someone’s been seen around your foster brother’s residence. There’s talk that he might be waking up
from his coma,” she reveals.
The news hits me harder than I’d like to admit. My foster brother’s reawakening would surely reshape
the dynamics of our pack. My grip tightens unconsciously around the phone. “Do we know who?”
“No names yet, but I’m digging.”
“Keep me posted,” I murmur, disconnecting the call.
The silence of the apartment suddenly feels stifling. Images of a once-bustling house, filled with the
laughter and camaraderie of two brothers, come rushing back. But time, with its cruel twists, has
changed the narrative. If he does wake, there’s no telling how the power balance will shift.

But that’s not my main focus right now. I need to focus on Abby. On getting her back.
A glint from the corner of the room catches my eye. The rare ingredients that I’ve ordered are finally
ready, and I know that once I present them to Adam, he won’t be able to resist.
Resolute, I decide to act. The city’s hues of dawning twilight guide me the next day, the sun casting
golden streams through the modern glass buildings, leading me to Adam’s restaurant.
It’s an impressive place, a stark contrast to the rustic charm of Abby’s restaurant. Opulence drips from
every corner—crystal chandeliers, plush velvet seats, and gold-trimmed counters. As I seat myself at
the bar, I catch glimpses of the city’s elite, lost in their world of gastronomic delights.
I order a glass of their finest red, letting the ruby liquid swirl in my glass as I wait.
Minutes turn to an eternity before Adam finally comes into view. He’s in his element, ensuring every
dish that leaves the kitchen is up to his exacting standards. But then, our eyes lock.
I can almost feel the air around us charge with tension.
He navigates through the crowd with practiced ease, his face a mask of faux surprise.
“Karl,” he greets, his voice dripping with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, “I wasn’t expecting you
here.”
I swirl my wine glass, watching the liquid dance. “Thought I’d try something different today.”
Adam’s eyes narrow, assessing. “You’re not here for the food, are you?”
“No,” I admit, meeting his gaze. The energy between us is palpable, a battle of wills. “I needed to talk.”
Adam looks around, his eyes darting to the exits, then back to his bustling kitchen, and finally resting
on me. He swallows, visibly perturbed. “What is it?”