The Nameless Luna – Book One: The Girl With Violet Eyes

“Please.”
The plea escapes me before I can think twice about it, and Tristan stops, his back still turned to me. He doesn’t face me, but he’s no longer bolting for the door. I take a few shaky breaths, trying to steady myself as my head spins. I let myself collapse onto the bed, hunching forward facedown, so my forehead is resting on the mattress as I struggle to gather my bearings.
I don’t have the energy or the good sense to consider my next words, so I just let them tumble out. “Please don’t go.”
I hear him turning back toward me, but I remain curled up on the bed, shaking slightly.
“Why?” he asks, but it is more of an accusation than a question. He must think I’m mad. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I’ve lost my mind at last. Is this what my mother felt like? Am I damned to suffer the same fate as she did?
I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know what I could possibly say to explain myself or to apologize. I want to thank him for comforting me, thank him for his patience and concern for me. It’s more than anyone has ever shown me.
I think of the way he held Oscar’s hand in a death grip before my cousin could hit me, and how he let me climb onto his back when I was too weak to run. I think of how he snapped at his Beta at dinner, and the way he seemed almost apologetic when he came to check on me after.
‘All this trouble, and I still don’t even know your name.’
It’s the least I can give him.
“I…” I start, and my voice is unsteady as I lift my head from the bed but keep my eyes lowered. “I don’t have a name.”
Silence. My head is hanging, my gaze fixed on my hands curled into the sheets below me.
“You wanted to know what I’m called,” I go on, filling the silence with my hushed words. “But I couldn’t tell you. My father abandoned my mother without mating with her. I never knew who he was or where I came from, and my mother…” She lost her mind. She had a cursed child with violet eyes and no father that drove her mad until she died. “My mother died when I was just a baby, so I was raised by her brother, Viktor.”
Tristan lets out a sharp breath, and it dawns on me that he never even knew that I was the Alpha’s niece. He probably never would have guessed it from the way Viktor and Oscar treated me. It might not have been the best idea to reveal that I’m related to his enemy.
Please, please don’t hate me…
“Viktor, is your uncle?” he asks, and when I nod to confirm, he curses under his breath. I flinch.
“He doesn’t consider me family,” I add, which is actually true. “My mother was unmarked, and I’m illegitimate, so he never considered me his kin. He was just… my guardian.”
My warden is more like it, but I keep the thought to myself.
“And he never gave you a name? No one in your pack did?” he asks, and I can’t quite make out the emotion behind his tone.
I glance up at him from where I’m huddled on the bed. He’s standing a few feet away, completely still, watching me with an unreadable expression on his face. The softness, openness, and curiosity that were there a few minutes ago while he held me in bed are gone. But he is also no longer glaring at me in anger.
I shake my head no.
“What did they call you?” he asks, his voice guarded and his words measured.
Nothing kind. Nothing worth repeating.
I shrug, lowering my eyes again, not wanting to see the disgust that surely fill his. I fidget uncomfortably, feeling the heat of his gaze on my skin. I rub at the birthmark on my chest absently, but there is no pain there. Whatever I felt earlier is gone, and all that remains is this tension filling the air, clouding the space between us.
After a while, I look up at him again, but he seems farther away somehow, like he’s retreated into himself. I bite my lower lip, wondering if I’ve ruined everything.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before; when you asked my name, I didn’t know what to say,” I try to explain. “I’m sorry for running away at dinner. And sorry for waking you up tonight. I’m sorry I—’
“Don’t,” he says, his voice still quiet, but there’s something firm and commanding behind the word. He stops for a moment, considering what to say next. His gaze tickles my skin like an invisible caress, and I feel suddenly exposed in nothing but a shirt and underthings.
Even in the darkness of the room, I feel as though I’ve somehow bared myself to him, and I cannot stand to imagine what he must think of me. I cannot stand the thought of that familiar disgust and disdain that comes from seeing the broken pieces of another person. Of seeing me.
I tuck my legs into my chest, turning away from him to reach for the tangled pile of blankets by the edge of the bed.
After a long moment, Tristan sighs and says, “You don’t have to apologize. If there was anything for me to forgive, I would. But there isn’t.” With that, he turns away once again. He lingers in the doorway, tearing his attention away from me to glance down at the door handle with a sudden frown. “You can lock the door if it makes you feel safer,” he tells me at last. “But at least for tonight, I’m glad that you didn’t.”
I wonder what he would have done if I had. Would he have knocked down the door to reach me when he heard me scream? Or would the enchanted house simply have opened it for him?
“Get some rest,” he says, and he closes the door behind him.
I crawl back under the covers, but briefly consider getting up to lock the door behind him. After a few minutes of lying in the darkness, I slip out of bed and head for the door, the floor cold under my bare feet.
Eventually, I go back to bed, and I sleep soundly the rest of the night, the door of my room left slightly open.