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

I blink a few times, trying to gather my bearings. I remember the lake and the strange whispers that chased me through the dark. I remember Tristan’s voice calling out to me from a distance. I remember falling…
“Hi,” he says, and it’s such a simple, familiar little word. My mind clings to it like a lifeline as I drag myself into consciousness, and my vision comes into focus.
I’m still in my wet underwear, but we’re no longer by the lake. My head is spinning as I take in my surroundings. We’re in Tristan’s room, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his amber eyes narrowed on me.
“I- I wasn’t trying to run away,” I mumble.
It wasn’t the first thing that came to my mind when I saw him, but for some reason, it’s the first thing that slips out of my mouth. I instantly regret it.
Hurt and anger flash across Tristan’s handsome features, and I’m not sure if it’s because I implied his home was a place to escape or if he’s upset that’s what I’d assumed he’d think of me.
“I don’t care,” he says simply, his tone strained. I try not to flinch at his words.
My limbs feel leaden, and I’m not sure how exactly I ended up tucked under the covers of his bed. He stands, pushing himself off the edge of the mattress to pace around the bed with his arms folded over his chest.
Does he really not care if I leave?
“What were you doing in the lake at this hour?” he asks sharply, and something almost imperceptible shifts in his eyes. He said he doesn’t care, but I could almost swear there’s concern creeping into his voice.
“I wanted to go for a swim. I didn’t mean to worry you,” I say sheepishly, and it sounds like a pathetic excuse even to me.
He pauses his pacing to shake his head in disbelief.
“You wanted to swim?” he asks with a frustrated groan as if he were dealing with a reckless child. “Why didn’t you just say so? I could have gone with you to make sure you were safe. Or Lucy. Any one of us. What were you thinking? It’s the middle of the night, it’s cold and… forget it,” he huffs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just stay there. I’m going to get the healer.”
“No,” I say quickly. The last thing I want is to be examined right now. I’m suddenly extraordinarily aware that I’m almost completely naked under the blanket on his bed. How much of me did Tristan see? “I mean, that’s not necessary. I’m fine.”
He looks at me, brows furrowing over his elegant eyes.
“You passed out,” he says slowly, some of the annoyance melting from his expression. “You could’ve hurt yourself. You might have hit your head. If you have a concussion—”
“I’m fine, Tristan.”
He stops short, eyes widening slightly in surprise like he’s unaccustomed to hearing his own name on my lips. I shut my eyes tightly to block out the sight of him, taking a deep breath. I can’t think straight when he’s looking at me, and whatever happened at the lake still has me rattled.
After a moment, I open my eyes, and I find that he’s still standing by the side of the bed, his features softened.
“Alright.”
I wriggle under the covers, moving to sit up. I’m still holding the blanket against me to cover myself, and Tristan is instantly by my side, the mattress shifting under his weight.
“Easy,” he says, his tone firm but patient as his hand wraps around the back of my head, supporting me as I prop myself up against the head of the bed. His calloused fingers graze the skin between my neck and shoulder as he helps me, and I feel my pulse quicken at his touch. Almost unconsciously, his thumb brushes the nape of my neck in a comforting little caress, and the softness of his touch sends a chill down my spine. Tristan frowns, surveying me once again.
“You’re trembling. You chose a cold night for your swim. We’ll have to warm you up.”
Heat rises to my cheeks as he stands again. “What? No. I told you, I’m okay,” I mutter, too flustered to make sense. “I feel fine. You don’t have to—”
“Relax, little flower,” he says with a hint of amusement. “I’m not suggesting I get under the covers with you. I’m just going to draw a warm bath for you, so you don’t catch a cold.”
“Oh,” I reply, feeling incredibly foolish and self-conscious.
He heads into the adjoining bathroom, and I wait on the bed while he gets the water running, unsure of what else I should do.
The Exiled Alpha, King of Outcasts, is drawing me a bath.
This is, without a doubt, one of the strangest nights of my life.
Tristan walks back into the room, returning to the bedside.
“How do you feel?” he asks, and there’s a tenderness behind the question that makes my breath hitch.
“I’m okay. I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.”
He sighs, more with defeat than frustration this time. “Please stop apologizing.”
“Sorry,” I reply instinctively and immediately feel silly. The corner of his lip twitches in the faintest of smiles, and I chuckle a little awkwardly. “You’re… you’re really not angry with me?”
He pauses for a moment, considering his next words. “I’m a little annoyed,” he says at last. “I’m upset that you could’ve endangered yourself. I’m confused as to why you did it. But no, I’m not angry, flower. Not at you.”
Perhaps it’s not the most polite or perfect answer, but it’s sincere, and somehow, that’s so much better. It makes me want to be honest with him too.
“Lucy and Nico told me about your father and everything that happened with the Albion pack,” I say slowly, my words measured as I watch his reaction. His jaw clenches, and his muscles go taut, but he says nothing, so I go on. “I didn’t want to cause any more conflict at dinner, and I just got this feeling looking out at the lake… like I wanted to wash the past away. A fresh start. It sounds stupid when I. try to explain it…”
“No, it doesn’t,” he says suddenly, his expression stern and filled with unexpected understanding. “I still wish you hadn’t gone alone, but I can understand wanting a clean slate.”
But there are stains on my skin that will never fade, and suddenly, I’m overcome with the need to know if he knows that too.
“When you found me… was I…. could you…?” I can’t find the right words, and I stare down at my lap to avoid his gaze. “How much did you see?”
There’s a tense silence that follows that threatens to swallow up my question, but then Tristan shifts slightly from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and I watch wordlessly as he clenches his hands into fists as if it takes a physical effort to hold back the full wrath of his reply.
“Enough,” he says, at last, his eyes distant and unfocused. “I saw enough.”
I’m not sure what to do with that, so I just nod. He still won’t look at me, and for some reason, I can’t stand the quiet pain that darkens his gaze, the quiet anger that clouds his face.
“My mother never mated,” I blurt out, desperate to fill the silence. “She went crazy before she had me, so my birth was a source of shame for the Bane pack. After I was born with violet eyes and no father, my uncle decided I was a mutant mutt. Things only got worse when… when I didn’t manifest a wolf.”
There it is. My terrible secret. My fatal flaw. My disgrace.
But Tristan does not shy away from it. After a long moment, he turns to look at me, and the compassion in his eyes is enough to bring tears to mine.
“You have the scars of a survivor, flower,” he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “The only ones who should be ashamed are the ones who gave them to you.”
Silent tears trickle from my eyes, streaming down my cheeks, and when he reaches out to brush them away, I let him.
“You cannot blame yourself for what you didn’t choose. Don’t punish yourself for what you can’t control,” he adds, and I feel myself shatter beneath him when he presses a feather-soft kiss to my forehead.
I am a mosaic, shards of myself glued together by his words until the pieces of me are remade into something new. Not clean or pure, but broken and beautiful.
“But if anyone ever tries to hurt you like that again,” Tristan goes on, his voice husky and hot against my skin, “I will tear their heart out.”
And for the first time in a long time—perhaps the first time ever—I am not afraid.