Chapter 153: _ The Past Hurts
Lira’s lips press together in a thin line. Then turns softer as if she is sulking: "Fine. But I’m still pissed at you."
Morgan quirks a brow, feigning innocence. "At me? Whatever for?"
Lira crosses her arms, stepping back just enough to create a mini space between them, though her body still tilts toward him like a plant leaning toward sunlight. "You know what you did." Her lower lip juts forward, shaking as if she’s holding back something bigger than her sulk.
Morgan sighs, resisting the urge to rub his temples, but forced to make the kind of sound meant to make her feel like she’s ridiculous but adored all at once. "You’ll have to enlighten me, sweetheart. My sins are so many, I lose track."
She gasps, affronted, and swats at his chest. "Don’t say that like you’re proud of it."
Inside, Luke smirks. "Oh, but we ARE proud. Every single one is a bead on the necklace and we’ll strangle them when the time comes."
Damn right, boy—Morgan agrees.
Outwardly, he lets his mouth twitch into something apologetic. "Alright. What crime am I paying for this time?"
Her eyes narrow. "You left me waiting too long."
That’s it? That’s the dagger she’s trying to drive into him? Morgan almost laughs, the sharp bark of it threatening to slip through his teeth. He manages to hold it back, pressing a hand dramatically over his chest. "Guilty as charged. And here I thought you’d accuse me of something actually scandalous."
She scowls harder. "It is scandalous. I sat here wondering if you were even going to show up."
Morgan studies the crease between her brows, the way her hands twist together despite her anger. She’s so convinced her temper makes her fierce. But to him, it only makes her transparent. Predictable. Easy.
He leans in until his breath brushes her ear. "And did you really think I’d deprive myself of you?"
The shiver that runs through her body is immediate and involuntary. He can practically hear the way her heart picks up, the way her brain dissolves into syrup just because he strings the right words together.
Pathetic. Useful. Mine to play with until she becomes my knife against Amias.
Her pout disappears, replaced by that breathless look he knows so well. "Sometimes I wonder," she murmurs.
Morgan tilts her chin so she has no choice but to meet his gaze. His thumb grazes her jaw with the gentlest threat of pressure. "Never wonder again."
She melts, of course. She always melts. Her fingers curl into his shirt like she’s anchoring herself to him. "You drive me crazy, Morgan."
He smiles, wolfish this time, letting it reach his eyes because she wants to see devotion there. "Good. That means I’m doing something right."
Her laugh is shaky, caught somewhere between exasperation and delight. She pushes at him half-heartedly, then clings again.
For a fleeting second, his mind wanders, but not with her. It is with words from long ago. A memory, unbidden, slicing through the moment like a shard of broken glass.
"What about the boy? What if he suspects you are not his mother?" Tobias’s voice whispered behind closed doors.
"You mean he’ll find out he’s Alyssa’s. He’ll never know. He can’t know what we did." Rayne shakes her head.
"As soon as he’s old enough, we’ll make him useful and send him far away. Every time I see him, I’m reminded we had to murder your twin to protect our relationship." Tobias sighs.
Rayne almost grabs his collar. "And you think I’ve never thought of this? You think it doesn’t haunt me that we had to silence my twin sister and make her boy my son’s twin?"
"Fine then. Let him grow enough to be sent on a mission outside of the pack. Until then, keep him quiet. Don’t let him suspect." Tobias raises his hands in surrender.
Morgan’s hands freeze against Lira’s body at the memory. For half a breath, the present room dissolves. The dust, the moonlight, her perfume heavy in his nose — all of it eclipsed by that old memory. That moment, hidden behind the staircase when he was a boy, ears straining, heart pounding while he realizes how his entire life had been built on a lie. The first time he realized he wasn’t who they told him he was.
A muscle jumps in his jaw. He blinks, drags himself back. Lira hasn’t noticed; she’s too busy searching his face for signs of affection.
Morgan forces his lips back into a smile. "You’re beautiful when you’re angry."
Her cheeks flush, and she ducks her head as though the compliment has turned her bones to liquid. Exactly as he intends.
"Don’t think flattery will get you out of trouble," she mumbles.
"Flattery?" He chuckles. "No, darling. Truth." He bends, brushing his mouth against hers in a kiss calculated to make her forget why she was mad in the first place.
Her hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer. The syrupy perfume clogs his throat, but he doesn’t let it show. He kisses her like she matters, like she’s the axis his world spins on and not Heidi, that Moon Blessed she hates so much whom he would make sure gets everything Lira ever desires.
Yet, he kisses Lira like he didn’t just remember the moment his entire life cracked in two.
Inside, his wolf snarls. Luke wants to shove her away, wants to tear down the walls, wants to scream that she’s a distraction from the vengeance they crave and an offence to their mate.
But Morgan knows better. A knife doesn’t complain when you sharpen it. A knife doesn’t argue about how you use it. And that’s all Lira is — a knife. Pretty, eager, sharp enough if wielded correctly.
When he finally pulls back, her eyes are glazed, lips swollen. Perfect.
He smooths a strand of hair from her cheek, his expression all tender concern. "Now, tell me. Why would you ever be pissed at me, hm? Haven’t I given you everything you asked for? And don’t I have more in store for you? You’re going to be my Luna when I finally become the Alpha, Lira. You’re the real queen."