The Wolf God's Unwanted Luna

Chapter 61: THE FEATHER

I groaned and rubbed at the persistent itch on my nose, hoping it would stop long enough to let me drift back to sleep. No such luck. It returned just as quickly, dragging me out of whatever fragile dream I’d been clinging to.

Blinking open my eyes, I squinted against the soft blur in front of me. Something feathery and white hovered right in my line of vision. I blinked again, more awake this time, just in time to hear a low, amused chuckle.

The feather belonged to none other than Zaliver, who was crouched beside my bed with that signature smirk tugging at his lips. He looked far too pleased with himself, clearly the one behind my rude awakening. I almost smiled out of reflex, but then everything from last night hit me again like a crashing wave.

My smile died before it could surface. I pressed my lips together and said nothing, letting silence be my answer. His expression faltered slightly. He didn’t try to explain, and I didn’t ask for one.

Then came the smell, warm, delicious, and way too close. My stomach betrayed me with a loud growl. Zaliver gently moved the feather aside, revealing a breakfast tray resting over my lap, complete with a single red rose.

I looked at it for a long moment. The rose was fresh, not store-bought, the kind that meant someone had gone looking for it early. The food was still warm, which meant he’d timed it. He’d thought about this, planned it, arranged it, and then woken me up with a feather so the tray would be the first thing I properly saw. It was so specifically, deliberately him that I felt the tightness in my chest pull in two directions at once.

I still hadn’t forgiven him. But I wasn’t made of stone either.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said softly. "Breakfast in bed to start your day."

I didn’t meet his eyes. "Thanks," I murmured, picking up the fork just to give my hands something to do. I wasn’t all that hungry yet, and the weight of his gaze made it worse. I hated eating with someone watching me like that, especially him. It felt too intimate, too vulnerable.

As if sensing that, he shifted his focus, reaching for a loose strand of my hair. He started playing with it, then twisting it experimentally. I didn’t stop him. I don’t think he even realized he was doing it at first. Eventually, he attempted to braid it, fumbling awkwardly. I could feel the gentle tugs and restarts as he tried again and again until he finally got the hang of it.

Once I was done eating, though I barely touched half, he noticed immediately.

"That’s all you’re eating?" he asked, clearly worried.

I nodded.

He stared at me a little longer, like he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself. With a quiet sigh, he set the tray down on the floor and sat at the foot of the bed, just near my legs.

Silence settled between us again, but not the comforting kind. It was the kind that came after things were said and done and couldn’t be taken back.