The Wolf God's Unwanted Luna

Chapter 153: The Second Reason

I heard Zaliver chuckle a low, deeply amused sound that vibrated through the quiet bedroom. I yanked the plush pillow down just far enough to shoot him a razor-sharp glare, desperately hoping he’d get the clear message that I was not in the mood for his teasing.

"This is so not funny, Zaliver," I grumbled, my tone entirely flat with irritation.

He grinned down at me, completely unfazed by my dark scowl. "It kinda is," he said, chuckling once more as if I hadn’t just nearly gone feral on his Beta only a few hours ago.

I scowled deeply and buried my warm face straight back into the soft pillow. "No, it’s not. My wolf literally tried to rip those guys apart because of... well, you know." My voice faded off into a awkward mumble. I couldn’t even bring myself to say the embarrassing words out loud.

"It’s completely normal behavior for a beast. Nothing to be ashamed of," he said, his deep voice calm and entirely matter-of-fact.

When the intense heat finally faded from my cheeks and I could at last meet his eyes without wanting to crawl beneath the mattress to hide, I slowly lifted my head again.

"Alc... Algebra told me about Aurora and..." I trailed off awkwardly, a heavy wave of sadness tugging at the sharp edges of my words. The tragic weight in the air wrapped tightly around both of us. What truly surprised me was that Zaliver didn’t flinch at the sudden mention of the past.

"And Andrew," he finished quietly, his tone dropping into a solemn hush.

I hadn’t known the young child’s name before that very moment. Somehow, knowing his actual name made the entire tragedy feel far more real, and infinitely sadder. The three A’s: Aurora, Andrew, Algebra. My chest ached with a sudden, dull pain for all of them.

I nodded my head slowly, keeping my eyes fixed on his.

"I figured he would eventually tell you. I keep constant tabs on your emotional state, and when his dipped that exceptionally low earlier, there were only a few distinct possibilities. That specific one made the most sense," he said, his voice dipping further into a deep, sorrowful register.

A far-off look filled his pale blue eyes something distant, dark, and deeply pained. I could tell that he had known the little boy personally, too. A thick silence settled between us like a soft, heavy blanket. I chose not to ask him anything more about Andrew; I could tell this wasn’t just a casual story to be shared over a quiet night. It was an open, painful wound, and it wasn’t mine to touch.