Page 32 of King of Moon and Claws

But alas, that was not what occurred. Tavish knocked again on the door just as the King’s hand rounded Elora’s firm bum, and he peeled himself from her. Her flavor buzzed on his lips, her scent a stranglehold on his words.

They were both out of breath, staring, and in shock. It was like one was waiting for the other to make a move, to fight what was final.

“I’m sorry, sir…”

“Hold your damn horses, Tavish,” he said, running his thumb along his lips.

He cleared his throat, adjusted his clothing, and ran his hands through his hair. Elora stood still, utterly mirthless.

“I wish you a good life, Elora. I do. Nerys will help you prepare to leave. I will never forget you. Now, I must go."

He moved past her like anchors were tied to his ankles. Bastian could hear the crowd roaring under the beating of rainfall. He had to do what was right for his kingdom, even if it meant leaving his bleeding heart on the floor of the staff kitchen.

He rushed past her, his fingers still tracing along his lips. From that moment on, she would be a ghost to him, and he would function on a haunted plane of existence. His feet were no longer his own. His mouth not his own. It all belonged to her, and he left her standing in the kitchen.

But the king kept moving. Upstairs, to his quarters, to change into his military gear. He had to do this for his people.

Everything within him wanted to wake from the wretched nightmare.

NINETEEN

ELORA

Bastian left the kitchen, a fog of shock settling over Elora’s heart. Though she meant every word she spoke, Elora didn’t believe that the protective, controlling alpha that was Bastian the Wolf King would ever accept her plea. A part of her wanted him to refuse, or even to beg her to reconsider. Either would have been a display of emotion, any kind at all.

But instead, he’d left her as hollow as he’d found her. He’d reverted into his state as king. Proper, valiant, indifferent to the plight of the unworthy peasant.

It was a sickly thought and feeling, but Elora really couldn’t argue with him. She’d said her piece, used her logic, and he agreed. Men were often strangled into silence when misery took them over, even if they were a king.

Elora walked out of the staff kitchen and floated toward the guest room. The reality of what she had just done began to sink in like a stone falling into a well. There wasn’t anything for her to pack. Even the clothes she wore, the soft and damp silk robe, weren’t hers.

She had started to carve out an entirely new life with Bastian and had decided to toss it away. But it wasn’t haphazard. It was thoroughly thought out. But that didn’t mean the results had to be to her liking.

Heavy with sadness and having traveled halfway through the castle before realizing the venture was pointless, Elora spotted movements from the window she was passing. She approached it and saw Bastian, having changed into his military command uniform, tight and taut to his powerful form.

The king spoke to his people from a podium as rain streaked through the air, gesturing with zeal, his presence commanding and brave. Elora watched him, her eyes glassing over with tears.

It was unlikely that she would ever find a man that extraordinary ever again. One so righteous, honorable, committed, and selfless in bed. He checked every box when it came to being a lifelong romantic partner. Except for the part that required her to alter her entire identity.

She was confident that Bastian wouldn’t have forced her into the direction of being a war witch, but existing between the two conflicting paranormals meant that the development was more than inevitable. Whether Vasilis continued his ploy in seeking her out, or if the wolves required her abilities, she was going to compromise a big part of who she was.

There was no earthly way that Elora could see herself giving into evil for anyone's sake. She had a strong moral code, and harming anyone, especially the king who had snuck into her bones and heart, felt utterly unthinkable.

Elora wiped her eyes and turned from the window, lost in her mourning, then bumped into someone who had been coming down the hallway.

“Sorry,” she muttered, her hands still shielding her vision.

“Where are you off to, darling?"

The voice was that of Serife, who gave Elora a broad and friendly smile. Elora felt fury surge up from her stomach and into her throat.

She took a step back, and Serife’s one lavender-tinted eye glistened under the torchlight. She seemed excited to see Elora again so soon, and that frightened her.

“Have you decided to go to the witch academy? Because that would be just incredible.”

Serife tried to reach out with a cordial gesture, but Elora took another step back, the heel of her foot grazing the wall. The witch ambassador contorted her features, the flicker of light in her eye fading.

“Why would you ask me something like that?” Elora cried out. “I see through you now, Serife. All that comradery was an act.”

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