Page 57 of Ruthless Moon

“Noah will ensure everything goes according to plan. Just one more moon run, Imogen. After that, the festivities begin.” My father flashes a devilish smile—a smile that says he knows exactly how I feel and he doesn’t give a single solitary fuck.

His back rigid and imposing, he turns on his heel and strides toward the SUV. The early morning sun casts long shadows, making him appear even more menacing. Without sparing another glance, he slides into the vehicle, leaving behind a thick fog-like tension. The SUV’s engine roars to life, and drives away, leaving the three of us locked in an uncomfortable, almost suffocating silence.

The dust settles. Nature starts chirping again, asserting its dominance. Noah quickly closes the distance between us, freaking me out more than a little bit.

Every muscle in my body tenses. I take a step back, feeling the cool morning grass beneath my feet.

A low, primal growl reverberates through Liam, his body moving fluidly to intercept Noah’s advance. “You may be here on Oliver’s order, but Gen is under Aiden’s protection. My brothers and I have this well in hand, so I suggest you keep your distance.”

Noah inclines his head, staring at Liam with a hawk-like intensity. His silence is eerie, his gaze dissecting. “Fine,” he finally says. The word is laced with unspoken challenges and accusations.

He retreats, sinking into one of the oversize Adirondack chairs. The wood creaks slightly under his weight. His eyes never leave either of us.

The air I’d been holding hostage in my lungs escapes in a shuddering exhale. My heart still races, thumping loudly in the hollow of my throat.

Liam gestures at the cabin door, and I obey wordlessly. The heavy door closes behind us with a finality that sends yet another shiver down my spine.

We walk through the cabin, our movements slow and deliberate, as if we’re treading on thin ice. He snatches a few squares of toilet paper and one of my black eyeliner pencils, hastily scribbling down a message.

Not safe. Can’t stay. Suspicious. Woods w/brothers.

I nod in understanding.

He tosses the message in the toilet and flushes. Then he leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead before leaving me alone in the claustrophobic silence of the bathroom.

Another stolen day.

Another day of fear and hiding, instead of hidden moments of joy with the man who should be my mate.

But he’s right to leave.

Noah’s dangerous.

But now I’m left alone to marinate in my thoughts.

I roll over in the comfort of my bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin, creating a cocoon of warmth against the chill that seeped into my bones. My gaze drifts up to the overflowing bookshelves, each spine a testament to the fantasy worlds I’ve delved into. Worlds these authors glorified and romanticized, infusing the everyday with a shimmer of magick.

Yet what they seem to overlook is that even magick can’t always triumph over corruption, or anger, or the insatiable thirst for power.

Sure, these books are brimming with tales of good versus evil. But in those woven worlds, good always wins. The promise of a happily-ever-after is a beacon at the end of their trials.

The reason I continued to read them is simpler—they offer a glimmer of hope. That perhaps someday I too can possess a fraction of the happiness these fictional characters attain by the end of their journey.

A ribbon of sunlight sneaks through the blinds. The glaring brightness of the afternoon paints the cabin in a warm, deceptive glow. The entire day, I’ve been holed up inside—a prisoner in my own home. Reading, sleeping, picking at snacks, and only daring to creep near the locked door to ensure it remains that way. Ensuring Noah can’t waltz in uninvited.

I can hear him on the porch, still sitting in that chair. Once, he knocked on my door, asking for something to eat. I’d refused, heart pounding in my throat. No way was I letting him inside my cabin while I was alone.

His response—a frustrated kick against the door—had only reaffirmed my instincts to be wary of him.

A soft knock a few minutes later and the sound of my whispered name on the other side of the door pulls me from my bed again. It’s Jackson this time. The wisdom behind Liam’s absence is not lost on me. We can’t afford any more stolen looks or silent exchanges under Noah’s surveillance.

I open the door and assure Jackson everything is fine. My voice remains steady, my expression composed. The art of disguising raging emotions is a skill I’ve honed over many years of practice.

Jackson takes his leave and once I lock the door behind him, I take refuge in the shower once again. But the hot water does little to wash away the anxious energy humming beneath my skin.

Next I seek solace in another nap, crawling back into the sanctuary of my bed. And now here I am, restlessly flipping back and forth, boredom prodding at me randomly like a malfunctioning cattle prod.

My heart pounds in my chest every time I think about stepping outside and facing Noah. Talking to him. Looking at him. The man my father left to watch over me is patiently waiting for me to make a mistake so he can take his pound of flesh.

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