The Nameless Luna – Book Two: What Binds and Breaks: Chapter 1

Tristan
As it turns out, my little flower takes the matter of blossoming very seriously.
Since our meeting with Sophie, the girl has dedicated herself to growing, as if she could nurture the power hidden within her until it becomes strong enough to spill out.
When she first arrived at the Villa du Lac, she was all skin and bones, but after just over a month with the Rovers, the changes are already visible. She is still slender and small, but the sharp edges and skeletal frame have softened. Her pale skin has a warmer hue after working so much in the gardens, her cheeks plump and rosy rather than hollow and sunken. Weeks of proper rest have wiped away the dark circles under her eyes, and even her golden hair seems silkier than before.
I tasked Amara with teaching her basic self-defense. I want her to feel safe and strong, especially while she cannot manifest her wolf to defend herself. I thought about training her myself, but after seeing her old pack’s handiwork, I was not sure if she’d feel comfortable with a man in that kind of physical situation. Besides, Amara has softened up to the girl. She’s developed a fondness for her that I did not expect, graciously taking her under her wing.
Every morning at sunrise, she trains with her on the villa’s patio overlooking the lake. Just because Amara likes the girl does not mean she goes easy on her. I insisted she start slow, with stretching and basic strength-building first. Still, by the second week, Amara was teaching her how to get out of a basic chokehold.
Perhaps that is also why I tasked Amara to train her. I trusted her to know when to hold back and when to push. From what she’s reported back to me, the violet-eyed girl has taken everything Amara has thrown at her with grace and determination, moving past her uncertainty and fear to learn how to roll with the punches.
Literally.
Sophie has also started tutoring her a few times a week, teaching her the ways in which science and magic have shaped our lands. My mate visits her frequently in the Seer’s little cabin, often taking potted plants and vases of flowers as gifts and returning with baskets of cookies and other treats from Sophie.
When she’s not listening to Sophie’s stories and histories or tending to the garden, she accompanies Lucy and Nico on errands downtown. She’s learned her way around the Rovers’ village, and when she walks through the cobbled streets, several pack members smile and wave at her in greeting.
Apparently, she’s developed a habit of bringing everyone flowers.
When I asked her about it one day, she merely shrugged with a sheepish little smile.
‘I’ve never been very good at… talking,’ she said, shaking her head in a way that made her long blonde waves bounce around her face. ‘But flowers can speak volumes. They have meaning, you know? I once found a book in my uncle’s library about how flowers were used to send messages many years ago. There’s a whole language growing in your garden. Sometimes I think I’m better with plants than with people… It’s silly, but… flowers I’m good at.’
She proceeded to explain that a begonia could be a warning, and rosemary is a sign of remembrance. Morning glory and ivy mean affection and friendship, and myrtle is a wish for good luck. One could even declare love with a red tulip and proclaim war with a tansy.
I don’t remember much beyond that, but I remember how the girl’s eyes shone when she talked about it.
We have not been close since that night when her mark glowed in the bath, though I can still taste her damp lips when I close my eyes. Perhaps that is also why I tasked Amara with her training and Sophie with her tutoring.
I do not trust myself around her.
I cannot tell whether it’s the mating bond or just… her. But being around her has become increasingly intoxicating. Her soft curves and gentle hand, her plump lips and their kind smile, her wide, haunting eyes full of secrets and sorrow and so much hope underneath it all. Soft and sweet as a petal.
Sometimes I worry I’ll lose myself in the scent of her, in the sensation of having her near me. Other times, when nights become cold, and my thoughts of her grow hot, I feel as though I could crush her with how much I want her. On those nights when I find myself longing to have her by my side, I remember the scars on her skin. I think of the mark on her chest, and the notion of her pain is enough to make me burn in an entirely different way.
Underneath it all, I can’t shake a single foreboding uncertainty in the back of my mind.
Is this what killed my father?
The question scratches against my thoughts like nails on a chalkboard.
This girl is the niece of an Alpha I despise. Her past is shrouded in mystery, and even though Sophie insists she is essential for the future of the Rovers and we must be patient, the questions are starting to pile up. There is so much we don’t know about her, and so much I don’t understand.
But for the first time, I understand why my father did not discover my mother’s betrayal sooner. My flower could be poison, and I’d still fight to protect her. I’d fight for her with everything that I am, and it terrifies me. There’s an almost primal need within me to see her safe and cared for. To see her happy.
But my mother was once my father’s fate. She was his wife and his mate, marked and bonded. He’d looked to her in the end when his treacherous Beta prepared to strike the killing blow. My father had looked at my mother, and though he had every reason to hate her, there’d been no rage in his eyes. No anger.
I was just a boy at the time, held back by the other pack members while Jacob won his wicked challenge. I’d seen regret on my father’s face but not rage. Not even resentment toward the woman who’d cost him everything.
And when my mother’s lover snapped my father’s neck in front of our very eyes, she had just closed hers. She’d closed her eyes and wept without a word, and even though she and I both remained, my family died that day.
I could never make sense of it- the way the fight seemed to just drain out of my father then and there. I could never forgive or justify what happened, but for the first time in my life, at least in some way, I think I’m beginning to understand it.
‘You’re late,’ the girl says with a little smile as I step out of the doorway and meet her on the veranda, pulling me back to the present.
Amara is away with Mark visiting another pack in an effort to maintain the peace. There’s been no conflict with the other territories for a few years, but the Rovers aren’t exactly popular. Having a pack full of rogues means that other packs are constantly judging and underestimating us. That’s why Amara isn’t here. That’s why, today, I’m in charge of training.
‘I’m not as obsessed with punctuality as Amara,’ I grumble in reply.
She looks stunning in the morning sunlight, her golden hair tied in a messy bun atop her head. Her cheeks are pink and flushed from the chilly early breeze, and her clothes…. her clothes are a fucking torture. Pastel blue leggings that hug every curve, and a matching sports bra that Lucy undoubtedly picked out for her.
As I step onto the wide area covered in mats and workout equipment, I try not to think of the pit in my stomach I felt when I saw the girl’s scars. And I certainly don’t want to think about the mating bond or the fight between my father and his Beta.
Because the truth is that, even though I fear crumpling the little flower that is now growing in my home, she holds just as much power to destroy me.
Maybe even more.