Chapter 30

Ava

I awoke to the feeling of two sensations: the warm sun filtering through the sheer curtains and hitting my pillow, and the worst pounding in my head that I had experienced in a very, very long time.

With a soft groan, I cracked my eyes open to find that I had somehow managed to make it back to my bed. That was a win, at least. How much had I had to drink, anyway? Two bottles of wine? Three?

When I turned my head, though, my eyes caught sight of something else: a tray on my nightstand, laden with all of the hangover essentials, ranging from water, to painkillers, to crackers. There was a note there, too.

I picked up the note with a furrowed brow and unfolded it, reading its contents.

“You’re still cute, even when you’re puking. -C”

Upon reading the note, I instantly felt myself blush. The memories of what happened last night slowly began to flood back, most particularly a few choice moments of…

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will those moments out of my mind. No, I couldn’t be laying here and daydreaming about what Chris and I had gotten up to. I couldn’t think about the way his tongue felt in my mouth, or how his fingers trailing up my thigh had sent shivers down my spine.

And I especially couldn’t think about how, even now, hours later, part of me wanted him to come back to give it another shot.

No, it had just been the alcohol; that was what I would tell myself. I would tell myself that I had simply had too much to drink, that I was lonely and had let down my inhibitions, and that I most definitely hadn’t been so enthralled by the firelight flickering in his eyes and the feeling of his warm body pressed up against mine as we swayed beneath the stars that I had lost control.

“Goddess,” I groaned, pressing my palm to my forehead and sitting up. “Why did I drink so much last night?”

I couldn’t believe I had allowed myself to get so carried away. As the Acting Luna of the pack, I was supposed to set an example of poise and decorum, not get sloppy drunk and throw myself at the first available man.

Even if that man was someone as charming and handsome as Chris.

Once again, the memories came flooding back in bits and pieces—dancing with him under the stars, his strong arms around me, the taste of his lips on mine, the feeling of his hands roaming over my body.

Heat rose to my cheeks once again as I remembered how close we had come to going all the way before the alcohol had betrayed me. At the time, I had been so sure that I wanted him again.

And even after I had made myself sick, he had acted like a perfect gentleman—holding my hair back, rubbing my back, and giving me water and crackers to settle my stomach until I eventually fell asleep.

Now that it was all over though, I just felt like a fool.

A hungover fool.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered to myself, reaching for the water on the nightstand.

Chris had been kind enough to leave me some essentials to help with my hangover, including that cheeky little note. I couldn’t decide if I found it endearing or if it made this whole situation just that much more mortifying.

After downing a couple of painkillers, I forced myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering haze of drunkenness and shame. As the steam billowed around me, I resolved that I would have to be more careful around Chris from now on. Clearly, I couldn’t trust myself to maintain control when alcohol was involved.

It wasn’t that I didn’t find him attractive – quite the opposite, in fact. Chris was everything a woman could want in a mate: strong, intelligent, protective, and incredibly easy on the eyes.

But we couldn’t be together; I had already established this on multiple occasions. I was too old for him, for starters, and besides…

I had already been mated before. I could never be his Luna, and I certainly wasn’t about to leave my homeland to live amongst the humans.

Once I was clean and dressed, I headed out to my garden to check on today’s harvest. I grabbed a small basket and got to work, a small smile playing on my lips. The strawberries had long since left their season, but the cucumbers, zucchini, and tomatoes were thriving. I picked just enough to last me for the day, and decided to leave the rest on the vine for tomorrow.

And then there was the orange tree; my pride and joy.

When I had moved into this house, I had insisted on planting a singular orange tree in the backyard. Ethan had teased me for it, saying that it would take years to grow a tree from a seedling, and that our climate wouldn’t allow for sweet oranges.

But he had been wrong.

I nurtured that tree like it was my own child, carefully pruning, fertilizing, and watering in order to achieve peak health. And now, years later, it was so much more than a spindly little seedling; it was taller than I was, with lush, full leaves and absolutely teeming with enormous oranges.

Smiling softly, I carefully reached up and plucked several oranges to add to my basket. Despite everything, despite the loneliness of being alone in this house again, I still had my orange tree.

Deciding to wander into town and share my oranges with whoever I passed, I pulled on my boots and began walking down the path, my skirt swishing around my legs in the warm summer breeze. The sound of birdsong filled my ears, a welcome balm after that morning’s hangover.

Eventually, I found myself meandering toward the Packhouse; I didn’t entirely mean to at first, but I knew that I would be remiss if I didn’t share my oranges with the Elders… and maybe with Chris.

Perhaps a peace offering of sorts would help smooth things over after my embarrassing behavior the night before.

As I made my way toward the Packhouse, the basket of oranges in my arms, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves in my stomach. What would I say to him? How would he act after what had transpired between us?

I opened the door to the Packhouse, lost in my thoughts over the matter. I guess that was why, a moment later, I wasn’t expecting to bump into anyone. But before I could even react, I found myself bumping into another body in the dim light, causing my oranges to spill out of the basket and go rolling across the floor.

“Watch where you’re going!”

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger as Olivia, the person who I had bumped into, simply stood there, making no move to help me pick up the scattered fruit. Kneeling, I let out a small huff. “Sorry,” I said, biting my tongue although there was more I wanted to say.

She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest, still watching me. “You should be,” she said.

I couldn’t help it any longer. Looking up at her, seeing how she just stood there and completely blamed me for the impact, made my blood simmer.

“Aren’t you going to help?” I snapped, tossing a couple of oranges into the basket. “We used to be friends, you know.”

Olivia let out a derisive laugh, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “Friends?” she scoffed. “We were never friends.”

My jaw dropped at her words, and I watched in disbelief as she kicked one of the remaining oranges out of my reach. Before it could roll away, however, a dark shoe stepped down and caught it.

I looked up to see Chris glaring at Olivia, his jaw set in a hard line. Without a word, he removed his foot from the orange and pointed at the floor in front of him.

“Pick it up, Olivia.”