Page 32 of King Luna

Adjusting his pants, Noah groans. “Then let’s quit while we’re ahead, and try to calm ourselves while we walk. We at least have to get through security before I can—um—do something about this, worst case scenario.”

The thought of flying sobers me to the bone. With a tightened jaw, I stand. “No, you’re right. Let’s get going.”

Walking hand in hand with Noah, I steady my breath until my temperature settles. Thankfully, we have plenty of time before our flight, pausing on every walking escalator as it rolls us closer to security. But without a near-heat to distract me, I'm buried in nausea and exhaustion once more, dragging at Noah’s side like a wilted plant.

While Noah checks our bags in, I droop into another floppy vinyl chair. Portland’s airport is far less crowded than any others I visited with my parents as a kid, but I haven’t been around this many strangers lately—at least, not anyone I’ve viewed as a “stranger.” Even if I’ve never met most of our pack members, they still feel like home. And home is far more comforting thanthe unfamiliar faces whizzing by, their clashing scents stinging my nose.

By the time Noah returns to my side with only our carry-on luggage, nausea thickens my throat. Noah’s eyebrows cinch in concern, but he stands at my side without a word. Extending a soothing scent, Noah combs his fingers through my hair until my abdomen uncoils.

“There you go.” Noah’s deep voice cuts over the crowd, allowing me to inhale deeper. “I’m so sorry, my love. I didn’t think about how much longer that walk would be for you while pregnant. I should’ve dropped you off at the front instead.”

My heart flips; he saw right through me. “I didn’t think of it either. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m going to get better at thinking your needs through. We both can, yeah?”

Flushing at Noah’s earnest, concerned eyes, all I can do is nod.

Noah kisses my forehead. “Take your time. We still have a little under an hour.”

I give Noah’s hand a soft squeeze. “I’m actually alright to keep going. You’re more effective than my ginger candies.”

Chuckling, Noah drops his head. The sight of my shy Alpha lifts my cheeks into a smile, no matter how terrible I feel.

But we can’t seem to catch a break today; despite arranging for both of us to skip most of the security line with a pre-check, poor Noah is far too bulky and intimidating for TSA to allow him to pass, selecting him for a “random” pat-down.

Dread crawls over my skin, leaving me shaky. As I collect my bags, awaiting Noah at the security exit, I feel sicker by the second. I know Noah isn’t meaning to allow me to feel his distress through our bond, but he can’t seem to help it. I’m terrified of what it means: that my theory could be correct, and his trauma stems from sexual violence too.

I find a spot where I can keep an eye on him, but he’s caged in by curtains.Are you okay?

Fine enough for the circumstances.

Oh, God. That means “no.”

Noah meets my eyes briefly before turning to the TSA officer pointing at his waist. My jaw drops when they instruct him to remove his pants for a far more invasive, second round of pat-downs. It’s humiliating for too many reasons to list, the base of the wall barely doing enough to cover him with how tall he is compared to everyone around him.

I clutch my stinging heart.Oh, my love. I’m so sorry they’re being so difficult. I’ll be right here, waiting for you the second you’re done.

Noah doesn’t respond. His stoic, collected form emanates relaxation on the outside, even when all I can see is his back, but the discomfort in our bond only heightens, forcing me to pick furiously at my thumbnail.

When Noah fetches his pants to leave, he shoots me a glance. I do my best to smile back, nodding in reassurance that I’m here for him, but my stomach grumbles in complaint, sympathetic nausea rolling through me. He’s trying to appear brave, but the sinking disturbance in his heart weakens my knees.

Shaky thighs drop me onto the nearest bench. But I don’t have long to rest before Noah retrieves his carry-on suitcase and backpack, striding back to me. I gather my luggage around myself, rising to my feet so I don’t give him something else to worry about.

Reaching for him as he approaches me, I slide my hand into the nook of his elbow. “Are you okay? What did they say?”

“Nothing important. It’s always something different—something wrong with my pants button this time, my left boot last time. I’m wearing the same ones too, actually.”

I rub his arm, gazing at his eyes. But he doesn’t seem to want to look at me, glancing around the nearby shops and restaurants.

“Anyway, I’m fine. Do you want anything before we go to our gate? Are you hungry?”

I know it’s a deflection and he’s notthatokay, but I oblige his silent request to move on. “Actually, let’s find some good, iron-rich meat for you to enjoy with me. It’ll keep us both stronger for the long travel day ahead.”

With a smile, Noah rests his hand on my lower back, soothing the tension there. “Sounds good to me. You’ve got the better nose for delicious food these days, so lead the way, sweet Luna.”

Grabbing his hand behind my back, I loop it around my waist, burying it into my hoodie pouch and sewing us together in the process. The second our palms cup our baby—our little secret with how hidden our hands are inside the pouch’s black fabric—our bond finally settles into equilibrium.

Noah’s eyes soften into a genuine smile, and I adore every second of it. Even as his distress lingers while we select a restaurant, I’m content with letting go of what just happened for the sake of his trust. He’ll tell me if there’s something deeper here, when or if he needs to, but I never want to force him to disclose his trauma. TSA’s pat-down reemphasizes how force is a major trigger for Noah, so I’m glad I’ve learned better by now.

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