Page 79 of Luna's Forgotten Vow

This time, it is almost as if she has taken an oath to kill me with her constant complaints.

She tosses the rag against the stove and turns livid dark eyes to mine. "Put the pan in and go to your room, young lady. Your mood swings are getting unbearable."

Quinn nods in agreement. Landon wiggles out of his arms, still clutching the half-eaten tart, and runs toward me with sticky fingers and wide, chocolate-streaked cheeks.

"Mommy, up," he demands, reaching his arms toward me.

Despite the storm brewing inside me, my heart softens. I scoop him up and press a kiss to his curls.

"Missed you too, monster."

He giggles and tucks his head under my chin. "Daddy come home today?"

"I hope so," I whisper, hugging him a little tighter. "He promised."

He should've been here three days ago, but he's been held back by Goddess knows what. Maybe that's his excuse to stay away because of my unpredictable mood.

But it's hardly my fault. He put a baby in me. He should be here, waiting out the storm.

Abandoning Miranda with all the work, I walk from the kitchen. Her screaming and ranting follows me all the way upstairs and I growl inwardly.

Landon twists in my arms when we pass by my half-brothers on the way. Bryan, seventeen, a jarring look-alike of his mother. Silvery blonde hair, deep-set dark eyes, a mischievous smile and face that would make one look back twice. He is nearly as tall as Quinn, hovering a few inches above my father's youngest son, Jill. Jill has my eyes, though, that is all the similarities there are between us.

They both nod in greeting, the latter raising his hand to smack against Landon's small fist. Communication between us might be a little awkward as siblings, but they love Landon. Everyone loves Landon.

Sometimes, I wonder if Ronan would have, if things had happened under different circumstances. I try to banish the thought quickly, but it stays for a moment longer, much like the nightmares that still plague me, even after five years.

It is more a minor disturbance now than it was trauma back then. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I see Ronan gurgling. Other times, I hear Tova's wailing. Landon's cries, walking endlessly and never finding him. And on most days, it is finding Kaida's corpse hung up from the ceiling that haunts me. I should have known something was wrong when she didn't attend her son's funeral. After emerging from where she had rounded up the guests to safety and finding Ronan dead, she looked little more than a wraith.

She didn't weep for Ronan like Tova did. Didn't ever touch him. Barely spoke when a temporary Head Alpha was put in place. Nora reported back to me. She barely ate. Barely drank. Barely slept. Barely functioned.

I knew grief. Understood how it ate away at you in the initial days. How words stopped reaching your ears. How colorsbecame too bright, you suddenly hated them. How every new day reminded you of one more without them.

I should have known. Should've been able to stop her from killing herself. But I thought it best to let her mourn.

Soren had taken my face in his hands and whispered again and again that it wasn't my fault. Tell that to my brain that overthinks everything.

My most haunting nightmares are the ones where Soren dies. Over and over. Sometimes I find him too late in the dungeon chamber. Other times, Ronan kills him. And I scream my throat hoarse, because I die with him, too.

Loosening a breath, I take the stairs. "No," I say when Landon begins to wiggle towards the playroom. "The bonfire's in a few hours. We need to get you cleaned up."

"Nooooo!" he cries. He hates taking a bath. Soren has to come up with fun ways to get him in the shower all the time without setting him off. I try, but Soren's better at gimmicks than I am.

I sigh at the drop in my belly at the thought of him. Six years ago after watching Ronan get engaged to Tova, I didn't think I could deal with getting myself involved in another relationship or entanglement. Thought I was well and truly done with men. Yet, here I am, sobbing over missing my husband, getting all needy and impatient.

Five hours later, music carries through the frost-kissed air, wild and pulsing, as flames roar in the center of the square. It casts golden light over fur-lined cloaks, glittering dresses, and the smiling faces of my father's pack. Laughter echoes from every direction, lifted by the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, laughing as Father dances around the fire with Landon riding on his neck, hands flailing wildly.

The mansion stands behind us, surrounded by a world of green and a beautiful lake. It had been a surprise when I first arrived. The peace and serenity.

My father liked his privacy well enough that he resided apart from the pack, moving his family into a private home within the vicinity of it. It was refreshing, not having to put on airs all the time, pretend to be strong all the time.

I had talked about it enough that Soren got us an apartment in the more private areas of the pack. Eric hates it, because on the days Soren and I escape from the burden of our duties, he claims we leave him to do all the work. In truth, we keep his hands full, especially since he keeps moping around like a moppet, trying to get over the fact that Lilia broke up with him and left the pack.

Neither I nor Soren know what happened. Lilia wouldn't tell me, regardless of how hard I pried, but judging from Eric's disposition—his painful yearning and unending pleas—I'd say he fucked things up. Royally.

I turn, scanning the crowd.

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