Page 128 of Conner's Luna

A low growl makes my wolf perk up, going alert to the threat to our left.Turning, I meet Trey's eyes with a smirk. His hollow, bitter gaze makes my smile curve up even higher, with a flash of fang thrown in for good measure.

He comes closer, his hands flexing, nostrils flaring to take in the scent I didn't bother to wash off. A low snarl slips free from his chest and I full-on grin. Shit's slipping all over the place these days.

"You fucked her," he comments flatly.

I nod, "yeah, popped that sweet cherry. Well, she popped it herself when she rode my cock." I shake the box in my hand at him and am rewarded with a flare of shocked, angry disbelief. "My girl has plans. A genius needs to concentrate on school," I tell him as if we're just friends casually shooting the breeze in the contraceptive and family planning aisle.

Trey stares at the box in heavy contemplation, then turns back to me, holding my gaze as he reaches across the aisle and grabs his own box... of maxi pads. "Lydia started bleeding last night," he says quietly. "The pup..."

Fuck me. I didn't even think about it. Blowing out a harsh breath, I ask him, "alive?"

Trey nods, once, a short, abrupt motion that sends relief coursing through my body. I don't want that responsibility resting on my shoulders. I also don't need Bailey to feel like our mating is somehow impacting an innocent pup. Just that quickly, I make my decision, "Mark her."

"Fuck," Trey blows out a breath, his jaw flexing. His eyes fall to the box of maxi pads in his hands. "Be ready," he says, his voice a little hoarse.

I nod, knowing I'm in for a rough ride even with my bond broken and weak. "I will be." Fuck the council. I'll make sure Dad and Uncle Alex know that it was my decision to let Lydia go. I'm sure they can work out the details later, but I'm not putting my relationship with Bailey on pause while a bunch of old wolves scratch their balls trying to figure this shit out.

Trey's eyes slide back to the box in my hands. "That brand isn’t the best. Use the purple one." He backs away, not turning his back to me until he reaches the end of the aisle.

I stare blankly after him, my gut already swirling in anticipation. Slowly, my wolf relaxes, letting me know that Trey is gone.

I put the blue morning after pill box back and grab the purple one.

---

Bailey

I yawn into my pillow, stretching out my arms and legs and wriggling my toes.

Ouch.

With a huff, I sit up, forcing my body into a sitting position. It all hurts. Every bump and bruise I've suffered over the last week is aching. Especially... downtown. I blush, with no one here to see it.

I get lost in the memory that seems almost surreal before realizing that it's Christmas Eve. I feel a pang in my heart. I hate Christmas without Mom. Last year was the first year without her and it was so excruciating that Dad and I didn't even really celebrate at all.

I miss Conner. Crap. I would love to have his arms wrapped around me this morning. I pick up my phone from the nightstand and see his'good morning, beautiful'text message.

Smiling and feeling a bit better, I text him his own good morning.

Conner - Sleeping in babygirl?

BMW - Yup.

Conner - Aw, honeygirl. Say hi to Unc Al for me.

I frown a little when I read his message. Did autocorrect screw something up? I hate autocorrect and always turn it off.

Sighing, I pop a pain pill and grimace at the taste. It's the last one. The doctors offered me another refill, but I'm switching to ibuprofen. There's no sense in risking prolonged use.

I shuffle off to the bathroom, noticing that Dad's room is empty as I pass his door. I hope he wasn't up all night or slept on the couch. He needs to rest, too, especially now that I know he's stressing out about everything.

"Dad?" I call out softly at the bottom of the stairs.

"In here, Bailey. Make sure you're dressed appropriately," he says back in a hard voice.

My feet freeze, then unglue from the floor as I fly into the kitchen. I come to a screeching halt when I see the extremely well-dressed man sitting at the table opposite of Dad, a to-go cup of coffee in his hand. Two more coffees sit in the drink container and a box of something yummy is placed next to them. Dad hasn't touched it.

"Good Morning, Bailey," the man stands up. Dark eyes look into mine from an older, distinguished-looking face. I shake his hand absentmindedly when he offers. "I'm Alex," he says with a sharp, political smile.

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