Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 58: Getaway Driver
I’m pacing my living room, a glass of whiskey in hand, lost in my thoughts. The night has been a

coc ktail of emotions—high spirits at the party, laughter with Abby… And then, of course, there was the

palpable tension with Chloe.

I thought I had managed to keep my feelings under wraps, maintain the casual facade. But Chloe had

to go and ruin it, filling the air with words like poison darts.

“Stay away from him,” she had whispered to Abby, not knowing that I was within earshot.

Who the hell does she think she is?

I throw myself onto the leather chair, my fingers gripping the armrests, the echo of Chloe’s words still

fresh in my mind. “Stay away from him,” she had said, as though her voice could erect a wall between

Abby and me—a wall I’m not certain even I could scale at this point.

“What is her problem?” I growl to myself, my thoughts a whirlwind of frustration.

“She clearly dislikes you,” my wolf interjects, his voice a rumbling presence in the depths of my

consciousness.

“You think I can’t see that? And it’s not the first time, either,” I retort, my mind slipping back in time, to

another party, another confrontation.

It had been a similar occasion. Friends, laughter, a lively atmosphere.

Abby had been radiant, the center of my universe. But then Chloe had started arguing with me. About

what, I can barely remember.

What I do recall is the anger, my territorial instincts flaring up, the undeniable urge to assert my

dominance. I had ended up kicking her out of the party.

The aftermath was equally vivid. Abby had been furious, her eyes ablaze with a fire I had rarely seen.

“You’re trying to ruin my friendships, Karl,” she had yelled, her voice strained with emotion. She had left

with Chloe, her best friend, her confidant. Abby hadn’t come home for two days. When she finally did,

the atmosphere between us had been colder than a winter night.

a jerk to Chloe,” she’d told me, her voice heavy with disappointment

to my friends, then don’t expect

weight of the past

be?” I ask out loud. “If I ever have a

tiptoeing around her friends who can’t

touch of reproach in his tone. “You left

What do you

screwed up. And I’m working d mn hard to

with bitterness. “But it’s like no one can see that.

me a chance to

softening. “She might not fully realize

back into her life, even

has.”

letting the words sink in, a tiny glimmer of

Maybe Abby does see the changes in me. And maybe, just maybe, that

rebuild

my phone buzzes on the coffee table, ripping me from my internal

my

“Hello?”

come home next weekend,” she says without preamble. “Your Council

meeting. Can you come?”

been skirting ever since I

it off any

say, gritting my teeth. “I’ll be

hang up, feeling the weight of my double life—the life I

constant juggling act, and sometimes I

again, pulling me back to the present. This time, it’s

over the green button, a sense of dread mingling with

calling?

answer, trying to keep

her voice tinged with anxiety. “I had to get off the subway. I’m a

lost. And—”

to get you,” I interrupt, my heart pounding. In

evaporate, replaced by a primal urge

door, locking my apartment with an urgency that mirrors my

in my car in record time, my phone guiding me

drive, I find myself mulling over what the hell is going on between

moment we’re throwing flour at each other like a couple of lovestruck teens, and

of her life because her best friend tells her to

the night when she needs me the

narrative, or just a

short as my phone indicates that I’m nearing Abby’s location. My eyes scan

lit streets, eventually catching sight of her standing