Counterback of the Despised Luna by Diana West

It Had Been About Punishment

“Gaspl My hand flew to my heart as I stumbled back in surprise.

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Fiolshed

Fumbling for the light switch, 1 illuminated the room to discover Caden perched stiffly on the couch. His usually pristine suit looked rumpled, and the glass tray before him overflowed with crushed cigarette ends.

How many hours had he been waiting in the dark?

“You could’ve turned on a lamp–you nearly gave me a heart attack,” I muttered, sinking into the opposite chair. My eyes darted to the overflowing ashtray before ventured cautiously, “What’s going on? Did something happen to the Eclipse Pack?”

Caden remained motionless, only his gaze sliding toward me. His mouth pressed into a hard line as he demanded agam, each word sharp as dagger, “Explain yourself. What have you been doing behind my

back?”

“Behind your back?” My forehead creased in genuine confusion. “You’re acting like I’ve been sneaking around.”

What bee had gotten into his bonnet this time?

-Caden smirked–cold, humorless–before pulling out his phone and tossing it onto the table. “See for

yourself.”

Puzzled, I examined the screen–and my blood turned to ice. Staring back at me was a photograph from today’s rehearsal with Jasper. That unscripted moment when he’d pressed his lips to mine.

been taken from a distance, capturing us mid–scene with expressions that appeared…

major news outlet.

Damn it.

bottom–feeding photographer had managed

of regret dawned, along with sudden

the scene, so I demonstrated. I never imagined some lurking photographer would snap

more danger than any shout, his handsome features twisted

Caden’s POV:

behind my eyelids. The urge to dismantle Jasper bone by bone.

what belonged

carried away in the moment!” Rosaline insisted inching closer with pleading eyes. “Ask anyone who was

Mon, Apr 7 —

513 It Had

gazed up like that–lips

hand in her hair and claimed her mouth with bruising force.

Finished

didn’t slow down. I consumed her, tasting, marking,

wolf, roared approval as primal hunger surged through

didn’t pause. In one fluid motion, I pinned her beneath me on the couch. Fabric tore as I ripped her blouse open, sending buttons skittering across hardwol. My palms shoved her skirt up, revealing flimsy lace barely concealing her

in my air, her voice breathless,

already glistened, swollen from my

how she looked–like temptation incarnate. And that feeble protest? It only confirmed

this: I don’t share. Not your