Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted (Ava and Lucas)

Chapter 462: Ava: Falling Into Place

Chapter 462: Ava: Falling Into Place

The unmistakable scent of ocean and pine hits me before I even round the corner to the cottage we’ve emptied for the Aspen Pack’s use. Lucas said something about it being a voluntary sacrifice on the part of some of our pack members; I have to remember to get their names.

I’m not sure what I can do to show our gratitude, but there’s probably something. Maybe extra rations. Practicality goes farther than luxuries these days... Or am I thinking too simply? I’ll have to ask Lucas what he usually does in these situations.

I prefer meat, Selene offers.

Grimoire hums. I’d rather have a new book.

Not helpful. But I guess it means I should learn more about the people to understand what they would prefer.

A vaguely familiar face opens the door when I knock, but I can’t quite place it. Clayton’s standing with his back to me as he speaks with two other wolves. My steps falter momentarily.

I haven’t seen him in a long time; since I made it clear I chose Lucas.

It would be strange not to feel a little anxious in this situation.

"Baa baa black wolf, have you any wives? Yes sir, yes sir, three lives’ time," the ghost sings overhead, twirling in erratic circles. "One for the master, and one for his dame, and one for the little girl who lives without shame."

He’s getting more coherent, Grimoire notes. Interesting.

And more annoying, Selene grumbles.

"Both of you, hush," I mutter under my breath.

Clayton turns at the sound of my voice, and I brace myself for... what, exactly? Coldness? Resentment? Pain? His name has felt synonymous with the block of guilt I’ve carried in my chest for months.

But his expression is open, his green eyes clear as he dismisses his guards with a brief nod.

"Luna of the Westwood Pack," he says, inclining his head respectfully. "I was hoping you’d find time to check on us."

My steps stutter again, but for an entirely different reason. There’s no shadow crossing his face, no hint of our complicated past in his demeanor. Just genuine respect.

Grimoire’s attention piques. Well, well. Looks like someone’s gotten over his little crush.

The proper title, Selene says, sounding oddly pleased.

them again as I close

I ask,

them. "Your mate has been impressively

Several Aspen guards I recognize from my time in Cedarwood are doing... something. Emptying duffel

of them notices me watching and offers a respectful nod. "Luna

Not Miss Grey. Not even ma’am or miss. Just the proper address for the Luna of another

My lips curve.

good to work with the esteemed Luna of the Westwood Pack," he says with a warm smile. There isn’t a hint of regret or shadow in his eyes. They’re clear and guileless, staring at me for who I am. The me now, the one without

just a handshake. No electricity, no charged moment. Just a respectful

me feel silly for worrying about the

I never properly thanked you," I

an eyebrow. "For

words come easier than I expected. "I don’t think I would have found my way back to Lucas—or

smile. "We all serve our purpose in each other’s

between us, making Clayton step back instinctively. The spirit passes

shadows swallow! The silver-haired woman sleeps

body goes rigid.

we found him near the perimeter. We can’t touch him,

gaze follows the twirling

think..." I hesitate, unsure how to say this. "I think he might know something about Ivy. He talks in riddles, but he mentioned ’the pine tree’s sister’ just now. He’s

a long moment, he nods. "Thank you for telling me. If you learn anything concrete from it, I’d appreciate being informed immediately." He looks at me directly. "I defer

at that. "Ghosts aren’t magic," I say

to magic than wolf, though, Grimoire counters

eyes are cold when he watches the ghost float by. "Whatever they are, they’re outside my realm of experience. I’ll trust

* * *

wolves’ cottage, I run into Lisa—almost literally.

you take up

looks down at her hand. "Oh. No, it isn’t a cigarette. It’s

head.

point, sings, "Smoke rings, ghost things, coughing in the dark—Cancer’s just

the strange spirit giving its best impression of a ballerina beside her, but shakes off her

sweet shaped like one of the most cancerous addictions in the world. Though

eyes have lightened, and her shoulders are more relaxed. She tucks the candy into her pocket and tilts her head.