The Alpha King's Contracted Luna by Nelson Claudia

Chapter 127

-Grayson’s POV-

Rickon leaned over to the armrest, retrieving a miniature bottle of whiskey from a hidden compartment. He held it up as if he’d unearthed some grand treasure. “The rules are simple,” he said, shaking the bottle slightly for effect. “We take turns asking each other questions. Nothing too personal–don’t worry, I’m not about to dig into your tragic backstory or whatever. But here’s the catch: for every question you refuse to answer, you take a drink.

I gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “You dragged me into this just to play some childish drinking game?”

Rickon placed a hand över his chest, feigning offense. “Childish? This isn’t just a game–it’s a sacred tradition. It’s called bonding, Grayson. You should try it sometime.”

I stared at him, my voice deadpan. “You think I want to bond with you?”

“Not particularly,” he said with an easy grin as he unscrewed the cap with a flourish. “But you’re stuck with me for the next few hours, and unless you’d prefer I spend the entire flight testing your patience, I suggest you play along.”

I debated telling him to go to hell, but the thought of enduring his endless chatter for the duration of the flight was somehow worse. With a resigned sigh, I leaned back in my seat. “Fine. Get on with it.”

Rickon’s face lit up with triumph. “That’s the spirit. I’ll start.” He leaned back, swirling the tiny bottle like he was some sort of whiskey expert. “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”

I gave him a blank look. “Pass.”

“Really? Not even going to try?”

“I said pass,” I repeated, my tone leaving

no room for argument.

Rickon laughed and handed me the bottle. I shot him a glare. “Can I at least get a glass?”

Without a word, he reached into the compartment and pulled out two small glasses. I poured a little whiskey into one, taking a quick swig. The liquid burned on the way down, but it was better than entertaining his ridiculous question.

“Your turn,” I didn’t even bother thinking too hard. “Why do you talk so much?”

“Ah, a classic,” he said, rubbing his chin theatrically. “I talk because silence is boring, and life’s too short not to fill it with my sparkling personality.”

“That’s not an answer,” I muttered, though a faint twitch at the corner of my mouth betrayed my amusement.

it,” he

The game

as it was oddly disarming, and before long, the whiskey began to loosen the iron grip I usually kept on myself. Somewhere

up for five minutes?” I asked, refilling my glass.

in a mock toast. “Never. My silence would deprive the world of

smile tugged at

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like I was some rare animal he’d just spotted. “I knew

shook my head, leaning back as the smile faded almost as quickly as it had come. “Don’t get used to it.”

I’m telling everyone back home that

the edges of the ever–present weight I carried. For a fleeting moment, I forgot about the expectations, the vigilance, and the constant need to keep myself

then it happened.

attention, and every muscle in my body went rigid. Rickon straightened, his playful grin wiped clean off his face as he

that?” he asked, his tone low and serious.

as I scanned the cabin. I had opted for no stewardess, just the pilot and co–pilot. I’d flown enough to prefer the quiet so it just just

the entire plane groan, and I was halfway out of my seat before I caught myself. The

voice tight, his usual bravado replaced by quiet

respond, the pilot’s voice crackled over the

your captain speaking. We’ve experienced an issue with one of the engines and are preparing for an emergency landing. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened. I will keep

unmistakable. My wolf growled within me,

his usual smirk nowhere to be found. His green eyes were focused on me, narrowed with concern. “This

didn’t respond right away, my gaze locked on the cabin door, as though I could peer through it to the cockpit. My mind was racing through every possibility, but nothing added up. Why would my jet–one of the most

keeping my voice

usual cocky demeanor gone. Even he, ever the optimist, couldn’t mask the tension in

very wrong.

sharply this time, and I felt the distinct drop in pressure in my stomach. The hum of the engines sputtered, sounding

the plane, and the lights overhead flickered, casting the cabin in sudden dimness. The engine noise grew louder, more errátic. My stomach flipped,

Sat, Jan 4)

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