Chapter 3 Enough to Believe

I did not answer right away.

Adrian stood one step away from me, his last question still hanging in the air.

“Are you certain you want me to touch you?”

Of course I was not certain.

I was wearing Celeste’s gown. The Alpha before me had just survived the blood moon, and the shine of Luna Bloom still clung to my wrist. But the world outside that door was just as real.

The Vale house was waiting. Celeste would check the result. Mother would confirm whether I had “finished.”

At least Adrian’s room had boundaries.

Back in the Vale house, I had none.

I looked at him, my fingers slowly tightening in the skirt.

“Yes.”

Adrian did not move.

It was as if he had not heard me, or had heard me too clearly. Gold surfaced faintly in his eyes and was forced back down. His attention moved over my face, the half-fallen veil, my wrist, my skirt, then stopped on the cup of cold moonwater he had sent for earlier.

I had only taken one sip. A little remained at the bottom, pale blue against the porcelain like a sliver of cooled moonlight.

He said nothing.

He only waited.

For me to regret it.

To step back.

To take back the “yes” I had just given him.

I did not.

I took one step toward him.

My skirt whispered over the floor, so softly it was barely a sound. But that small sound made him move.

Adrian turned sharply, picked up the cup, and drank the last of it.

The motion was quick, but not easy. His throat moved once, as if the bitterness had struck him too. He set the empty cup down, and porcelain met wood with a quiet click.

The room settled into silence.

The cold seemed to press something down inside him at last.

A moment later, he turned back to me.

This time, he did not stay where he was.

He came closer and caught the edge of my veil between his fingers.

He disturbed the thin fabric little by little until it no longer hung properly beside my face. He did not yank it. He did not let it fall completely. He only made it look as though someone had been close enough to touch it, as though a quiet struggle had stopped halfway through.

My heart beat too fast.

His hand paused.

He did not ask.

He only looked at me.

I knew what he was waiting for.

I did not say stop.

So he continued.

He pulled a silver-white pin from my hair. A lock loosened and brushed my cheek. When the pin landed on the table with a delicate sound, my shoulder tightened.

He touched only the pin, the veil, the pieces of Celeste’s disguise.

But he was too close.

Close enough for me to smell bitter herbs, blood, and the wolf inside him buried deep under restraint. Close enough to see the hard line of his jaw and how low he forced every breath.

Adrian’s gaze dropped to his own wrist.

Dark blood had seeped through the edge of the gauze.

This time, he did not hesitate. He pulled it open a little and pressed his thumb against the wound. Dark red welled up again, spreading across his thumb.

I went still.

“Your wound—”

He did not look at me.

He only smeared the blood onto my sleeve, then brushed a little across the silver thread at my shoulder.

The stain was dark.

Not much.

Enough to be seen.

Enough to silence Celeste.

My stomach tightened.

It was only blood. Yet the moment it touched me, I felt a shameful kind of safety.

Adrian pressed the gauze back against his wrist, harder than necessary.

Then his hand moved to my shoulder.

The silver-thread clasp there had been fastened tight, the way Celeste’s maids always arranged a gown. It made the dress look proper. Exactly the way a future Luna should look.

Adrian studied the clasp, but did not touch it yet.

His gaze moved from it to my face.

He did not ask aloud.

He only waited.

I drew a breath.

“Yes.”

His fingers touched the clasp.

Only the clasp.

But it rested against my shoulder, and through the thin layer of fabric I still felt the brush of his knuckles. My body tightened at once. Adrian stopped at once, his fingers suspended there.

I forced my shoulder to relax.

A little.

Only then did he continue.

The clasp loosened bit by bit. The silver thread slipped, and the shoulder of the gown shifted half an inch out of place. Cool air touched my skin. I almost lifted my hand to fix it, but Adrian’s attention dropped to my fingers.

I stopped.

This was what I had asked for.

Not neatness. Not dignity. Not the flawless reflection Celeste expected to see in a mirror.

I needed to look like what they wanted me to become.

Only look like it.

Adrian stepped back half a pace, as though he needed to pull himself away from that small strip of exposed skin. His hand braced on the table, knuckles white. The wood gave a thin sound.

I looked at his hand.

He was holding back.

Not pretending to be restrained.

Holding back.

Every time he touched the disguise on my body, it seemed to scrape against his own limit first.

That made me more afraid.

It also made me certain I had not chosen the wrong man.

With another man, these marks would no longer be only marks.

Celeste’s perfume still clung to the side of my neck.

Of course she had sprayed it there. My throat, behind my ear, my wrists, the inside of my skirt. Every place had been chosen carefully, as if she did not need to come herself as long as Adrian smelled her.

Adrian looked at that patch of skin.

His hand did not move toward it at once.

I slowly turned my face aside, baring my neck a little.

It was a small motion.

Harder than saying yes.

The damp cloth touched the side of my neck.

I flinched.

His hand stopped immediately.

I closed my eyes.

Not because I wanted to run.

Because no one had ever touched that small patch of skin so carefully before. When Celeste sprayed perfume on me, the maids were quick. Mother’s checks were cold. They touched me to make sure I was far enough from myself.

Adrian touched me to wipe those things away.

Even if wiping them away was only meant to build another lie.

I did not say stop.

The cloth moved over my skin.

Slowly.

The bitter scent cut through the sweetness of white rose. Adrian’s hand stayed steady through the cloth, but I could see his other hand curled into a fist against the table, as though if he loosened it, he would touch something he should not.

When he reached behind my ear, the motion paused.

That place was more sensitive than my neck.

My fingers caught the edge of the table without meaning to. Adrian noticed, then looked away. He said nothing. He only made the motion slower.

The perfume faded.

Not gone.

Only less like Celeste.

That frightened me more.

Because when her scent faded, what remained was me.

Adrian smelled it too.

I saw his throat move.

Nothing obvious changed in his face. The gold in his eyes only rose closer to the surface. When he set the cloth down, his fingertips stayed on the table for one beat before slowly releasing.

I thought that would be enough.

But Adrian did not move.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

I went still.

There it was.

The last mark.

Adrian knew it too.

That was why he had not touched there.

My lips suddenly felt dry.

His hand closed at his side.

Then he finally came closer.

This time there was no veil between us.

No cloth.

He lifted his hand and stopped beside my face.

I saw his fingers.

Long. Marked by old scars. Pale at the knuckles from restraint. A hand like that could have easily taken my chin, forced my face up, and left any mark he wanted.

But his thumb only brushed my lower lip.

I still trembled.

Adrian caught himself.

His hand did not leave me, but he did not press harder. He only waited.

For me to move away.

For me to say the word.

His voice was rough.

“Stop?”

I held the skirt in my fists until my fingers hurt.

I said nothing.

I did not step back.

His thumb moved slowly over my lower lip.

Lightly at first, only enough to know I had not pulled away. Then with a little more pressure, drawing color to the surface by degrees. It did not hurt. Not yet. But the intimacy was harder to hide from than pain, as though his fingertip had pressed a small piece of my breath still.

I did not want to look into his eyes.

I saw them anyway.

He was too close.

Close enough for me to see the gold in his eyes held bright under restraint. Close enough to see his other hand braced hard against the table, wood giving a faint protest beneath his palm. Close enough to know he did not want only this.

He simply did not take more.

My heartbeat came so fast it nearly made me dizzy.

Luna Bloom still burned inside me, and Adrian’s scent tangled through that heat. My hand clutched the skirt until my knuckles ached, but I did not push him away.

I had asked for this.

But when his thumb passed over the corner of my mouth a second time, I was no longer sure whether I was enduring it, or waiting for him to stop a little later.

Adrian’s breathing changed.

His thumb paused beside my mouth.

Any more pressure, and it would hurt.

Any closer, and it would no longer feel like a mark.

He seemed to realize it too.

His fingers went still.

Then he pulled his hand away sharply.

Not because I had moved.

Because he had stopped himself.

The air went cold around us.

I stood there with the feel of him still on my lips.

Every mark on me would tell others something had happened in this room.

Only I knew the truth was more dangerous than the marks.

Adrian turned away and braced one hand on the table, taking a low breath.

Then he said, “Enough.”

I did not know whether he meant the marks were enough.

Or he was.

Maybe both.

He went to the chair and picked up his black outer coat.

The coat was heavier than I expected. He did not put it over my shoulders. He stood a few steps away and looked at me.

I went to him and took it.

The fabric dropped into my arms, carrying Adrian’s scent with it. Cold pine. Iron. Bitter herbs. Something deeper beneath it, something that belonged to an Alpha. It covered Celeste’s white rose at once.

I put the coat on.

It was too large.

The cuffs fell past my hands, and the hem nearly dragged along the floor. Black swallowed the silver-white Luna gown, leaving only a crooked edge of it showing. I looked like a doll Celeste had dressed, half stolen by the night.

Adrian looked at me once.

Then looked away.

The glance was brief, but heat rose to my ears.

He went to the door, but did not open it at once.

I followed him. With every step, I felt his coat drag against the floor. It was too heavy, as if it held his scent, his blood, and his restraint all at once.

The door was right in front of us.

Once I stepped through it, I would become Lady Celeste again.

At least in everyone else’s eyes.

Adrian set his hand on the door. His voice was rough.

“If she sends you back…”

I stopped.

He did not turn around.

“Do not let them put Luna Bloom in your blood again.”

My fingers tightened inside the sleeve.

“What if I can’t stop them?”

This time, Adrian turned his face slightly.

A thread of moonlight slipped in at the crack of the door, touching his jaw and catching the gold still not fully buried in his eyes.

“My wolf may stop caring who sent you.”

He paused.

“It will only know you came.”

My breath stopped.

He opened the door.

He watched me as if he needed to see me cross the threshold and keep going.

The hem of the black coat struck against my legs as I walked, but I hardly noticed.

Adrian’s words kept turning over in my mind.

“Are you certain you want me to touch you?”

I was supposed to have been begging for an illusion strong enough to protect me.

Supposed to.

But supposed to was only an excuse.

Then, suddenly, I reached up toward where the hairpin should have been.

There was nothing there.

It was Celeste’s hairpin.

I had no right to leave it in Adrian’s room.

When I returned to Adrian’s door and lifted my hand to knock, Adrian’s controlled voice slipped through the crack.

“Find out where Celeste Vale goes when no one is supposed to be watching.”

My hand went still.

Celeste?

He was investigating Celeste?

Another voice answered from inside the room, too low for me to catch the words. I only heard the faint scrape of cloth against the floor, as if someone had lowered his head to receive an order.

Then Adrian spoke again, colder than before.

“Quietly. I want names before dawn.”

My fingertips curled in, one by one.

I stood outside the door and, for a moment, forgot why I had come back.

Everyone said Adrian Blackmoor had no power left.

The Council recorded his breathing, locked his door, and even wrote his medicine into reports.

But what I had just heard did not belong to an Alpha who had been caged.

It belonged to a man used to command.

And to a man others still chose to follow.