Swapped Luna part 4

ALPHA THORNE

“Thorne,” calls my Beta, Lorcan.

I rise from my kneeling position, giving my wolf pet a final stroke to his fur. It’s rare for natural wolves to linger in werewolf packs, but Fang stumbled onto my territory as a pup and has never left since. He’s practically another pack member.

“What brings you around these parts? I thought you were in the south.”

“I heard about the Luna’s accident and came as soon as my duties allowed,” he replies.

“She’s fine,” I assure, glancing in the direction of home. “Probably torturing some poor maid right now.”

“I must still pay my respects,” he says.

I groan. “Very well, then. Come. I’ll take you to her.”

I whistle at Fang, and he faithfully follows us home.

Maeve should be awake by now. The doctors ran all sorts of tests but concluded that she was fine. The MRI showed no harm to her brain, which is why I was confused by her change in behavior. I was convinced she had a concussion.

I don’t have to wander far to find her. Instead of resting on her bed, Maeve is outside, overlooking her balcony. She wears a knee-length sundress—her typical attire. Except that she wears flip flops instead of sandals and has her hair shoved into a sloppy bun instead of styling it in elaborate braids.

She paces around the grass, staring at it like she’s looking for something. Her handmaiden watches and waits, looking nervous. This is typical. Maeve’s maids are always terrified of her. It’s a testament to her character. I sometimes lose my breath at her beauty, but I know that she’s a witch in disguise.

“Maeve,” I call her name.

She jerks up and makes an unladylike squeak that she has never made before.

“Oh, hello,” she says, staring at me with wide eyes and ignoring our beta.

Maeve’s handmaiden respectfully bows for Lorcan and I, and Maeve glances at her briefly, noticing the gesture.

“Luna. It pleases me to see that you’re back on your feet. I was worried when I heard about the fall,” says Lorcan.

She stares at him. I wait for her charming smile that she has mastered, but it never comes.

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. This is a mistake she never makes.

“Pleasure to see you too, sir. Thank you for taking the time to check on me.”

She bows to Lorcan. Fucking bows. A Luna bowing for a beta? It’s the strangest thing I’ve seen in a while.

Lorcan has no fucking idea what to make of her act of submission. He looks at me, seeking guidance, but I don’t have anything for him.

I simply shrug, cross my arms over my chest and stare at my ever bewildering mate.

Lorcan extends his hands, signaling her to stop. “You honor me, Luna. Please, it’s not necessary to…” he curses under his breath.

Maeve’s handmaiden comes to her rescue and gently grabs her by the arm to help straighten her. Ending the humiliating, inappropriate display of submission.

Maeve looks embarrassed. As if realizing that she should have not done that.

Her eyes lock on Fang, my wolf pet.

“And hello to you too. It’s lovely seeing you again. How is…your family?”

She's talking to a wolf like it's a person. Like it’s a werewolf she’s expecting to shift back to human form to reply to her.

Fang only pants and stares at her. He was never a fan of hers. It probably has to do with all the perfumes and creams she lathers on that assault his senses.

Lorcan chuckles nervously, taking Maeve’s madness lightly. “You must forgive Fang’s quietness. He’s tired from running around all day.”

“I see. Can I offer you or Fang anything?” She asks. “Water? A glass of whiskey?”

Is she trying to poison my fucking wolf?

“They’re fine, Maeve. Thank you,” I respond.

She has always gone out of her way to be a good hostess; acting like she has complete control of the house. Ordering servants, planning menus, organizing tea parties, shopping for new furniture. Anything to cover up the fact that I don’t trust her enough to enter my bedroom or office.

“Okay,” she smiles and wipes her hands on her skirt. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you for a second.”

“You shouldn’t be outside. You should be resting. The doctors wanted you off your feet for a few days.”

“I feel fine,” she quickly replies. “So I was wondering if you wanted to go for a walk…with me?”

This is another attempt at securing quality time with me. Usually, though, she doesn’t dare to ask me in front of company because she knows I’ll reject her and she can’t afford the embarrassment.

“I can do no such thing.”

Her smile falters. “And…why is that?”

Lorcan clears his throat, excusing himself from the carnage. “Please forgive me. I just remembered I have another matter to attend to.”

I dismiss him with a nod and stare down Maeve. I can’t imagine anything more awful than spending an afternoon with this wretched woman.

“Don’t take this the wrong way…” I say, reaching for the hem of my shirt to pull it over my head in preparation for a shift. “But I would rather mop the lake than spend time with you.”

Her handmaiden flinches. She lowers her head and begs to be excused in a hushed whisper.

Maeve frowns at me. There’s no hurt in her eyes. Just confusion. Like she doesn’t know what to make of me. There might even be disappointment—an amusing thought given the weight of her sins. I haven't even scratched the surface to get even. If I really wanted to hurt her, I would have fucked another female. But I have no taste for infidelity.

She detests when I remind her that I know of her betrayal. That I’m disgusted by her. But today, there’s no usual burning hatred in her eyes.

A lot of things are different about her character, but I can’t bring myself to care enough to find out what.

Being done with this conversation, I pull my shirt over my head and drop it at my feet.

Her eyes drop to my chest. And her frown flattens as her lips come to a thin line.

Is she...blushing? An outlandish thought. She has seen my nude body many times before.

I glance down at my chest, searching for anything out of place. But there’s nothing there but my usual tanned skin and tattoos.

“You’re dismissed,” I tell her, hooking a thumb under the waistband of my shorts to pull them of

She lifts her head high, perching her nose in the air—a classic move of hers. Proof that she is still her typical snobby self.

She marches indoors with her handmaiden behind her.

“Good riddance. Right, boy?” I ask Fang.

He sits down and crooks his head at me.

“No. You’re not getting any whiskey.”

He whines, and I chuckle as I scratch his head. I kick my shorts off and stretch my arms over my head, preparing for a run across the land. The only time I get to forget how fucked up my life is and how many lives depend on me.

“L—Luna!” I hear from behind me.

I turn around and can hardly keep my jaw from falling when I spot a fiery Maeve. She carries twin tin buckets and dirty mops that she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot-pole.

There’s fire in her eyes—determination—as she b-lines for me with the clanking buckets and sloshing mops.

“What is the meaning of this?” I demand.

“We’re going to mop some darn lakes. Now, which mop do you want to use?”

She drops the buckets at my feet and tosses her flopped bun over her shoulders, dusting her skirt which got slightly wet.

She palms her hips. “Well? Go on then, your highness. The lake won’t mop itself.”

For the first time since I’ve met this woman that has betrayed and infuriated me, I toss my head back and laugh.

I never thought it possible. The only amusement Maeve has ever inspired in me was when she terrorized her maids and then batted her eyelashes at me, feigning an innocence. I found her fakeness humorous.

But now the short woman is huffing and puffing before me. She has called my blunder and played a card I never expected.

She grabbed filthy mops and looks one comment away from slapping me across the face with one of them.

I glance at Fang, who looks just as startled. Then I say words I never dreamed of.

“Fine then, Maeve. Let’s go.”

She clears her throat, her temper taming.

With a sheepish smile, she says. “Okay, but can you put pants on first, please? Or cover up with a bucket or something?”

READ PART 5>