Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 40: A Way Out

Karl

The sting of rejection pulses through me, acute and raw, as I distance myself from Abby’s place.

My footsteps echo through the quiet city streets, the usual hustle and bustle of the nightlife seemingly

dimmed tonight. Each step aligns with the rapid beat of my heart.

I can’t shake the feel of her, the nearness of our last moment.

Abby looked beautiful. She clearly put a lot of effort into her appearance today; her hair and nails

looked freshly done, she was wearing makeup, and a gorgeous dress.

A few years ago, I might have been bothered by the way that she dressed tonight. But lately, for some

reason I’ve been finding myself attracted to it. She’s sexy, always has been, but is somehow even

sexier now.

But what pisses me off more than anything is that she was dressing like that for another man who

doesn’t even show any interest in her despite the ring he put on her finger. What gives? Why won’t she

just leave him already?

Shoving my hands deep into my pockets, I aimlessly kick a small rock ahead of me. Its journey,

haphazard and unpredictable, mirrors the state of my own emotions.

“She wanted me,” I find myself mumbling aloud, holding onto the raw intensity of our almost-kiss.

My wolf stirs within, a familiar presence anchoring my thoughts. “She did,” he rumbles in agreement.

“But she held back. If you’d just be patient and let her come to you, she’d see the depth of our love”

“I did let her come to me,” I reply. “She’s the one who called me tonight. But at the end of it, she still

can’t stop thinking about that prick.”

My wolf growls in annoyance. “Give her time.”

The anger is right there, bubbling at the surface. “Time? And for what? For Adam?” I snap, frustration

bleeding into every word. “Who leaves their fiancée high and dry like that? Especially when she clearly

put in so much effort?”

A car horn in the distance snaps me back momentarily, but my wolf’s voice, deeper and more

introspective, grounds me again. “She’s changed. She’s not the young girl we once knew. She’s a

woman now, more intricate, more nuanced. You have to adapt.”

Bitterness takes hold. “Did you see her tonight?” I spit. “The lengths she went to for him? The hair,

makeup, that dress…” The words come out more as a growl. I don’t keep them in my head like I

probably should, but say them out loud, unable to contain my anger.

And yet, my wolf muses, a soft chuckle punctuating my thoughts. “She resisted you. That tells you

something.”

I can’t help the growl that rises in my throat, frustration evident. “She wants me. It’s palpable. I felt it,

every damn second.”

My wolf is calm in his rebuttal, his wisdom clear. “Wanting and acting on it are worlds apart. You broke

her heart. She’s cautious now. You can’t simply push and expect her to yield.” This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

I halt, drawing in a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs. It’s hard to admit, but there’s truth in

what my wolf says.

“You might be right,” I murmur, the weight of realization pressing down.

“Show her the change. Be genuine. Earn her trust,” my wolf advises, his tone firm. “A true leader knows

when to assert and when to listen.”

I take a moment, lost in thought. The journey back to my apartment is nearing its end, and I’m not sure

I’m ready to face the solitude of my own space. But I can’t wander the streets forever.

“Tomorrow,” I whisper to myself, thinking of Abby, of what I need to do. Tomorrow, I’ll find a way to show

her. My wolf rumbles in agreement, its presence a constant reminder that this fight, this pursuit, is far

from over.

…

The evening shadows stretch long against the hardwood floors of my apartment, dancing in harmony

with the gentle flicker of a solitary candle on the coffee table.

I’m caught in contemplation, my fingers mindlessly caressing the leather armrest of my chair. It’s an old

piece, weathered from time and countless brooding sessions—much like the thoughts whirling within

my mind.

Adam. The very mention of his name leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Every time I think of him letting

Abby down, I’m tempted to intervene. But tonight, it’s not just Abby or Adam that burdens my thoughts.

My phone buzzes to life on the table beside me, momentarily breaking my reverie. The screen

illuminates Gianna’s name, my ever-efficient secretary. Swiping to answer, I keep my voice steady.

“What's up, Gianna?”

“Alpha,” she starts, a hint of hesitation evident in the tone of her voice, “there’s something you should

know.”

“Go on,” I urge, straightening up.

“Someone’s been seen around your foster brother’s residence. There’s talk that he might be waking up

from his coma,” she reveals.

The news hits me harder than I’d like to admit. My foster brother’s reawakening would surely reshape

the dynamics of our pack. My grip tightens unconsciously around the phone. “Do we know who?”

“No names yet, but I’m digging.”

“Keep me posted,” I murmur, disconnecting the call.

The silence of the apartment suddenly feels stifling. Images of a once-bustling house, filled with the

laughter and camaraderie of two brothers, come rushing back. But time, with its cruel twists, has

changed the narrative. If he does wake, there’s no telling how the power balance will shift.

But that’s not my main focus right now. I need to focus on Abby. On getting her back.

A glint from the corner of the room catches my eye. The rare ingredients that I’ve ordered are finally

ready, and I know that once I present them to Adam, he won’t be able to resist.

Resolute, I decide to act. The city’s hues of dawning twilight guide me the next day, the sun casting

golden streams through the modern glass buildings, leading me to Adam’s restaurant.

It’s an impressive place, a stark contrast to the rustic charm of Abby’s restaurant. Opulence drips from

every corner—crystal chandeliers, plush velvet seats, and gold-trimmed counters. As I seat myself at

the bar, I catch glimpses of the city’s elite, lost in their world of gastronomic delights.

I order a glass of their finest red, letting the ruby liquid swirl in my glass as I wait.

Minutes turn to an eternity before Adam finally comes into view. He’s in his element, ensuring every

dish that leaves the kitchen is up to his exacting standards. But then, our eyes lock.

I can almost feel the air around us charge with tension.

He navigates through the crowd with practiced ease, his face a mask of faux surprise.

“Karl,” he greets, his voice dripping with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, “I wasn’t expecting you

here.”

I swirl my wine glass, watching the liquid dance. “Thought I’d try something different today.”

Adam’s eyes narrow, assessing. “You’re not here for the food, are you?”

“No,” I admit, meeting his gaze. The energy between us is palpable, a battle of wills. “I needed to talk.”

Adam looks around, his eyes darting to the exits, then back to his bustling kitchen, and finally resting

on me. He swallows, visibly perturbed. “What is it?”