Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 354

Abby

My lips feel raw and sore as I pace back and forth in my room. I’ve been standing here for what feels like hours, chewing at my lips with my phone sitting open to Karl’s contact page on the bed.

I need to call him. I know I do. Despite everything, despite our breakup, he’s still the father of my child; he deserves to know about the baby.

But no matter how many times I try to hit the call button, I just can’t bring myself to do it.

The idea of hearing Karl’s voice feels both exhilarating and terrifying. I really do want to talk to him, but… maybe I’m a coward. Or maybe I’m too heartbroken to speak to him. After all, he did go behind my back and make a huge decision without my permission. He snuck fertility drops into my morning coffee for weeks.

And yet, his lies were quite possibly what allowed me to have the baby that’s currently nesting comfortably in my belly.

I don’t know how to feel about it, to say the least. I don’t know whether to be angry with him or elated. Maybe I’m both of those things right now.

“Just do it,” my wolf says for the hundredth time tonight.

I nod, taking a deep breath as I cross the room and pick up my phone. Just one button, that’s all it is. I don’t even have to look at him; it’s just a phone call.

And yet, once again, the phone falls from my hand just before I hit the call button.

“I… I can’t,” I whisper as I sink down onto the edge of the bed. “I can’t do it. Not now.”

My wolf sighs in the back of my mind, but says nothing. I know she’s just as conflicted as I am after everything that happened.

“Just promise you’ll do it when you get back to the city,” she says softly after a beat of silence. “Promise you’ll talk to him then.”

I pause for a moment, then nod stiffly. It can wait a few more days, I figure. And maybe that’s for the best.

“I promise.”

…

“Has anyone checked on the salmon croquettes?”

My voice is almost drowned out amongst the din of the bustling kitchen. Today is finally it: the day of Damon’s gala. My team and I have been up practically since the crack of dawn, preparing all of our dishes. And with the gala beginning in just under an hour, we’re currently on crunch time.

No one answers my call. “Hello?” I call out again. I’m too busy stirring a pan of lemon glaze to do it myself. “Can someone please check on the salmon croquettes?”

“On it, Chef.” John sets down his knife and jogs past me toward the ovens. He yanks the door open, and then…

“Shit!”

A plume of dark smoke emerges from the oven. John curses loudly as he grabs oven mitts and reaches in. My eyes widen when I see what he pulls out: a pan of black hockey pucks that were once supposed to be salmon croquettes, crispy on the outside and gooey on the inside.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I set down my spoon and wipe my sweaty brow with the back of my hand as John throws the pan down on the top of the stove. Those salmon croquettes were a non-negotiable on Damon’s menu, and now…

“I’m so sorry, Abby,” John says sheepishly. “I got caught up with the potato gratin, and…”

“It’s fine.” I let out a small, exasperated sigh and push my sleeves up. “I’ll whip up some new ones. Someone take over the lemon glaze for me, before that burns, too.”

“On it, Chef!”

Before I know it, I’m lost in a flurry of pink salmon and hot pans. The air steams up around me as I sizzle and chop, my knife moving in a blur. Somehow, within half an hour, a new batch of glistening croquettes is being meticulously plated and wheeled out the door by Damon’s servants.

“There,” I say with a satisfied nod, placing my hands on my hips. “Done.”

“Now just to keep up as the food starts to disappear tonight,” Anton says as he slings his dish towel over his shoulder. “Not bad.”

“No. Not bad at all.”

Suddenly, though, the back door swings open and in walks Edgar. Instantly, I feel a heat creep into my cheeks. “Miss Abby?” he calls out. “It’s time.”

…

“Is everything to your liking, Miss Abby?” Edgar asks as he guides me toward the ballroom, where the sound of music and people catches my ears.

My hair is pinned up in a perfect, wispy updo. My makeup is subtle and shimmery, just the way I like it. All of this, paired with the beautiful black silk dress, delicate pearl necklace and matching pearl earrings, and matching pearlescent heels that Damon purchased for me, makes me look like a vintage Hollywood star.

“It’s perfect, Edgar,” I say with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Miss Abby. Please, enjoy the party.” With that, Edgar opens the door to the ballroom.

A soft gasp escapes my lips as I step into the room; glimmering chandeliers and silk streamers hang from the ceilings, people dressed to the nines dance and mill about, servers dressed in the finest tuxedos carry around trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and a full orchestra is playing soft music on the stage.

It’s like a fairytale.

Except…

“Do you sense him like I do?” my wolf suddenly growls in the back of my mind.

I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest as my eyes scan the crowd. “Yes.” Just like my wolf, I sense him too. Karl. It feels as if he’s nearby, somehow. I can’t pick up his scent, but… I can feel him. His presence.

But it’s not possible. Karl isn’t anywhere near here; if anything, he’s probably already back at home, in his pack territory. Maybe he’s locked up in our—no, his—mansion, handling his Alpha duties.

After all, I haven’t heard a peep from him since that initial voicemail. I guess he got the hint, and he’s none the wiser to my surprise pregnancy.

Still, though, I can’t help but wistfully search the crowd for his familiar face. Every head of dark brown hair, every tall, muscular male silhouette seems to catch my eye as though he might be somewhere within the sea of people.

And yet, with each person who turns around, it’s never him. Why would it be?

I let out a soft sigh as the realization hits me. “Wishful thinking,” I say to my wolf, who growls in reluctant agreement. Just wishful thinking. He’s not here.

But then, suddenly, there’s a tap on my shoulder. I can’t help but gasp as I whirl around, my heart racing at breakneck speeds. Maybe it’s him after all. Maybe my instincts were true. “Karl—”

No. When I turn, it’s not Karl who looks at me, but rather a head of black hair and striking green eyes. Karl’s name fades on my lips, lost in the sound of the music and the people as I see who’s really standing by me.

Damon. He’s holding his hand out with a polite, charming smile on his handsome face.

“May I have this dance, Abby?”