Don’t Poke the Luna Chapter 122

Xena’s POV

The entire car ride, I sat with my arms crossed tightly over my chest, while Ryder didn't even try to touch me or speak to me. That, if I'm being honest, only infuriated me more. While on the surface I wanted to be left alone, inside I was screaming for him to break the silence, even if it was just with simple small talk. His phone rang a few times, and though I was curious who was contacting him, my desire not to speak to him was stronger.

When the car pulled into the pack grounds, I yanked my door open before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop.

"Damn it, Xena," I heard Ryder mutter behind me as I stormed into the house. His voice held a mixture of frustration and concern, but I didn't care right now.

"Xena!" My father's voice startled me, nearly causing me to trip over my own feet. My heart skipped a beat, completely unprepared to see him here.

"D-Dad?" I stammered, surprised at the scene before me.

Luna Kestrel, Alpha Benedict, and Martha were all standing in the foyer talking. Pack members were walking in and out, but mostly ignoring the Alphas. I felt a wave of embarrassment and discomfort wash over me—this was definitely not the time for a family reunion.

"Have you forgotten your manners! I swear, I didn't raise—" Martha began her lecture.

Unfortunately, my mood was beyond terrible. Without thinking, my right fist pulled back and then connected perfectly with her chin. I knocked her out cold.

Anger, shame, and a tiny bit of satisfaction coursed through me simultaneously, but my rational mind told me I'd just made a huge mistake.

I didn't wait around to be scolded by anyone, though. I kept walking. I didn't even acknowledge my father or anyone else. I felt like my entire body was on fire, burning with rage but with nowhere to direct it. Gasps echoed through the foyer. People moved out of my way as I rushed up the stairs.

It took me a couple of tries to get the bedroom door open, but it finally gave. I slammed the door shut, expecting to hear a bang, but there wasn't one. I'd been looking forward to that sound—it would have made me feel better, like I could destroy something too.

Looking back, Ryder had slipped in. Damn, when did he get so quiet? I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for him to start yelling at me. I was prepared for a heated argument, ready to unleash all my pent-up emotions.

But surprisingly, he walked over to the bar, poured two glasses of whiskey, and brought them over with the bottle. He set them on the coffee table and sat on the couch. One arm resting on the back of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, he sipped his drink while watching me. I was completely confused—this wasn't the reaction I'd expected.

After a minute, he leaned forward and pushed the other glass toward me. I was totally lost. I'd expected to be yelled at, maybe even punished, but he was offering me a drink? Maybe this was the calm before the storm.

Cautiously, I stepped forward, downed the entire glass in one go, and set it back down. The alcohol burned my throat, but it felt good, a distraction at least. Ryder leaned forward and poured me another. After downing the second glass, I grew tired of waiting.

"Where's the yelling?" I asked, uncertainty and defiance lacing my voice.

"I'm not going to yell at you," Ryder said in an eerily calm tone.

"Why not?" This time, I poured myself a drink. I was confused internally—this calmness was more unsettling than anger would have been.

"There's nothing to yell at you about," Ryder shrugged, settling back comfortably.

I didn't know how to react. Should I sit down? Keep standing here? After awkwardly shifting for a few minutes, I finally sat down at the opposite end of the couch, away from Ryder, making sure not to touch him.

I wanted to ask how he could be so calm, but didn't know how to phrase it. "You can feel every emotion I have," I said, my tone more bitter than I intended.

"Yes, but I'd like you to explain and tell me what you want," his tone was gentle, almost pleading. It made me even more uneasy.

"Well, Dr. Nash..." I said sarcastically. I knew it was childish, but I wanted to hurt him right now, wanted him to feel my pain.

"Don't fucking do that," Ryder's eyes bored into mine. I knew he hated when I used sarcasm with him, but there wasn't much consideration for others' feelings inside me right now. Guilt pricked at me, but I pushed it down.

"What the fuck do you want me to say?" My anger flared again.

The whiskey was starting to warm my blood, loosening something inside me that had been wound too tight. I stared at him, my chest heaving with barely contained emotion. His green eyes remained steady, watching me like I was some wild animal he was trying not to startle.

"I want you to tell me what's going on in your head," he said finally. "Because all I can feel is your anger and confusion, but I don't know why."

I laughed bitterly. "You don't know why? After what happened today?"

"I know Martha being there upset you—"

"It's not just Martha!" I interrupted, slamming my glass down. "It's everything! It's my father showing up unannounced. It's you letting people make decisions about my life without consulting me. It's Samuel being dead. It's Helen trying to seduce you. It's my shop being destroyed. It's the fact that my entire life has changed in a matter of days, and I haven't had a single moment to process any of it!"

My voice had risen to a shout by the end, and I was on my feet again, pacing in front of the couch. My hands shook as I ran them through my hair, pulling slightly at the roots.

"I feel like I'm drowning," I admitted, my voice suddenly quiet. "And everyone expects me to just... adapt. To be this perfect Luna. To make the right decisions. To know exactly what I want. But I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

Ryder stood slowly and approached me like I might bolt. "Come here," he said softly.

"No," I backed away. "I don't want comfort right now. I just want... space. Time. Something that feels like it's mine."

"Everything I have is yours," he said, spreading his hands. "This room, this house, this pack—"

"But that's just it!" I cried. "None of it is actually mine! It's all yours that you're letting me borrow. I went from being under my father's thumb to being under yours. I had a life, Ryder. I had plans. I had dreams that didn't include being someone's Luna."

The hurt that flashed across his face made me regret my words instantly, but I couldn't take them back. The truth was messy and painful, but it was honest.

"Is that how you see this?" he asked quietly. "As trading one cage for another?"

I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. "I don't know how to see it. That's the problem."

The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words and raw emotion. I heard him move, the soft clink of glass against glass as he poured another drink. When I opened my eyes, he was holding it out to me, his expression unreadable.

"What the fuck do you want me to say?" I repeated, taking the glass but not drinking from it.