Don’t Poke the Luna Chapter 133

Xena’s POV

"I believe you, Penelope. But you need to understand what this means. You can't be angry with Logan. All of this is necessary so we can clear your name," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning inside me. I glanced up at Logan before returning my gaze to Penelope's tear-stained face.

"I know. I just feel so guilty and ashamed," Penelope whispered, her voice small and fragile, breaking my heart with each word.

"As the investigation continues, things might get harder, but trust that Logan will guide you down the right path." I placed my hand gently on her knee, offering what comfort I could while watching tears silently stream down her cheeks. I felt her pain as if it were my own—the betrayal by her own family, a pain that made me both furious and heartbroken.

"We're definitely continuing the investigation. Since your father was mentioned—Darius—we'll start there," I said firmly.

Alpha Benedict sighed as he took a seat. "Agreed. Keep us informed of any developments."

Dad motioned for his companions to leave. Penelope stood, slipping her hand into Logan's, and they walked out together. Logan gave me a nod, but I could see the pain etched across his features. Guilt and confusion clouded his face, and I knew no words could immediately fix this situation. Only time would tell. My heart ached for both of them, for this complicated mess we found ourselves in.

"What's the plan for this week?" Alpha Benedict asked us.

"Xena?" Ryder looked down at me, his eyes filled with questions and concern.

"I think I need to get my things from school, and then we can head home. It'll be safer, and we can take all our exams here," I sighed. The old me would have hated this—running away like a coward—but given the complexity of our current situation, it was the best option.

"That's a wise decision," Alpha Benedict said as he sat down.

Ryder and I walked out of the room, with William catching up to us. "What are your dinner plans?"

"I don't think we have anything specific..." I looked up at Ryder for confirmation.

"No, why? Did you have something in mind?" Ryder asked.

"Movie night?" William suggested, his eyes lighting up with anticipation.

"We could do that," Ryder looked at me, and I nodded. Despite my exhaustion, the thought of spending time with friends lifted my spirits a little.

"Why don't you grab something from the kitchen, and we'll meet in our room?" I told William.

"No problem. Ama will be thrilled," William answered.

"Perfect," I nodded, and William turned and walked away.

Following Ryder, we made our way back to our room. As he closed the door behind us, I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

"Have you decided what changes you want to make to our room?" Ryder asked while pulling off his shirt. His defined muscles gleamed in the light, instantly distracting me.

"I mean... like what?" Looking around, all my belongings sat on my nightstand. Ryder had framed our birthday photo and hung it above the bed, but other than that, the room looked exactly the same as when I first saw it. I suddenly realized that despite living here for some time, I'd barely left any mark of my own.

"Different colors? New bedding? Paint?" Ryder tossed out suggestions.

"You chose sage green for your shop. That's completely different from the style we have now," he added.

"Well, that was the vibe I wanted for the shop. Not my bedroom," I replied, walking to the closet to grab my favorite silk pajama set. I began changing in the closet, enjoying the feel of silk sliding against my skin, which always helped me relax.

"Your previous bedroom was very basic," Ryder commented.

"I knew I wouldn't be living there forever, so I didn't care about changing anything."

"So now you can. What would you like to do differently?" Ryder walked to the closet, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes filled with genuine interest.

"I like black and red."

"Come on, there must be something you'd like to change," Ryder pressed, thinking I was holding back.

Walking out of the closet into the bedroom, I started looking around, really considering the question. Every item in the room began to take on new meaning in my eyes—this wasn't just a place to sleep; it was our home together.

"I'm serious, Ryder. I love these silk sheets. If you haven't noticed, I'm quite fond of my silk pajamas. We could upgrade the sofa and chairs. They're a bit old, and I prefer deeper couches. I'm not particularly fond of white, but red does balance everything nicely. We could put more pictures on the walls..." I spoke while imagining these possible changes, suddenly realizing I did have ideas—I just hadn't given them serious thought before.

"I'm glad you said that," Ryder snapped his fingers and walked into the closet. When he emerged, he was holding two massive paintings. As he turned them around, I saw they were pieces I'd drawn long ago—one of a wolf's head, the other of a bald eagle. "These were my favorites from your sketchbook. I had them framed and really wanted to hang them up."

My voice caught in my throat, momentarily speechless. He'd chosen perfect frames for them—a light gray weathered wood. The frames were substantial, made of real wood, which made every pencil stroke stand out more.

I walked over and picked up the wolf head drawing to examine it more closely. Memories flooded back of midsummer, when I rarely stayed at the pack house. Back then, I was lost, finding brief moments of peace only when I was drawing. Now Ryder had brought that memory back to me.

Looking around, I suggested, "How about over the dresser?" There was an empty space there that seemed perfect for the artwork.

"Sounds good," Ryder set down the paintings and went to the kitchenette, returning with a hammer and nails. He'd clearly planned this in advance. After helping him level the pictures, we stepped back to admire the result.

"They really do belong here," I said, gently wrapping my arm around his.

"I agree. They're beautiful pieces."

Just then, a knock came at the door. Ryder went to answer it.

"Dinner is served," Ama's cheerful voice announced as she entered. "Oh, you've already hung them up!" William followed Ama inside, immediately noticing my artwork on the wall.

Ama set down the food and looked up with a smile. "Ah, the wolf head."

"Why do you say it like that?" William asked while opening the food.

"That drawing was supposedly really difficult to get right. She was grumpy for almost a month because it wasn't turning out how she wanted. Something about the eyes, I think," Ama shook her head, handing me my food.

"Hey! If the eyes are good, the whole piece is good," I protested. Ryder sat down beside me. William passed him his food, then settled into the armchair.

"What movie did you choose?" he asked.

"We haven't picked yet. Been busy hanging artwork," I answered after taking a bite of my Italian sandwich.

"I want a horror movie!" Ama scrunched her face at me.

"Any recommendations?" I asked Ryder.

"The Grudge 2."

"Damn! I haven't seen that one yet!" Ama exclaimed excitedly.

"Sounds good. It's been ages since I've watched it," William said with his mouth full of food.

"Blade, can you grab my stuff from school tomorrow too? I have a few things to take care of here," Ama asked me.

"Sure," I nodded.

"Why did you suddenly call her Blade?" Ryder questioned.

"Seriously. When do we get to call you Blade?" William complained.

Smiling, I asked, "Why would you want to call me Blade?"

"Everyone else does," he replied.

"Everyone else calls me Luna," I pointed out as I finished my sandwich.

"You know what I mean! I want to call you Blade too, it's cool!" William finished his food. He stood up, grabbing everyone's utensils and food wrappers, walking toward the trash.

"Ama, should I let him call me Blade?" I asked her.

"No. That's reserved for me, Leonard, and Logan!"

"The lady has spoken!" I laughed, leaning against Ryder.

I felt a wave of annoyance from him. Thinking it was directed at me, I moved away and lay down on my side of the couch. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Ryder didn't seem to register my movement, or if he did, he chose not to comment on it.