From Rejected Mate to Luna Chapter 181

Julia's POV

By the time we step out of the jet bridge, my body feels like it belongs to someone else. The air inside the regional airport is stuffy and overheated, but beyond the glass doors I can already sense it—the cool, wet breath. Pine. Rain. Cold metal and jet fuel underneath.

Matthew walks beside me, pulling our rolling suitcase with one hand and balancing my overstuffed carry-on on his shoulder like it weighs nothing. His hair is a little messy from the long flight, stubble darkening his jaw.

My wolf, Kaia, stirs inside me as we step into the arrivals hall, the scent of distant woods floating in through the automatic doors every time they slide open.

*Territory,* she sighs, pleased. *Finally.*

The rain has that particular Pacific Northwest smell—wet asphalt, moss, cold air. I shiver and pull my hoodie closer, then realize my fingers are already halfway to my shirt collar, smoothing it, checking the lay of my neckline like I'm about to stand in front of some kind of review board.

Old habits.

Matthew notices. Of course he does.

"You look perfect," he says quietly.

"I look like I just survived a ten-hour flight," I mutter, but I still tug my ponytail tighter and check that my shirt isn't wrinkled. "Which is exactly why we should probably not show up looking like this."

"Show up where?" he asks, though I can feel through the bond that he already knows.

I swallow and lift my chin, trying to inject some energy into my voice. "Your parents' place. We should go there first."

He actually stops pushing the cart. "My parents' place?" he echoes, like I've suggested we go wrestle a rogue bear for fun.

"Yes, we should go straight there," I insist as we head toward baggage claim. "At least to say hello. Explain. I don't want them to think I'm the kind of daughter-in-law who just takes their son and runs off to Europe without looking back."

He gives me a sideways look, half amused, half fond. "You know they're not Nathan's parents, right? There's no checklist. No hidden points system."

I ignore that, scanning the wall for a sign that might indicate flower shops or even a small newsstand. "Do you think there's a florist near here? Or at least a place to get chocolates? I can't show up empty-handed. That would be even worse."

We reach the carousel. Matthew lifts our big suitcase off the belt like it's nothing and sets it on the cart.

"Jules," he says, that teasing patience bleeding into his tone, "I love you. But I'm willing to bet you a year's worth of French pastries my parents are not at home right now."

I frown. "They're not… where else would they be?"

"Anywhere that isn't here," he replies. "Knowing them, at this exact moment? They're either in another state, or at least halfway to the airport."

I blink at him. "Didn't they say they'd keep an eye on pack business while we were gone?"

"They did," Matthew says, steering our cart toward the exit. "And they did. For two weeks. That's like a personal record. But in their heads, us landing back is the finish line. As soon as our plane touches down, their 'responsible adult' shift ends, and vacation mode kicks in."

We step through the sliding doors into the damp, gray afternoon. Rain taps against the awning overhead, and the wind carries the clean chill of wet pine and mountains. I inhale slowly, trying to calm my heartbeat.

"They still deserve a proper thank-you," I say. "I—I owe them that. And you, too. You canceled an entire Luna ceremony for me. They could've been upset about that."

Matthew's old Jeep is waiting where he left it, paint flecked with dried mud and pine needles still caught in the windshield wipers. He opens the trunk and starts loading the bags.

He laughs. "You really think we're going to catch them at home?"

"Yes," I say stubbornly. "I mean, where else would they be? They knew we were coming back today."

He closes the trunk and turns to me, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket. He holds it up between us.

"Okay," he says, that mischievous spark lighting his eyes. "Let's make a deal."

"That sounds ominous," I mutter.

"I turn this on," he continues. "If they're still at home, we do things your way—we drive straight there, and you can give them all the flowers and apologies your little Luna heart desires. If they're already at the airport or on the road, we do things my way—we go home, you take a long shower and a long nap, and we save the in-law diplomacy for another day."

I bite my lip, glancing from the phone to his face. Inside, Kaia tilts her head, amused. *He's so sure of them. He smells smug.*

"He's wrong," I tell myself—and her. "They're responsible. They stayed to guard the pack while he ran around France with me. They wouldn't just bolt."

"Deal?" Matthew prompts, lifting one brow.

I let out a breath. "Fine. Deal."

He grins, satisfied. Then he opens my door for me with a little bow, and I slide into the passenger seat. By the time he's settled behind the wheel, the phone is in his hand again.

"Moment of truth," he says lightly.

He holds down the power button. I don't realize I've stopped breathing until I hear the first faint buzz as the phone connects to the network. Signal bars jump up. A heartbeat later, the message alert tone chirps—bright and insistent.

Matthew doesn't even try to hide his smile now. He taps to open the inbox, glances down, and huffs out a quiet laugh.

"Oh, this is good," he murmurs, then turns the phone toward me. "Read the top one. From Dad."

My heart does a tiny flip as I take it. The screen is grainy, letters cramped together, but the message is clear enough.

From: Dad

*Heard from James your flight landed on time. Perfect. We're at the airport too—headed south. Mom found a last-minute deal to Cabo. House and pack officially back in your hands. We're already past security, so don't even think about coming to wave. Love you both. Bring Mom more of that French soap next time. —Dad*

I stare.

Then stare a second longer.

"So," Matthew says, voice full of smug affection, "who was saying they were probably sitting at home waiting?"

"They're… at the airport," I say slowly. "Now."

"Probably in line for boarding," he answers. "Or raiding the duty-free chocolate."

"You mean," I continue, feeling my brain catch up, "we literally just got off one plane, and they're getting on another one?"

"Welcome to my parents," he says.