From Rejected Mate to Luna Chapter 183

Julia's POV

By the time the knock comes, the sky outside our cabin is already a deep blue, clouds hanging low over the trees. I'm still half on Paris time, wrapped in a soft sweater, hair twisted into a messy knot that I gave up trying to tame.

Kaia lifts her head inside me, ears pricking. They're here.

Matthew beats me to the door, bare feet silent on the wood floor. I hover a step behind him, palms suddenly damp.

You're fine, he sends through the matebond, a warm brush against my nerves. It's just James and Olivia.

Just James and Olivia. Our Beta and his mate. Our closest friends. The first people to see me in our home as Matthew's Luna, not the visiting nurse from another pack.

The door swings open.

"Smells like you two brought the good stuff," Matthew says, grin already spreading across his face.

"It's almost all Olivia," James answers, lifting a foil‑covered dish in one hand and a bag of Tupperware in the other. His dark hair is damp from the mist outside, his eyes bright. "I am merely the pack mule."

Behind him, Olivia appears, pregnant belly leading the way, cheeks flushed from the cool air. In her arms is a squirming, curly‑haired bundle in tiny sneakers and a dinosaur sweatshirt.

Ethan.

The little wolf's scent hits me—baby shampoo, milk, and a faint undercurrent of pine and pup. His eyes go wide the second he sees us.

"Uncle Matt!" he squeals, launching both arms toward Matthew like a baby koala seeing its favorite tree.

Olivia barely has time to adjust her grip before Matthew steps forward. His whole body shifts, shoulders dropping, hands already reaching.

"I got him," he says softly.

He slides the dish and bag out of James's hands onto the entry table without looking, his focus zeroed in on that small, wriggling body. Then he scoops Ethan up, one broad palm supporting the boy's bottom, the other cradling the back of his head.

Ethan lets out a delighted shriek and head‑butts Matthew's chest with all the strength his little body can manage.

"Careful," Matthew laughs, his voice going instinctively quiet, as if the cabin itself has to soften for this moment. "You'll knock me over."

Ethan doesn't care. His small hands grab fistfuls of Matthew's T‑shirt. His legs wrap around Matthew's waist like he belongs there.

I stand a couple feet back, suddenly… useless. The tightness that's been coiled inside me since we landed—about being the Luna now, about doing everything "right"—loosens in a strange new way.

Olivia leans toward me for a quick hug, smelling like coffee and roasted garlic and the steady beat of motherhood.

"Hey, you," she says near my ear. "You look better than I did after my honeymoon, trust me."

I huff a tiny laugh. "I feel like a wrung‑out dishrag."

"Jet lag is a liar," she says, waving it away. "Come on, let's get this food on the table so these two can wear each other out."

"These two" are now deep in a serious conversation about trucks.

Matthew shifts his stance without thinking, turning his body so Ethan's head is angled away from the edge of the open door, his hand automatically covering the vulnerable spot at the base of the boy's skull. It's a tiny movement, but my wolf notices. My heart does too.

We move into the kitchen, where our small table already waits with simple place settings. Olivia starts uncovering dishes—roast chicken, potatoes, green beans—and the cabin fills with warm, heavy scents that make my empty stomach rumble.

"Food first," she declares. "Chaos second."

"Too late," James says, nodding toward the living room.

Matthew has settled onto the couch with Ethan straddling his lap, the boy's hands planted on Matthew's shoulders as he bounces. Every time Ethan giggles, Matthew's lips curve a little more, his eyes crinkling in a way I didn't see much before this year.

"Dinner, then chaos," Matthew amends, standing smoothly with Ethan still in his arms.

At the table, Ethan starts in a booster seat between his parents. He lasts maybe two minutes before he twists around, eyes locked on Matthew's chair.

"I sit there," he announces, pointing directly at the spot next to Matthew with his fork.

"Buddy," James says, giving the fork a warning look. "We talked about not weaponizing utensils."

Ethan ignores him with the single‑minded focus only small children and Alphas can manage. "I sit by Uncle Matt."

"It's fine," Matthew says, already standing. "Come on, trouble. You and me."

He lifts Ethan out of the booster and perches him on the chair at his side, then tugs the chair in so the boy's knees don't smash against the edge. He slides Ethan's plate closer, moves his own a bit farther away, and pulls the glass of water just out of grab range without making a big deal about it.

"Okay," he says calmly. "Rule number one: fork points down. We don't blind the Luna at dinner."

Ethan swivels toward me. "Hi, Luna Julia," he says, solemn and sweet, like he's trying out the title on his tongue.

Heat floods my cheeks. I manage a smile. "Hi, Ethan. I like your sweatshirt."

"It has dinosaurs," he declares as if that explains everything. "Rawr."

Ethan makes a face, then turns toward Matthew with a proud grin, mouth full of green beans.

"Uncle Matt says I can be Beta like Dad when I grow up," he announces.

"I said you can be whatever you want," Matthew corrects gently, cutting a piece of chicken into smaller bites and sliding it onto Ethan's plate. "Beta. Doctor. Truck driver. Artist. Wolf scientist. You pick, kid."

Later, after James and Olivia have bundled a yawning Ethan into his coat and out the door, after hugs and leftover containers and promises to do this again soon, it's just me and Matthew in the quiet cabin.

He closes the door, leans his forehead against it for a second, breathing out slowly. I watch the tension bleed out of his shoulders, the way his whole scent has changed tonight—less steel and pine, more warm bread and baby shampoo.

We end up on the couch, a shared blanket across our laps. The house smells like roast chicken and apple slices.

I lick my lips. "You were really good with Ethan."

He shrugs, suddenly shy. "He's easy. He thinks I'm cool."

"I keep… seeing it," I admit, voice barely above a whisper. "You. With him. With—with any kid. The way you… check the corners of the table without thinking, and cut the food small, and make room for him to be loud but not unsafe."

He swallows, throat working. The bond hums between us, full and steady.

"And I kept thinking," I go on, eyes dropping to my own hands, "what you'd be like if the kid was ours."

The silence that follows isn't empty. It's thick, heavy with breath and heartbeat and the slow, rolling shift of wolves turning their heads toward a new sound in the distance.

Matthew reaches out, hesitates for half a second like he's giving me time to pull away, then lays his hand gently over mine. His fingers are warm, calloused, sure.

"If that ever happens," he says, voice rough but steady, "I'm going to be terrified. And probably annoying. And way too protective."

A shaky laugh slips out of me.

"But I'm also," he adds, squeezing my hand, "going to love them like hell. And I'm going to love you like hell through all of it."

The End.