From Rejected Mate to Luna Chapter 59

Julia's POV

I stood up from my barstool, intending to head back to the guest quarters, but the room tilted unexpectedly. My legs, which had felt perfectly stable while sitting, suddenly seemed incapable of supporting my weight. I stumbled forward, my hand grasping at empty air.

Strong arms caught me before I hit the floor.

"Whoa there," a voice said close to my ear. "Easy does it."

Through my alcohol-fogged vision, I recognized Jason Miller, the security team member I'd met briefly during the wolf pack tour. His hands steadied me with practiced ease, one arm supporting my back while the other held my elbow.

My first instinct was to pull away—years of conditioning made me recoil from unexpected male contact—but my body refused to cooperate with my mind's commands. My limbs felt heavy and disconnected, as though they belonged to someone else entirely.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, the words slurring together despite my best efforts. "Just... need a minute."

"You need more than a minute," Jason said, concern evident in his tone. "How much have you had to drink?"

I tried to count but gave up when the numbers became confusing. "Not... that much," I insisted unconvincingly.

"Right," Jason said with a gentle laugh. "Let's get you some water and—"

"Miller, get your hands off her. Now."

The command cut through the tavern's ambient noise like a blade. Even in my inebriated state, I recognized the unmistakable authority of an Alpha voice.

Jason's hands immediately released me, and I swayed dangerously without his support. Through the haze, I saw Matthew Collins standing in the doorway, his expression thunderous.

"Alpha," Jason acknowledged, stepping back. "She was about to fall—"

"I can see what she was about to do," Matthew interrupted coldly, striding forward. His eyes blazed with barely controlled anger as he looked between Jason and me.

Something about his tone penetrated my alcohol-induced fog, sparking irritation that cut through my confusion. I tried to focus on his face, which seemed to blur and sharpen alternately.

"He was just... helping," I said, my words coming out thick and unsteady. "I almost fell."

Matthew's jaw clenched. "You're drunk."

"So what?" I shot back, swaying slightly. The room tilted again, and I had to concentrate hard to keep my balance. "I'm an adult. I can drink if I want."

"Not in my territory, you can't," Matthew said, his voice tight with frustration. "Not like this."

"Your territory?" I laughed, the sound bitter and slightly unhinged. "Since when do you care what I do? You've made it perfectly clear you want nothing to do with me."

Matthew's expression flickered with something I couldn't quite identify—surprise, maybe, or guilt. But before I could process it, he turned back to Jason.

"You're dismissed, Miller."

Jason hesitated, glancing at me with obvious concern. "Sir, she shouldn't be alone in this condition—"

"I said you're dismissed," Matthew repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Jason nodded reluctantly and left, throwing one last worried look over his shoulder. I watched him go with a mixture of gratitude and frustration, my vision swimming.

Matthew turned his full attention to me, and even through my drunken haze, I felt the weight of his scrutiny. "Come on," he said, his voice softer but still commanding. "You need to sober up."

"I don't need anything from you," I protested, but my legs chose that moment to buckle again.

Matthew caught me with an efficiency that suggested he'd dealt with drunk pack members before. His arm wrapped around my waist, supporting my weight against his side. The contact sent a confusing jolt through my system—part alarm, part something I couldn't name.

"Yes, you do," he said firmly, guiding me toward the back of the tavern. "You need cold water and fresh air, in that order."

I wanted to argue, to insist on my independence, but my body seemed content to lean against his solid warmth. He led me through the tavern with purposeful strides, and I found myself too dizzy to do anything but comply.

We stopped at the restroom entrance, and Matthew gently but firmly positioned me in front of the door. "Go inside," he instructed. "Splash cold water on your face. Take your time. I'll wait here."

I stared at him, my alcohol-addled brain struggling to understand why I wasn't resisting. There was something in his tone—not quite gentle, but not harsh either—that made me want to obey.

I didn't have a good response to that, so I pushed open the door and stumbled inside.

With trembling hands, I turned on the cold water and splashed it over my face. The shock of it made me gasp, but I forced myself to do it again, then again. Each splash brought a bit more clarity, washing away some of the fog that had settled over my thoughts.

By the time I'd patted my face dry with paper towels, I felt marginally more in control. The room still swayed slightly when I moved, but at least I could think in complete sentences again.

Matthew was waiting exactly where he'd said he'd be when I emerged. His expression was unreadable as he studied my face, perhaps assessing my level of sobriety.

"Better?" he asked.

"A little," I admitted grudgingly.

"Good. Now let's get you outside."

He guided me toward the tavern's exit, his hand hovering near my elbow without quite touching. The cold night air hit me like a physical force when we stepped outside, sharp and bracing. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling the alcohol's grip on my system loosen further.

We stood on the wooden porch outside the tavern, the sounds of the establishment muffled behind us. The street was quiet, lit by old-fashioned lampposts that cast pools of golden light on the snow-dusted pavement.

Finally, I felt clear-headed enough to speak. "You didn't have to do that," I said, my words coming out steadier now. "I would have been fine."

Matthew's jaw tightened. "I'm not having Miller harass our guest."

"He wasn't harassing me," I countered, straightening up. "And even if he was, what gives you the right to intervene? I can handle myself."

"I'm responsible for everyone in this territory," Matthew said stiffly, his eyes fixed on some point beyond my shoulder.

The evasiveness in his response irritated me more than his interference had. "Right. And I'm sure you'd have reacted the same way if it was Ryan or Taylor in there instead of me."

"This isn't about you specifically," Matthew insisted, but his tone lacked conviction.

"Isn't it?" I challenged, the alcohol still providing just enough liquid courage to push. "You've been cold to me since the day we formally met, except for that brief period when I was dating Daniel. And now you're back to treating me like I've done something wrong."

Matthew's expression hardened, and when he spoke, his words were deliberately cruel. "Speaking of Daniel, weren't you two just breaking up not long ago? And now you're already letting another man put his arm around your back."

The words hit like a physical blow, stealing my breath. For a moment, I could only stare at him, shocked by the calculated cruelty of the remark.

But then something shifted inside me. Instead of the hurt I knew he'd intended to inflict, a different realization began to form—one that was almost amusing in its clarity.

"Oh my god," I said, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up despite everything. "I was right all along."

*Your theory is ridiculous, but I have to admit it seems pretty reasonable now,* Kaia's voice echoed in my mind, her tone carrying a hint of smug satisfaction.

Matthew's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You totally had a thing for Daniel," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. The alcohol still loosening my tongue enough to voice the theory I'd only half-believed. "That's why you've been so weird around me. It wasn't about me at all—you were jealous of *me*!"

Matthew's eyes widened in absolute shock, his carefully maintained composure cracking. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Too late, I realized I'd spoken aloud the ridiculous theory I'd shared only with Amber and Kaia. Heat rushed to my face—though whether from embarrassment or residual alcohol, I couldn't tell.

"You think I'm gay?" Matthew finally managed, his voice strangled with disbelief.