I Am His Wolfless Luna Chapter 90

Emma's POV

I woke with a splitting headache and winced as another thunderous snore rattled through the air beside me. My temples throbbed in rhythm with my pulse, each beat sending daggers of pain through my skull.

I buried myself deeper under the unfamiliar blankets. They smelled nice at least—a warm mix of cinnamon and fresh laundry detergent. I tried to piece together last night, but my memory was a shattered mirror, reflecting only disconnected flashes: strobe lights, shot glasses, grinding bodies on the dance floor, and... pills? Yes, definitely pills. No wonder my brain felt like cotton candy soaked in vodka.

Another ear-splitting snore jolted me fully awake. Fine. Might as well face the damage. I cracked one eye open, then the other, blinking against the morning light streaming through unfamiliar curtains. The room screamed bachelor pad: stark white walls desperately needing personality, clothes littering the floor like colorful landmines, closet door hanging open revealing a chaotic jumble inside.

I turned my head and froze. Holy shit. Beside me lay a mountain of a man—all rippling dark skin stretched over muscles that bulged even in sleep. The sheet had slipped down to his waist, giving me a perfect view of a chest so defined it looked airbrushed. Memories flashed through my mind: those massive hands gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly against the wall, his mouth hot on my neck as I screamed his name... What was his name again? Mark? Mike?

I bit my lip, eyes traveling lower, noting the impressive tent in the sheet. My body responded instantly, a delicious ache spreading between my thighs as fragments of pleasure from last night echoed through me. There'd been a lot of orgasms—more than I'd had in months. But as my gaze drifted around the room again, reality crashed in. The peeling paint in the corner. The cheap plastic alarm clock. The faded posters. Hot as hell, but broke as a joke. I needed to slip out before he woke up wanting morning sex or—worse—my number.

I quietly slipped out of bed, locating and pulling on my clothes from last night. I held my heels in my hand to avoid the clicking of stilettos against the hardwood floors. When I opened the bedroom door and stepped into the shared living area with its open-concept kitchen, I found a group of wolf warriors lounging on various pieces of furniture, dressed in varying states of clothing. My eyes appreciatively swept across all the muscles and hotness in the room before remembering I probably looked thoroughly debauched.

They all stared at me with expressions ranging from amusement to curiosity, and I ducked my head slightly. I took two steps forward when a chuckle from the kitchen table area caught my attention. I looked in that direction to find Beta David leaning against the island, sipping coffee. He smirked, "Didn't know you were living in the wolf quarters now, Emma."

Heat flooded my face as David's knowing smirk burned into me. David had never liked me, always hovering around Ethan like a protective mother hen, probably whispering poison about me when I wasn't around.

I plastered on my sweetest smile—the one that usually melted men into puddles—though I doubted it had much effect with my raccoon eyes and sex-tangled hair.

"David! What a surprise!" My voice came out too high, too brittle. "I was just, um..."

I was absolutely fucked. Not the good kind of fucked from last night, but the career-ruining, reputation-destroying kind. David would run straight to Ethan with this juicy bit of gossip. And while Ethan wouldn't be jealous—he'd never shown a flicker of possessiveness toward me—this would torpedo my carefully crafted image.

Ethan thought I was the innocent girl whose life he'd ruined that drunken night six years ago. The heartbroken almost-virgin still pining for her Prince Charming. Not some party girl bouncing between warrior beds in the wolf quarters. What had I been thinking?

"Good to see you, Emma." David's voice dripped with fake politeness. "Hope you get home safely."

I yanked open the heavy door, nearly catching my fingers in it. Once in the hallway, I jammed my feet into my stilettos, wincing as they pinched my swollen feet. The morning sun stabbed my eyes like needles. I fumbled with my phone, squinting through my hangover to call a taxi.

I finally reached my bathroom and nearly gasped at the stranger in the mirror. My blonde hair looked like it had been styled by a tornado—half still pinned up in now-drooping curls, the other half a rat's nest of tangles. Last night's smoky eye had migrated south, giving me raccoon circles that stretched to my cheekbones.

I grabbed my phone and punched in the number for Ethan's secretary—not his main one, but the new girl with the mousy hair and cheap clothes. Over the last month, I'd cultivated her like a gardener tending a useful weed. Drinks after work, shopping tips she couldn't afford to use, and sympathetic nods while she whined about her sad little life with three roommates and a mountain of student debt. Pathetic, but useful.

"Shadow Fang Training Camp Office," came the familiar female voice that answered the call.

"Hey sweetie! It's Emma!" I said, using my friendliest tone.

"Hi, Emma! How are you?"

"I'm good! Hey, Ethan told me he changed his mind about the charity event coming up next weekend—could you add it to his schedule?" I lied, hoping to fix this before David had a chance to mess things up. That man hated me almost as much as Aria did.

"Oh, Ethan actually mentioned this morning that he would be attending the event." A dramatic pause. "He didn't say anything about bringing anyone, though."

My grip tightened on the phone. Her tone was technically professional, wrapped in fake sweetness, but the insult was clear as glass.

"Yes, well," I forced a laugh, "we just decided, literally this morning over breakfast." The lie slid out smooth as silk. "So be a dear and add me to the list, okay? Thanks so much!"

Before she could question me further, I dangled the bait: "Drinks tonight? That new cocktail bar you mentioned? My treat, of course."

The hesitation was brief but noticeable. "Sure, sounds good!" Her voice brightened at the prospect of free drinks she couldn't afford. "I need to get back to work now. Talk later!"

The call disconnected, and I set my phone on the bathroom counter. Damn. I needed to come up with a plan. First, I needed to clean up, then get a gown, and cobble together a story to tell Ethan. I could explain that I had gotten too drunk and had my first one-night stand. The experience was completely different from our night together. I would cling to him, saying it just confirmed my feelings for him. Yes, that was perfect.

Time to put on a show. I picked up my phone and decided to text Ethan. I typed, deleted, and retyped several messages before settling on:

Had the worst night, Ethan. Can we talk later? I could really use a friend right now.