Wolfless Luna

Chapter 2

Luca's POV

I am losing myself. Some say I am cursed, others say I am possessed by a demon. Either way, I am losing myself. Today's torture has me groaning within the confines of my office, my chest on fire, and my bones reconstructing themselves painfully. The witch I had met earlier today—or, let me rephrase that—the witch I had kidnapped earlier today mixed a new potion to curb the pain in my chest. As much as I hate those experiments, I gulp down the black content of the bottle that tastes of blood and burnt wood, engulfing my taste buds with disgust.

It is instant magic. My chest is better, and my bones are at peace again. But my breath stinks so bad that I fight the urge to throw up in my mouth.

I peek through my window and into the training ground, watching Hannah get trampled upon by Gwen, a newly transformed werewolf. It is insulting to watch, yet pitiful, as Hannah looks so downtrodden. I really feel bad for her. Except that it is only a passing feeling. I despise her for everything she stands for, just like I despised her parents.

Selfish bastards.

Hannah's father had been my mentor, and his wife a friend, but they had been selfish. That night, I had been sent by my father to investigate the family on his terms. He believed there was a sixteen-year-old stranger living with them. For sixteen years, Arnold and Megan hid their daughter because they wanted her away from the pack and my father. What the hell were they thinking? My father would know eventually; it could take him half a century, but he would know and punish them for foolishly trying to elude him.

Barging into the house had never been my intention. At that time, I had little to no power when my father's goons were present. That was when I saw her, the cutest thing in the room. For a fleeting moment, time slowed in its pace, the girl's face becoming more vivid and pale as she stared in my direction with her big brown eyes. She was scared, and I was intrigued by her. Her face was definitive, a round perfection and a work of art. She made me believe she was created by God, not a product of Arnold and Megan.

'Go through the back door,' Arnold mouthed to the terrified angel in her adorable red dress and curly brown hair bubbling as she took to her heels.

I followed her. I could not let another member of my pack intercept her; they would hurt her or sacrifice her to my father as his mate. She was too young for this. But what I had not known then was her inability to phase. I could hear her heart beating and her feet thudding against dry leaves in a rush. Damn, she was fast, but I was faster, considering the cursed blood that ran through my veins, and my determination to catch her by any means. I could smell her too, her scent a burst of a thousand gardens and rain. Her scent was life itself.

My heart tugged in my chest as I caught another scent. Fire. I swirled instantly, and my mind went berserk with anger, my blood boiling in my veins when I saw giant flames and a cloud of smoke yielding in my direction from where the house was. It was then I realized my mistake. I should have stayed with my mentor and friend, but I had allowed my curiosity to push me from my priority. Now I was to be blamed for their deaths. I knew going back to the house would only aggravate me further, so I continued to chase her.

Something bumped into my midsection, a gust of a thousand gardens and rain, flooding through my nostrils and dissipating the smell of smoke. The girl. God, I pitied her, understanding she knew what had happened with the forlorn expression on her face and the abject look of hatred she gave me. She opened her mouth to scream when my instincts took over and knocked her out.

I had thrown her over my shoulder and brought her to the pack days later.

My father became obsessed with Hannah, having sick thoughts in his head about making her his mate because she intrigued him. It came to a point we argued, and in the heat of the moment, I blurted a hateful remark about her, convincing my father she was cursed like me and a shame to our pack. He almost had her killed when I again requested that we provoke the wolf out of her with everything we've got. As a matter of fact, I had claimed blind responsibility and killed my father for his position as Alpha.

Now I am the cursed Alpha still crushing hard on a girl that despises me with the last drop of her blood.

The fight ends, and I groan in frustration, anticipating Hannah's presence. This might sound amusing, but I get fully aroused when she is around me. She drives me insane.

She opens the door, and I hold my breath. Is she even wearing a bra? Or have I gone berserk with my vivid imagination? And why does she still have such an embarrassing effect on me? Why did her brown eyes draw me in like they had since the first time I saw her and for six years till now?

Her hair is longer, tied up into a messy ponytail, and her smooth caramel face altered with smudges of brown dust and blood. It is a good thing that she heals fast. With all the fighting, there would have been bruises all over her beautiful skin.

I have to be strict with her, but now I feel terrible for her. Hence my decision to seek help from a more experienced Alpha, my frenemy, Tyrell. Notoriously gorgeous and a no-nonsense werewolf with annoyingly high standards. I have tried countless times to contact him, only to be put on hold by his secretary, and I have tried his personal contact, but he still does not return my call.

Thankfully, I have something on him. Something that would make it impossible for him not to help me out. A favor.

Slowly, I lick my bottom lip and regret it as soon as I relive the disgusting taste of the potion lingering on my lips. I know Hannah noticed me wince and pretended not to care.

'Pack your bags. We are leaving tonight,' I inform her coldly.