Chapter 95: You’re Overthinking… Little Bunny..

Moon is staring, but his gaze is a distant hum compared to the primal alarm ringing in my blood.

Angel. Just Angel.

I move toward him, my focus a laser.

Angel’s eyes lift to meet mine. In them, I see the ghost of fear dissolving into a wash of profound relief.

Thank god.

My hand starts to rise, to reach for him, to pull him behind me where he’ll be safe.

A hand closes around my wrist. Not Angel’s. The grip is firm, warm, and utterly inescapable.

My head snaps to the side. Moon has risen from the couch with a predator’s fluid speed. His fingers are a brand on my skin.

I try to yank my arm back, but his hold only tightens—a silent, infuriating declaration of control.

He doesn’t look at me. His icy blue eyes fix on Angel, and his voice is a smooth, dismissive command.

“You can go.”

Angel’s eyes snap to me, wide and uncertain, searching—for permission, for safety, for some sign that he’s allowed to move.

I offer the smallest, tautest nod I can manage. It’s barely there, but it’s enough.

He hesitates for a heartbeat, glancing once more between Moon and me—an unreadable flicker in his gaze—then turns and flees.

The door closes behind him with a soft sigh, sealing the room—and us—inside its tense silence.

The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly, denser, charged. It’s just the two of us now.

I wrench my gaze from the closed door back to Moon. My voice is low, stripped of all pretense, a blade of pure ice.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He finally looks at me, his expression one of bored, aristocratic nonchalance.

“Why can’t I come? It’s my aunt’s house.”

He says it like he’s commenting on the weather.

“You can,” I snarl, the last thread of my politeness snapping.

“But you don’t get to threaten my friend.”

He blinks, the picture of innocence.

“Threatening?” he echoes, as if the word is foreign.

The flush on my cheeks deepens, burning with a fury that has nothing to do with fever.

“Yes. What did you do to Angel?”

He blinks again. Then, a sound escapes him—a soft, disbelieving laugh that bubbles into a fuller, richer chuckle.

It’s a beautiful, maddening sound.

“You’re saying I threatened your Omega friend?”

His thumb strokes a slow, teasing circle on the inside of my captive wrist.

I stare, my righteous anger faltering.

He’s… laughing?

He squeezes my cheek with his other hand, the gesture startlingly intimate. My eyes fly wide.

“You’re overthinking, little bunny,” he murmurs, his voice dropping.

“I just borrowed his cellphone to call you. Why would I threaten your… special Omega friend?”

I blink. The entire foundation of my frantic rush, my protective rage, crumbles into dust at my feet.

He didn’t… He didn’t do anything.

The realization is a dizzying, embarrassing vertigo.

Moon is still laughing, a low, amused rumble.

“Well, I’m surprised. Since when do you start making the house servants your friends?”

He leans closer. The air changes. When I entered, the room held only the sterile scent of wealth and Angel’s faint, sweet distress.

Now, it’s flooded with him—the rich, demanding scent of amber wood.

It’s not a trace; it’s a declaration. It thickens the air, coiling around us with deliberate, oppressive weight.

Did he release it on purpose?

His face is dangerously close to mine. His whisper is a warm puff against my skin.

“Zyren… is the Omega your friend? Or is he… something else?”

I meet his gaze with a stare that could freeze hell over. With a surge of strength, I finally rip my wrist from his grasp.

“Why— are you interested in him, Moon?”

He takes a slow, deep breath, as if savoring the tension.

“Nope,” he says, his lips curling.

“He’s not my type.”

I stare, thrown.

Not his type?

In the novel, Moon Arden was supposed to be obsessed, consumed by a fated passion for Angel.

Now he’s dismissing him like a slightly boring menu item.

“Then why are you asking?” My voice is flat.

He lifts a hand, holding his chin as if pondering a puzzle.

“I’m just… curious. Why is that Omega so special to you?”

His blue eyes narrow, sharp and calculating.

“Obviously, you’re trying to pursue him. His pheromones, his appearance… he’s rare. A prize.”

My hands tighten into fists at my sides. Heat climbs my neck, my chest pounds—I want to snap, to shove him, to curse him, but I hold it back.

“But you’re a D-class Alpha,” he continues, voice smooth, almost teasing. “It must be… difficult. So you’re trying the soft approach. Make him fall for you first. Am I right?”

I grit my teeth, my heart hammering.

How dare he… read me like this?

I force my gaze steady, control every inch of my expression.

“You’re a lunatic,” I spit the words out, sharp and low, even as my pulse screams otherwise.

His smile widens.

“No better than you.”

I let out a sharp sigh, running a hand through my hair.

“Look, I have no energy for you today. We’ll talk later.”

I turn to walk away, done with his games, his scent, his very presence.

I don’t take a single step.

His hand doesn’t grab my wrist this time. It slides around my waist—a swift, shocking invasion.

His arm is an iron band, and he yanks me backward. My eyes fly wide in shock as my back collides with the solid wall of his chest.

His breath is hot against my ear, his murmur a velvet threat.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done yet.”

I struggle against the hold, but it’s like fighting a statue.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“First,” he whispers, his lips grazing my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. The sharp, intoxicating scent of amber wood coils around me, dizzying, invasive.

I stiffen, my jaw clenching, my fists curling at my sides.

“You’re going to tell me. Who is that Omega to you? And why…” His arm tightens, pulling me flush against his chest. My pulse spikes, my chest pressed impossibly close to his.

“…is he so special?”

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