CHAPTER 67: CHAPTER 67

Chapter 67

Astrid’s POV

The world narrowed to a single point of contact: Kaeleen’s mouth on mine.

At first, it was gentle, a stark contrast to every other kiss I had known for the past five years. Leon’s kisses had been acts of ownership, hard and demanding, a brand to mark his territory. Kaeleen’s was a question, soft and hesitant. My mind went blank, every coherent thought dissolving into pure sensation. The warmth of his lips, the clean scent of his skin, the low, possessive growl that vibrated through his chest and straight into my soul.

When his tongue traced my lips, I opened for him on instinct. And when the kiss deepened, something inside me, a part I thought had died long ago, flickered to life. It was warm and dizzying. For a breathtaking second, I kissed him back. My hands, which had been frozen at my sides, lifted to rest on the hard wall of his chest. His heart was hammering against my palms, a frantic rhythm that matched my own. This felt... right. It felt like coming home to a place I’d never been before.

Then my body went cold.

His hand was on my neck, his thumb stroking my skin, his other arm securing me against him. It was a gesture of affection, of passion. But my body didn’t know the difference. All it knew was the feeling of being held, of being claimed.

A memory, sharp and ugly, sliced through the haze clouding my brain.

Leon, backing me against a wall, his hand in the same place on my neck, his grip bruising. His kisses were never gentle, they were declarations of his power.

"You belong to me," he growled possessively, "You will do as I say."

My breath hitched. The warmth of Kaeleen’s mouth suddenly felt suffocating. I didn’t see him but Leon. Everything was wrong in that instant. The gentle pressure of his hand felt like a cage. My muscles screamed in silent protest.

My hands, which had been resting so softly on his chest, clenched into fists. I pushed.

It wasn’t a shove, not really, but it was abrupt enough to break the connection entirely. I stumbled back a step, then another, putting a much needed space between us. My lungs burned as I gasped for breath, my heart pounding a terrified rhythm against my ribs.

I looked at him, my eyes wide with a panic I couldn’t conceal.

The passion in his eyes vanished, replaced instantly by shock, then confusion. And then, something far worse: a wave of dawning hurt that was so clear. He looked like I had just slapped him. His hands, which had been holding me with such tenderness, dropped to his sides as if he’d been burned.

He stared at me, his expression a mixture of pain and shock. He opened his mouth, then closed it, searching for words. The silence stretched, thick and agonizing.

"Astrid... I..." he started, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. "I’m sorry."

The words were quiet. But that wasn’t what I wanted. If at all anyone should apologise then it should have been me. I should have been the one to apologise.

"I shouldn’t have done that," he continued, his gaze falling to the floor, unable to look at me. "I misread everything. I crossed a line. I’m sorry."

His apology was meant to be kind, to give me an out. But to my fractured, insecure mind, it was the worst possible thing he could have said. He shouldn’t apologize. I wanted to scream at him not to apologise but my mouth was mute. My mouth didn’t move.

The kiss that had felt so right, so full of promise, was a mistake to him. A line he regretted crossing. The sting of it was sharp and humiliating. My panic morphed into a cold, sickening wave of shame. Of course he was sorry. Why wouldn’t he be? I was the broken Luna, the cast-off mate, the girl with so much baggage she couldn’t even handle a simple kiss without freaking out.

The look on his face wasn’t just hurt anymore; it was regret. And that was a thousand times more painful. He thought he’d made a terrible error in judgment by kissing me. The beautiful, fragile moment was shattered, and in its place was just awkwardness and my own inadequacy.

I couldn’t stand there a second longer. I couldn’t look at the regret in his eyes. I couldn’t breathe the air that was now thick with his apology.

"I... I have to go," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. The words were flimsy, meaningless. I didn’t offer an explanation. How could I? How could I possibly explain the war raging inside me? How could I tell him that his touch was both the most wonderful and the most terrifying thing I had ever felt?

Without waiting for a reply, I turned and fled. I didn’t walk, I didn’t retreat; I fled like a cornered animal. I practically ran up the staircase, my footsteps echoing in the hall. I didn’t stop until I reached the sanctuary of my room, fumbling with the doorknob before finally getting the door open and shutting it firmly behind me.

I leaned my back against the solid wood, my entire body trembling. I slid down the door until I was sitting on the plush carpet, my knees drawn up to my chest. My mind was a chaotic storm of sensation and self-loathing.

I could still feel the ghost of his lips on mine. It had been nothing like Leon. Nothing. Leon’s touch was about taking. Kaeleen’s had felt like... an offering. A gift. And I had thrown it back in his face.

Tears of frustration pricked my eyes. I was so angry. I was angry at Leon for breaking me so thoroughly that I couldn’t accept kindness without flinching. I was angry at myself for being so weak, for letting my past poison my present. I had hurt Kaeleen. The wounded look in his eyes was seared into my memory. He had just bared his soul to me about his family, and I had offered him strength. Then, when he acted on the connection between us, I had treated him like he was a monster.

And his apology... God, his apology. It twisted in my gut like a knife. ’I’m sorry.’ He thought I was rejecting him. He didn’t know I was rejecting a ghost. He thought the kiss was the problem. He probably thought it was terrible. He thought I was terrible. The shame was so intense it made me feel sick.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold my splintering emotions together. For one perfect, fleeting moment, I had felt like a Luna. I had felt desired and cherished. Now, I just felt like a fool. A broken, pathetic fool who had ruined the one good thing that had happened to her in years.

I had no idea how I was going to face him again. He regretted kissing me. And the most painful part was, I didn’t. Not for a second. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.