Hour of the Moon

Chapter 21: Ash and Rain

Waya

Night knifed cold through the parking lot, the kind that wakes a man up to everything he's trying not to feel. Ahiga lit a cigarette; smoke curtained his expression until only his eyes burned through.

"What was that back there?" he asked, voice low but loaded. "What's going on with you?"

I stared past him at the highway, at the reflection of red neon in a puddle. "Out of all the women in Cherokee—why Keiran?"

He scoffed. Realization hit him like a slap, and the anger in his face shifted into something more dangerous: disappointment. "For the love of the Elders."

"You know the council won't be pleased—"

"The Elders or you?" he cut in, smoke curling from his nostrils. "You're next in line. You command the pack. Is it not enough to have Nani?"

"I don't know," I said, honesty scraping my throat raw.

He studied me, then flicked ash into the wind. "If you'd told me to back off, I might've. But it's not your place. You don't deserve her." He paused. "To be fair—neither of us does."

The truth loosened something mean inside me. The heat went out of the fight.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He shrugged, tension easing out of his shoulders. "Then do me one favor—stop staring at my date like you plan to eat her alive."

I grimaced. "That bad?"

"Worse." He crushed the butt under his heel. "Talk to Nani. Apologize."

We went back inside. The women were laughing, cheeks flushed with wine and warmth. For a second the table felt like safety, like before. It passed.

"You two start without us?" Ahiga grinned.

"We couldn't help it," Keiran said, leaning against the window, relaxed in a way that made my ribs ache.

Nani's wine-sweet breath brushed my ear. "I was worried."

"Nothing to worry about," I said, because that's the lie you give the people you love.

She laced her fingers over my chest and looked up, playful. "Let's go dancing."

"We're in," Ahiga said, already looking at Keiran. They fit. I swallowed the stone forming in my throat.

⸻

Keiran

Lava's sign bled red onto the street, letters too bright for a town this dark. Inside, the air was perfume and collisions: bodies, bass, bad decisions. Nani grabbed my hand and hauled me into the current, laughing like a younger version of herself had been let out of a locked room.

Ahiga leaned close. "Too loud?"

"Let's find quiet," I shouted back.

We found a far corner booth. The bass throbbed through the upholstery like a second heart. My head buzzed pleasantly; my shoulders, finally, didn't.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Fine," he said, eyes scanning the crowd. "You seem... tipsy."

"Maybe a little." I tried for a joke; my words had soft edges. I wanted to know what happened outside the restaurant, whatever passed between him and Waya that had pulled them tight as bowstring, then loosed them without snapping. "What did you two talk about?"

"It's nothing," he said too quickly, tone like a door slammed halfway. His jaw hardened; the kindness in him shuttered. It reminded me of someone I swore I'd never explain away again.