Moon Goddess

Chapter Twenty

Moonlight poured through the window, casting pale beams across Poppy's small room. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, carried in from the open window she had forgotten to close. She lay on her side, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheek as she shifted slightly beneath the worn quilt. Despite the tension coiling in her chest even in sleep, for once, her face was relaxed. Peaceful.

And Mateo watched.

From the shadows of the doorway, his presence was a silent weight pressing against the room. His sharp golden eyes traced the lines of her face, his jaw clenching as if the sight of her pained him. He had spent years mastering control, restraining his instincts, his emotions. But here, in the quiet hush of the night, those defenses felt fragile.

She had no idea who she was. What she was.

And that was the most dangerous part.

A floorboard creaked.

Mateo's head snapped up just as Sam's reflection caught in the bedroom's cracked mirror. The older man stood at the edge of the hall, his expression unreadable beneath the dim glow of hallway night light. For a long moment, neither spoke, their gazes locked in an mutual understanding.

Then, without a word, Mateo turned and disappeared down the stairs.

Sam exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face before following.

Downstairs, the fireplace crackled softly, barely holding onto its last embers. Sam descended the final step just as Mateo leaned against the wooden support beam near the hearth, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"You're still watching her," Sam muttered, heading toward the kitchen. His tone wasn't accusing, but it carried something close to it.

Mateo didn't look at him. "She's dangerous, Sam. And she doesn't even know it."

Sam set the kettle over the fire, filling it with water from a jug before leaning against the counter. His eyes flicked to Mateo, then away. "That's why you're here? To remind me?"

"To remind both of us."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the low bubbling of the heating water. Finally, Mateo exhaled through his nose, his golden eyes flickering toward the stairs. "Do you think she'll survive the trial?"

Sam didn't answer immediately. He shifted his weight, shoulders tight with an unease that he refused to voice. "That depends." Those words hurt them both. 

Mateo's gaze sharpened. "On?"

"On whether or not she finds out what she is before then."

Mateo's jaw flexed. He had spent countless nights weighing the risks, the possibilities. Could she handle the truth? Would knowing her heritage make her stronger—or unravel her entirely?

"You know running isn't an option," Mateo said after a long moment. "Even if she tried, the Council already has her scent. The Hunt would follow her to the ends of the earth."

Sam nodded grimly. "Even if I helped her, it wouldn't matter. Not forever."

A weight settled between them. A truth neither wanted to say aloud but understood all the same.

For all her strength, all her fire, Poppy was trapped.

And she didn't even know the gravity of it yet.

Mateo turned toward the door, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. But before he could leave, his sharp gaze flicked back to Sam. Something had shifted in the older man's stance—just for a moment. A flicker of hesitation, barely noticeable.