All Chapters of BOUND MOONLIGHT: The Alpha's Forbidden Mate : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

He parked two blocks from St. Catherine's.Not at the hospital. He'd already been to the hospital, had already gotten what the hospital could give him, a name, a confirmation, the particular satisfaction of Maya Chen settling into place like the first piece of a thing he hadn't known was incomplete until he found it. He didn't need the hospital anymore.He needed the parking lot.Kai sat in the car for a moment after cutting the engine. The street around him was doing its mid-morning business, a dry cleaner's with its door propped open, a woman walking a very small dog with the focused urgency of a creature that had somewhere important to be, a bus pulling away from a stop in a low diesel exhale. Ordinary city. Ordinary morning.He rolled down the window.The smell of the city came in immediately, exhaust and concrete and the particular layered complexity of a place where thousands of people moved through the same air every day, leaving traces of themselves behind the way rivers le

The phone rang at 11:47.Maya was standing at the kitchen counter with a mug of tea she hadn't drunk, watching the steam rise and disperse in the still apartment air, and the ring startled her enough that she set the mug down too hard and had to catch it before it tipped. She looked at the screen.Mom (Dr. Chen)The contact name was her mother's doing. She had handed Maya her phone three years ago at a family dinner in Palo Alto and said, update my contact, and Maya had typed her name and then her mother had looked over her shoulder and said, put the title. As though Maya might otherwise forget.She answered."Hi, Mom.""You sound tired." No preamble. Her mother had never seen the point of preamble."I just woke up." This was not true. She had been awake since five, lying in bed cataloguing the particular quality of the silence in her apartment, which had felt, in the early hours, less like quiet and more like the absence of something she couldn't name. "Long shift last night.""How l

She had made a mistake. She understood this approximately three seconds after he crossed the threshold — three seconds being the amount of time it took for her brain to finish the calculation her body had apparently declined to perform before she stepped back from the door and said then you should come in, as though she were inviting a colleague in for coffee, as though the man currently standing in her entryway were a normal person in a normal situation and this were a normal Tuesday morning. He was not a normal person. She had known that. She had known it in the parking lot and in the hotel room and in every quiet moment of the four days between then and now when she'd turned it over in her mind, examining it from different angles, trying to find the version of events that made rational sense. She had known it intellectually, the way you knew things you'd filed under impossible to fully process, return to later. But intellectual knowledge and the man himself were, she was dis

The howl faded.The silence it left was a different quality of silence than the one that had existed before it, heavier, more specific, the silence of a room in which something had just happened that could not be unhappened. Maya sat in the armchair with her hand still pressed flat against her stomach and did not move for a long time.Kai did not speak.She understood, distantly, that he was giving her the silence deliberately. That he had the capacity to fill it and was choosing not to. She filed this away with everything else she was filing, the list that had been growing since he crossed her threshold, the catalogue of observations she was building about this man the way she built catalogues about everything, because information was the only reliable tool she had ever found for managing situations that wanted to manage her instead.He was patient. He was controlled. He delivered difficult information without flinching. He had moved away from the door the instant she asked him to.

The rain started sometime after midnight. I knew this because I had not slept, had lain in the dark of my bedroom with the ceiling above me doing nothing in particular and my mind doing everything it shouldn't, cycling through the conversation in the kitchen the way you cycled through a thing you couldn't stop touching, pressing at it from different angles to see if it felt different, if it made more sense, if the man sitting across from me in my own apartment telling me what I was carrying became less impossible from some direction I hadn't tried yet. It didn't. At some point the sound of the city changed, that particular shift that happened between three and four in the morning when the last of the night traffic thinned and the first of the early trucks hadn't started yet, the seam between one version of the city and the next, and in that seam I heard the rain begin. Quiet at first. Then not quiet. The kind of rain that settled in with intention, that had made arrangements to stay