The Alpha's Untamed Luna

Jasper's POV

"Your warrior mate." My dad let out as he sat back on his seat and rested his back.

"I don't know what it is, but I feel like something is off between you two. I can't quite put my finger on it, but you know you can never fool your dad. Do you mind breaking the ice bag, or would you rather let the ice in it melt down?"

I felt my heart palpitate loudly, a slow thud that made my chest tighten. His words had landed with unexpected accuracy, hitting a part of me I wasn't ready to examine. I immediately cleared my throat, searching for the right words—something believable, something calm, something that wouldn't invite further probing or ignite the flame of deeper curiosity.

"Well, she feels rather forced into this whole marriage mess. She's kind of not into me, but I think with time she'll come around." I said as I walked to the bar, picking up a bottle of vodka. My hand trembled slightly, but I masked it, pouring a generous amount into the glass. I pretended I was more relaxed than I actually was, tipping the drink to my lips. I couldn't let him sense that I was lying—no matter how deeply I was tangled in the truth I couldn't fully admit.

"I prefer not to dive into your privacy," he said calmly, and I genuinely appreciated his restraint. That was his way. He would push just enough to make me reflect, but never enough to leave me feeling cornered. Still, his words lingered like a haunting aftertaste.

"The war would take place in a week, right?" he asked again. I nodded in reply, not trusting myself to say anything further. My voice was caught somewhere between doubt and dread. He stood up slowly, stretching his limbs, clearly ready to leave, but I knew our conversation wasn't over—not really. It never was with him.

"Come with me," he requested. Without a word, I followed him out the door.

We spent the next hour in intense discussion. No topic was left untouched—politics, the pack's legacy, strategy, power, responsibility, and the ghosts of past decisions. His tone was firm but not unkind, more like a mentor preparing his successor. I listened closely, even when my thoughts drifted. I knew better than to take moments like this for granted.

When he finally entered his convoy and drove off, I felt like I'd aged a decade. My chest carried the weight of unspoken truths, my mind tangled in webs of duty and doubt. His voice still echoed in my ears, not loud, but insistent. The kind of echo that clings to you.

Dragging myself back into the house, I headed straight to my room. I didn't even check my phone—just turned it off without hesitation. No more calls, no more texts—I needed space. I needed silence. I needed something I couldn't name but felt aching just beneath the surface.

Walking into the bathroom, I took a quick shower under cold water, hoping it would quiet the storm in my head. The icy stream rushed over my shoulders and down my back, shocking me into stillness for a moment. But even the cold couldn't erase the thoughts swirling in my mind. After drying off, I threw on a bathrobe and some sweatpants, then collapsed into bed. But sleep? It refused to come.

My father's words played on a loop in my mind, ringing like an echo I couldn't silence. Each line repeated, dissected itself, burrowed deeper than I wanted it to. I sat up in frustration, staring at the walls, at the ceiling, at anything to avoid confronting the gnawing truth that maybe—just maybe—he was right. His words always had a way of unsettling me, especially when they carried more truth than I was ready to face.

I lay back down and closed my eyes, but my thoughts were like wild beasts, refusing to be tamed. Images of Charlotte flashed in my head—her voice, her expressions, the distance she carried in her presence. I shot up again, my body boiling with frustration, rage swirling in my veins like fire. I hated this feeling of helplessness, this emotional chaos that refused to settle.

I marched to the minibar in my room, grabbed a bottle of 1000, uncorked it, and downed its contents in one go. The burn should have numbed me. Should have calmed me. But it didn't. It only stirred the restlessness deeper.

"Hahaha. You forgot you're not human. You can drink all the hot spirits you want, and sleep still won't grace your eyes," my wolf mind-linked sarcastically. I clenched my jaw, slammed the empty bottle down on the counter, and stormed back to my bed. The voice in my head was right, annoyingly right.

"What the fuck is this?" I muttered under my breath as I rolled to the other side. This level of exhaustion without release was maddening. My mind was screaming for rest, yet my body refused to shut down. I didn't want to think, didn't want to feel—I just needed peace. Was that too much to ask?

I stared up at the ceiling, my face blank, my thoughts empty yet noisy. After what felt like hours of torment, I sat up and swung my feet to the floor. My hands rubbed over my face, then dragged down over my beard. I didn't even recognize myself tonight.

With a deep sigh, I walked out of my room and headed down the staircase. As I descended, a familiar scent caught my attention. Charlotte. Her scent was subtle but distinct, a mix of lavender and something I couldn't quite name. It always lingered after her like a shadow, like an afterthought that lingered on purpose.

"Why the hell is she still awake?" I asked myself as I made my way to the kitchen.

There she was, her posture calm and her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Her phone screen cast a soft glow on her face. She looked tired, but not physically—emotionally, spiritually, like someone always carrying too much and never putting it down.

"You couldn't sleep?" I asked casually. She looked up at me and nodded. Her expression unreadable, her gaze hollow.

"Same here," I added as I pulled out a chair and sat across from her, hoping she might open up, even if just a little.

"Good for you," she replied dryly, not even bothering to mask the sarcasm in her voice.

My brows furrowed. "Meaning?" I asked, unsure where her mood had shifted to. But instead of engaging further, she just sighed and stood up, finishing the last sip of her tea.

"Good night," she said with finality and walked off without waiting for a response.

I didn't push it. I wasn't in the mood for an argument either. Some silence was better left undisturbed. I stood up and climbed the stairs to my study, needing a distraction.

In the library, I picked up a random book—I didn't even bother to check the title—and opened it to the middle. Anything to silence the noise in my mind. The words on the pages blurred in and out of focus, but I read on, forcing myself to concentrate.

The night melted into dawn. Before I knew it, rays of sunlight were streaming in through the window, bathing the room in a soft glow. My body started to feel the weight of exhaustion, my eyelids growing heavier.

Finally, I returned to my room and sank into the mattress. The bed welcomed me like an old friend, and as I closed my eyes, sleep finally pulled me into the one world that made more sense than this—a world where things weren't this complicated, where everything felt foreign yet peaceful.