Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 260: Mystery And Comfort

Chapter 260: Mystery And Comfort

Nova’s POV

The cold from the bench was seeping into my spine, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My knees were curled up to my chest, my fingers clenched in the fabric of my jeans, and my breath kept hitching in a way that made my chest ache. I hated crying in public, even if the only witness was a rusting park lamp and a squirrel that had clearly given up on finding food and was now judging me from a tree branch.

I sniffled and wiped at my face with the sleeve of my jacket. My cheeks were damp, my nose probably resembled a tomato, and my heart was a tangled mess of sharp things I didn’t know how to untangle.

The sound of footsteps came like a whisper through the quiet. Soft, then louder. Purposeful.

I froze.

Something in me already knew it was him.

The air changed. Not in the way you notice temperature or wind, but in a way you feel—like the molecules around you have been rearranged to make space for someone bigger than life.

I looked up slowly.

Eldur Daegon stood there like a shadow carved from moonlight—tall, broad-shouldered, silver-haired, and entirely too beautiful for someone who didn’t even try. His pretty eyes searched the park before they landed on me. And when they did, I saw something I hadn’t expected.

Worry.

Real, actual, heart-in-throat, furrowed-brow worry.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked closer in those silent, elegant strides of his like the night had parted just for him. He looked strange out here—like he didn’t belong in this ordinary world with its peeling park benches and neglected flower beds. No, Eldur looked like he’d walked out of a painting that had run out of colors except black and silver.

And for some reason, he came to me.

He sat down beside me—not too close, not too far—his posture both graceful and strangely stiff, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his limbs. His coat rustled, and I could smell his cologne. It was subtle, not like those guys who drowned themselves in body spray. Eldur smelled like smoke and cool night air, like mystery and comfort all at once. I hated how comforting it was.

He didn’t say a word for several moments. And I knew—knew—he was going to ask me.

"Why did you run?"

"Why are you crying?"

"Was it something I did?"

My throat tightened in anticipation. I didn’t want to talk. Not about my mother. Not about my father. Not about the horrible memory I couldn’t bury deep enough. I didn’t want to explain the chaos swirling inside me. I couldn’t.

But surprisingly, Eldur didn’t ask any of that.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowed—not in judgment, but in quiet concern—and asked, "Nova... Are you alright?"

Just that.

Not a demand. Not a question loaded with expectations. Just those simple, gentle words.

I blinked at him, confused, startled, maybe even a little betrayed that he wasn’t doing the whole dramatic confrontation thing. It would’ve been easier if he had. I had my defensive speech ready, complete with sarcasm and a dramatic eye-roll. I didn’t know what to do with kindness.

"I’m fine," I said, too fast, too sharp.

Eldur’s eyes didn’t believe me. Of course, they didn’t. They were too sharp, too observant. I swear he could read people’s souls with one glance. His eyes scanned my face, then dropped to my arms, my hands, my legs. He didn’t touch me—not even once—but I could feel him checking for injuries like he’d been trained to look for damage beneath the surface.

His expression was... peculiar. Gentle, for someone who usually looked like he could kill a man with a toothpick. He reached into his coat and pulled out something that looked suspiciously like a mini first-aid kit.

My eyebrows flew up. "Do you carry that everywhere?"

"Yes," he replied simply, as if it made perfect sense.

"And why is that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "People bleed a lot around me."

I stared at him.

He stared back, completely deadpan.

A bubble of laughter slipped past my lips before I could stop it. "That’s... not reassuring, Eldur."

"I didn’t say it was supposed to be." His tone was so serious I couldn’t help laughing again. It cracked the sadness, just a little, like sunlight sneaking through heavy clouds.

He didn’t push further. He didn’t try to dig into my emotions or demand an explanation. He just... sat there. Solid. Present. Like a lighthouse for a shipwreck.

There was something surreal about Eldur being here, on this ugly old bench, in this forgotten park that probably hadn’t seen a repairman in decades. He was the kind of guy who looked like he should be in some Gothic manor, storm raging outside, composing poetry or drinking wine from a crystal goblet—not sitting quietly next to a crying girl who didn’t know how to deal with her past.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His profile was too perfect. It was honestly rude. Sharp cheekbones, smooth skin, that fall of white hair that framed his face like he was sculpted by a very dramatic Renaissance artist. And then those eyes—those ridiculous silver eyes that made you feel like you were either going to melt or confess to a crime you didn’t commit.

"You didn’t have to come," I said softly, voice cracking. "I mean, you had all those people around you. They were literally falling over themselves to talk to you. You were the star of the show."

He turned to look at me, slowly. "I didn’t care about them."

My stomach did a weird little flip. "That’s... dramatic."

He didn’t blink. "It’s true."

"Okay, but you’re also kind of dramatic."

"And you’re deflecting."

I blinked.

"Takes one to know one," I shot back, crossing my arms over my knees like a shield.

Eldur smiled. Not one of his usual smirks, but an actual, slow, almost shy smile. It hit me square in the chest.

"I’m not good at this," he said, voice low.

"At what?"

He hesitated, then murmured, "At... caring. Talking. Comforting."

I frowned. "You’re doing fine."

"I feel like I should be doing more," he admitted, eyes dropping to the ground. "But I don’t know how to ask what you need without sounding like a robot. I want to understand what hurt you so I can... burn it to the ground. But I know that’s not how this works."

I blinked at him.

"Wow," I said after a moment. "That might be the most Eldur thing anyone has ever said."

"Should I not have said that?"

"No, I... appreciate the honesty. I think," I said with a small smile. "Also, please don’t burn anything. Especially not the bar. Lara would actually kill us both."

"Noted."

There was a long pause, but this one wasn’t awkward. It felt warm. Safe.

I took a deep breath. The air still burned my throat a little, but I could breathe again.

"Sometimes," I began slowly, "I get overwhelmed. Like... I walk into a room and suddenly I’m ten again, waiting on a porch for someone who never really wanted to come home. It’s stupid."

"It’s not stupid," he said instantly, firm.

I glanced at him.

His jaw was tight. "The past doesn’t lose its weight just because time passes."

I blinked. "Wow. That was... surprisingly wise. Who are you, and what did you do with the emotionally constipated Eldur Daegon?"

His lips twitched. "He’s being held hostage by someone who likes hearing you laugh."

God help me, my heart squeezed.

I stared at him, mouth slightly open. "That was either really smooth or extremely cheesy. I haven’t decided."

"I’ll take either," he said, brushing invisible dust from his coat sleeve.

We both fell quiet again, the kind of silence that didn’t demand anything. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone. I didn’t feel like I was holding up a wall by myself. I had someone beside me. Someone strange and terrifying and complicated—but someone who, in his own weird, Eldur-y way, cared.

I turned to him again, softer this time.

"Thank you. For coming."

He didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded. Then, as if it cost him a piece of his pride, he muttered, "I was... worried."

I smiled. "You? Worried? That’s new."

He looked away, cheeks suspiciously pink. "Don’t make me regret it."

I laughed, truly laughed this time, and when I leaned my head against his shoulder, he didn’t move away.

He just let me stay there, warm and safe and held—without needing to say another word.

And yet, even in that comfort, a quiet fear stirred in me. I couldn’t believe someone like Eldur existed—so patient, so good, so steady. It almost didn’t feel real. People like him didn’t just appear in your life and stay. People like him were wanted by everyone. Needed. Loved.

And people like me? We got left behind.

Just like my mother left me.