Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 271: Close Enough to Burn

Chapter 271: Close Enough to Burn

Nova’s POV

There’s just something about the way Eldur looks at me.

Not in a casual, passing kind of way—like most people do when they’re halfway listening. No, when Eldur looks at me, it’s intense. Like I’m a story he’s read a hundred times but still finds new details in every time. Like I’m the twist in the plot no one saw coming—but he always knew I was there.

Honestly, that look alone could’ve powered me through the entire week. No coffee needed.

I was happily living on cloud nine.

That evening after work, Eldur and I were locking up the bookstore—our usual dance: keys jingling, lights flicking off, the smell of old pages clinging to our jackets. The evening sun spilled gold across the sidewalk, covering everything in that dreamy kind of light that makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—something magical’s about to happen.

And then Eldur paused. Just... stopped, like the moment was suddenly too loud.

He looked at me with this strange, almost boyish uncertainty—like he was about to ask for something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want.

"Nova," he said, shifting his weight awkwardly, hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. "Come back to my place tonight."

My brain blinked. "What?"

He flinched, then rushed to correct himself. "I don’t mean like that. I mean—unless... I mean, not unless—ugh." He ran a hand through his hair, silver eyes darting away. "Just to talk. And maybe read. Or not talk. I just... like it when you’re around."

Oh. Oh no.

This man was dangerous.

The kind of dangerous that didn’t wear fangs or claws—just sincerity and silence. The kind that didn’t steal your heart but held it like it had always been his.

I smiled—small, but real—and tried to keep the wild, fluttery storm in my chest from leaking into my voice. "Okay."

Eldur’s eyes locked onto mine, sharp and hopeful. "Okay?"

"Yeah," I nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I just need to swing by the hostel first. Grab a few things. You know—girl stuff."

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his brow furrowed just slightly, and I caught it—that split-second flicker of worry in his eyes. Like he was calculating the exact number of steps between letting me go and never seeing me again.

"I could come with you," he said quickly, shifting closer. "Help carry things. I’m very strong, you know. Exceptionally strong, in fact."

I snorted. "Eldur, I’m not relocating to the Himalayas. I’m grabbing a toothbrush and, like, some face cream."

"But what if it’s a heavy toothbrush or cream bottle?" he asked, very seriously.

I gave him a look. "Are you trying to rescue me from my own moisturizer now?"

He folded his arms, which—honestly—just made his coat stretch in a way that was wildly unfair. "I just think it’s unsafe for you to wander off into the world unaccompanied. You’re delicate. You could get... winded."

"Winded?" I laughed. "I jog, Eldur."

He narrowed his eyes. "That sounds fake."

"You’re being ridiculous."

"I’m being protective."

"You’re being dramatic."

He sighed, like I’d just asked him to let me walk into a volcano barefoot. "Fine. Go. But only if you promise to text me updates. And by updates, I mean a timestamped selfie every five minutes until you’re back in my apartment, wrapped in a blanket and judging my book collection again."

I reached up and gently poked his arm. "You’re cute when you’re worried."

He looked down at where my finger had landed on his sleeve like it had personally insulted his honor. "I’m not worried. I’m... monitoring."

"Sure you are, Captain Chill."

"I am chill," he said, voice way too serious for someone who just tried to fight my pajamas.

"Uh-huh."

And even as I turned to go, I felt his eyes following me, like they were stitching an invisible tether between us—like letting me walk away, even for a second, felt like handing over a piece of his peace.

And honestly? That made my steps a little lighter.

My hostel was only a twenty-minute walk from the bookstore. The moment I stepped into the little room I shared with Lara, I felt the usual chaos waiting for me—an open bag of chips on the desk, clothes on the floor, and music playing from her phone that she’d definitely forgotten to pause.

Lara herself was sprawled across her bed like a fainting Victorian bride, one leg hanging off dramatically, phone resting on her face.

"You alive?" I asked, tossing my bag onto my bed.

"No," she groaned. "I died from boredom and now haunt this place as a tragic ghost."

"Cool. Want anything from the afterlife? Snacks? More eyeliner?"

She sat up with a groan, rubbing her face. "Where are you going?"

"To a friend’s place."

"’Friend,’ huh?" Her eyebrows did a little dance. "Tall? Broody? Built like sin? Silver eyes that look like moonlight and murder?"

I stared at her. "Why are you like this?"

"Because someone has to be fun in this friendship. So, it’s Eldur, huh?"

I didn’t confirm or deny. I just gathered my things while she pestered me with increasingly dramatic suggestions—"He’s now your boyfriend Nova. Wear the red lipstick! No, not that one, the seductive one! Take the body mist, the one that smells like heartbreak and temptation!"—until I had what I needed and fled the room before she could start making me fill out a fake marriage license.

Eldur’s apartment wasn’t far. Just a few blocks—I’d walked the route before, easy and familiar, like a memory I didn’t have to think about.

And tonight, it felt like something out of a dream. I could already picture how it would go: Eldur and me, curled up together in one of his oversized chairs that always smelled faintly of cedar and ink. His fingers tangled in my hair, his lips brushing the top of my head in quiet intervals, as if kissing me was his way of pausing between thoughts. We’d pretend to work on our assignments, half-heartedly, while some soft instrumental played in the background. We might even end up swapping quotes from our favorite books like they were secrets too valuable to speak out loud.

But then—of course—I remembered something that made me stop short.

Drinks.

I hadn’t brought anything. Not even a basic iced tea. If I showed up empty-handed, Lara would absolutely revoke my girl card and never let me live it down.

So I cut through the next street and slipped into a small convenience store tucked between a shuttered café and a laundromat that always smelled like damp towels.

And that’s when everything shifted.

At first, it was just a flicker of unease. I’d barely taken two steps past the register when I saw them—three guys hovering near the back of the store, half-hidden in the dim aisle light. There was something in the way they stood, the way they watched—like wolves waiting for a misstep.

One of them leaned against the chip rack like it was his throne and gravity was a joke.

"Hey, sweetheart," the tallest one called out, his voice slick with something oily and cold. "You look lost."

I didn’t respond. Didn’t even glance his way. I just walked—faster than before—toward the refrigerated section, forcing my breaths to stay even, trying to act like I didn’t hear him.

My heart had already started thudding, each beat loud and hot and echoing through my chest.

I grabbed a bottle of peach soda—Lara’s favorite—and turned to head to the counter.

But they’d moved.

They weren’t at the back anymore.

They were closer.

Too close.

"Hey, don’t be rude," another one said, stepping directly into my path with a twisted smile. "We just wanna talk."

"I’m not interested," I said. Tried to keep my voice calm. Firm. Like I had control of this.

They laughed. All of them. Like I was the punchline to a joke I hadn’t been told.

And then—one of them reached out.

He touched me. Brushed my hair back behind my ear like he had the right.

I froze. My whole body stiffened like a wire pulled too tight.

"Aw, don’t be like that," he murmured, voice low and thick. "We’re just being friendly."

"No," I snapped, voice shaking despite everything I tried to hold steady. "You’re not. Please, leave me alone."

"Where you headed, baby?" the first guy asked, licking his teeth like the question was innocent. "Need a little company?"

"Don’t—"

"Bet your boyfriend wouldn’t even show up if you screamed," one of them sneered, stepping in closer.

Panic scraped at the inside of my chest. I could feel it rising, hot and thick, making my limbs tingle.

"Please," I said, louder this time. "Let me go."

But they didn’t.

They tightened around me, like smoke curling in, sealing the exits. The aisle that had looked wide and empty now felt like a coffin—small and suffocating. The air was heavier, harder to breathe.

And then it happened.

One of them grabbed my wrist.

Fingers like iron.

I yanked back, heart slamming against my ribs like it was trying to escape on its own. "Don’t touch me!" I screamed. "Let go!"

He didn’t. He just smiled.

"You’re even prettier when you’re scared."

That broke something inside me.

The scream that ripped out of me wasn’t neat or rehearsed. It wasn’t the kind you heard in movies.

It was raw. Desperate. Ugly.

The kind of scream that bursts from your chest like it doesn’t care if anyone’s listening—it just needs the world to know. Needs the universe to do something.

Because I wasn’t ready to become a headline.

Not tonight.

Not in this store.

Not like this.

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