Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 275: Better Off This Way

Chapter 275: Better Off This Way

Nova’s POV

They say when your world shifts, it doesn’t do so gently.

It crashes.

It shatters.

And you’re left kneeling in the middle of it, surrounded by jagged pieces of what used to be your sense of normal, bleeding from truths too sharp to hold.

That was me—fourteen days ago.

And all because of one silver-eyed boy with a sharp tongue, a colder stare, and hands that could summon darkness like it was his birthright.

Eldur.

He wasn’t human.

Not even close.

I kept replaying the scene over and over, the night at the supermarket like a curse carved into the inside of my skull. The way those guys cornered me, how their laughter echoed around me like a death sentence. I remembered their hands. Their intentions.

And then—Eldur.

He moved like an angry ghost, silent and swift. One moment I was screaming in terror, the next, they were screaming, falling, disappearing into these horrible swirling portals—black holes ripping the air itself apart. One of them reached out, begged for help. Eldur didn’t flinch. He just stared at them with eyes that looked like they’d seen every war ever fought.

And when it was over, when they were gone and the air had gone still, Eldur turned to me.

He said my name like it was something sacred. Like he hadn’t just done something monstrous.

And I... I fainted.

When I woke up in his apartment later that same night, I ran like I didn’t know him. Like I hadn’t laughed with him under golden streetlamps, or shared stories curled up on my worn-out couch, or watched his expression soften every time I touched his arm. I ran like he wasn’t the boy who remembered my favorite book and brought me coffee with the exact number of sugar cubes.

But how do you love someone who could destroy the world if he was having a bad day?

How do you trust someone who can make people vanish with a flick of his fingers?

I didn’t know.

So I locked myself inside my apartment and tried to pretend Eldur Daegon didn’t exist.

Lara knocked on our bedroom door for the fifth time that morning. She hadn’t been around that night when I busted into the apartment panicking like the devil himself was after me.

"Nova, I swear to Beyoncé, if you don’t open this door, I will bust it down with my hip and dramatic flair."

I groaned into my pillow, face buried deep into the fabric that still smelled vaguely like lavender detergent and heartbreak.

"I’m not hungry," I muttered, voice muffled.

"That’s not what I asked, sweet potato." The doorknob rattled. "Seriously, are you okay? What happened with Eldur? Did he say something to you? Did he hurt you?"

That made me sit up straight. The guilt hit like a sledgehammer to the ribs.

"No!" My voice cracked. "He didn’t... he didn’t hurt me."

Lara was quiet. Then, in a softer voice, "Nova, I’m your friend. If something happened—really happened—you can tell me. Eldur’s always been kind of terrifying, but he never struck me as someone who would..."

"I said no, Lara."

I opened the door. My hair was a mess, my eyes were puffy, and I probably smelled like fear and two-week-old anxiety. But she needed to see my face.

"He never laid a finger on me," I said, softer now. "In fact, he’s the only person who ever made me feel safe."

Lara blinked at me. "Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost that tried to date you?"

Because that’s exactly what it felt like.

I laughed, bitterly. "Because I saw him do something, Lara. Something awful. Something impossible. And now I can’t unsee it. I can’t stop thinking... what if one day he does that to me?"

She stared at me for a long time, the kind of stare that makes you feel both exposed and loved. Finally, she just nodded.

"You’re scared," she said simply.

I nodded, my throat tight.

"And you still haven’t told me what he did."

"You wouldn’t believe me if I did."

"Try me. I once dated a guy who thought he was the reincarnation of a Victorian chimney sweep. My bar for reality is already in the basement."

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The words didn’t fit in my mouth yet.

So I hid again.

And the world spun on without me.

Every day, Eldur came to the apartment.

And every day, I cowered in the closet like some trembling cliché. Sometimes I bit down on my own hand just to stop from calling out to him. Sometimes I cried after he left. His voice—rough and velvet all at once—echoed through the hall like a broken prayer.

"Nova, please. I swear, I won’t come in. Just talk to me."

I kept silent.

"I’ll stay right here. You don’t even have to open the door. I just want you to know I—"

I still said nothing.

"You can’t keep hiding from me forever. I mean, you could—but then I’ll do something dramatic. Like cry. And nobody wants to see that."

God, I hated how my heart twisted like that every time he said things like that. Like it had a mind of its own, always betraying me, squeezing painfully at the sound of his voice—even when that voice scared me, even when it shouldn’t have mattered anymore.

And yet, a messed-up part of me—one I tried really hard to ignore—still wanted him to whisper my name. Just once. Just to know he was still out there. Still... him.

But then, on the sixteenth day, something changed.

He didn’t come.

No knock at the door.

No voice that sounded like gravel and velvet and heartbreak all wrapped in one.

It hit me like a cold bucket of reality. I noticed the silence immediately.

I waited anyway.

Through the afternoon, while the sun bled lazily across the living room floor.

Through Lara shouting at a carton of almond milk and threatening to sue the universe for letting it expire.

Through the dull, mechanical hum of the hallway heater and someone’s sitcom laughter echoing from two doors down.

Still—nothing.

No familiar footsteps outside the door.

No low, shaky voice saying my name like it hurt him to say it.

Just silence.

And somehow, that silence cut deeper than all the fear.

Lara got back from class sometime after seven. Her glitter-drenched boots hit the floor with a thud, and her rainbow-painted nails were clicking furiously on her phone screen.

She paused when she saw me on the couch—blanket burrito, dead eyes, same spot I’d haunted for two weeks.

"Hey," she said, voice softer than usual. She never started with soft. That alone made my stomach twist.

I blinked at her. "What?"

She sat beside me, tucking one leg under herself. Her face was unreadable.

"I saw him today," she said gently. "Eldur."

My heart tripped over itself.

"Where?"

"Campus. Looked like someone ripped out his soul and ran it over with a truck. Real tragic vampire vibes. Like... if Edward Cullen went through a rough emo phase."

I didn’t laugh. I couldn’t. My throat had already closed up.

"He asked me to tell you something," she added, her voice getting serious.

I turned to her slowly. "What did he say?"

Lara looked at me for a long beat—like she was deciding whether or not to actually say it.

Then she laid a hand on my shoulder, eyes soft.

"He said you can come back. To school. Work. Everything. That he’s giving you what you asked for."

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Lara said, voice quiet, "he’s backing off. He’s leaving you alone."

The words hit harder than I expected. Like getting winded in the middle of a storm you didn’t see coming.

I blinked fast. Swallowed harder.

"He’s leaving?" I whispered.

She nodded. "Yeah. And honestly? He looked like hell warmed over. Like he meant it."

And that was it. The ache cracked open wide, flooding my chest like something hot and raw.

I bit down on my lip—hard enough to taste metal—trying to keep the tears from spilling over.

So this was it. He was giving me space. Distance. Peace.

Exactly what I said I wanted.

So why the hell did it feel like I’d just been carved hollow?

I tried to logic my way through it. Told myself I was just used to him being around. That was all. That he’d just become part of the chaos I’d gotten weirdly comfortable with.

That he was the one who remembered I liked the sound of thunder and always carried spare chocolate in case I had a bad day.

That he knew when I was anxious without me saying a word—and would just take my hand like it was no big deal.

He never hurt me.

He scared me, yes.

But he also... held me, in every way that mattered.

Still, I repeated the mantra like a lifeline.

Better off without him.

Better off without the fear.

Better off without the magic.

Better. Better. Better.

Right?

Two days later, I finally opened the door.

The sun outside was blinding, like the world was mocking me for hiding.

Even the wind felt weird. Too sharp. Too loud. Too unfamiliar.

I stepped outside, clutching my bag like a shield.

"I can do this," I muttered under my breath. "He’s gone. It’s better now. Everything’s fine."

I took a breath.

Believed it.

Held onto it.

For about five seconds.

Then I realized the world didn’t actually feel brighter without him.

It felt dull.

Dim.

Muted—like someone had turned the volume down on everything, even my own heartbeat.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d just let go of the one person who made this gray, weird life of mine feel like technicolor.

And I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find that color again.

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