The Wolfless Contract Luna (Grace and Ethan) novel Chapter 8

**Glass Gardens Falling by George Orwell**

**Chapter 8: One Year Contract**

**Grace POV**

Become his Luna. For one year.

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The words explode in my mind like a thunderclap, reverberating through every corner of my thoughts. My breath catches, suspended in a limbo between my lungs and throat, a silent scream lodged in my chest.

The sheer impossibility of it all washes over me like a tidal wave. Damien would never permit such a thing. The Council would surely veto it. I’d be exchanging one prison for another—

Yet Ethan’s embrace doesn’t feel like a prison at all.

It feels like safety. Like the first deep breath I’ve managed to take in years, filling my lungs with a sense of freedom I thought I had lost.

No. Stop. I can’t—

The scents of pine and smoke envelop me, wrapping around my senses, seeping into my skin, clouding every ounce of rational thought. My head spins, a dizzying whirl of confusion and desire.

I pull back, my legs trembling beneath me, a fragile structure ready to collapse.

“Damien would never—”

“Damien’s opinion is irrelevant.” The certainty in his voice slices through my panic like a knife, sharp and unyielding.

“I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you.”

The lie burns on my tongue, acrid and bitter. Ash and copper. I barely know this man, yet the magnetic pull I feel toward him is undeniable.

Terrifying.

He’s offering me an escape, and all I can think about is how his hand felt against my back. How my body yearns to lean into his touch, to give in to the warmth he radiates.

*What’s wrong with me?*

“I’m not asking for your feelings. I’m offering you a way out. Think about it.”

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Wolves surge toward us, their presence a force of nature, shoving me aside with a practiced politeness that makes me feel invisible. Forgotten.

I watch Ethan at the center of it all—confident, commanding. Women orbit around him like sharks drawn to blood.

Beautiful women, adorned with status and power, everything I lack.

Why would someone like him want me?

Unless this is all some political game I’m too naive to comprehend—

“Grace.”

Ice floods my veins at the sound of his voice.

Damien’s hand clamps around my arm, yanking me backward as if I’m a rag doll. The wall slams into my shoulders, pain exploding down my spine like fireworks.

His face is inches from mine, breath hot and sour, eyes wild with fury.

My stomach lurches. The mate bond screams—agony lancing through my chest like a knife.

Nausea rises, sharp and acidic. The same sickening feeling that grips me every time he corners me, every time he reminds me of my powerlessness.

*Breathe. Just breathe—*

But I can’t. His scent—once familiar and comforting—now feels revolting. A mix of rotten fruit and stale sweat, all masked by expensive cologne. My head spins, my stomach clenches in protest.

He demands to know what I told the Council, accusing me of sleeping with Ethan. Spittle flies from his mouth with each accusation.

Each word is a weapon, designed to break me. To reduce me to nothing.

Rage ignites within me.

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I slide my hand up Damien’s arm, moving slowly, deliberately, pulling myself closer as if we’re lovers.

His eyes widen in surprise.

“I told them everything.” My voice drops to a low whisper, intimate and taunting. “Every detail.”

I lean in closer, my lips nearly brushing his ear.

“As for Ethan? Would you like me to sleep with him? To let him touch me the way you touch Lilith?” The words taste like poison, bitter and sweet. “I’d love for you to feel what I’ve felt. But unlike you, I’m not a shameless whore.”

Damien goes rigid, his fingers spasming on my arm—crushing, then releasing.

“Now let go. Unless you want Lilith to get the wrong idea.”

His head snaps toward her. She’s already rushing toward the exit, hand pressed to her mouth in shock.

“Lilith!”

He releases me so abruptly that I nearly collapse. One venomous glare, and then he’s gone.

I watch him chase after her, disgust crawling over my skin. Thick. Suffocating. Like insects burrowing under my flesh.

My arm throbs—five points of burning pain where his fingers gripped me. The bond howls in my chest, tearing itself apart.

And I’m glad. So incredibly glad it’s breaking.

Because I don’t want to be connected to this anymore. To him. To the man who just called me a whore while his mistress watched.

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