Chapter 1: The Moonlit Meadow Encounter
The meadow was waiting for him.
Nick knew it the way you know the taste of your own tongue—without thought, without question. One moment he was drowning in the static of his apartment, the ceiling fan clicking its slow, arthritic rhythm above his bed, and the next he was here, bare feet sinking into silver grass that hummed against his soles like a living thing.
He'd stopped questioning the dream years ago. Sometime around twenty-three, maybe, when the insomnia got bad enough that he started looking forward to sleep instead of dreading it. His therapist had called it maladaptive dreaming. His ex-girlfriend had called it creepy. Nick just called it Tuesday.
The sky stretched overhead in impossible colors—deep violet bleeding into indigo, studded with stars that pulsed like they had heartbeats. Twin moons hung low on the horizon. One pale and familiar, the kind of moon you'd see from any back porch in Texas. The other molten gold, too large, too close, casting shadows that moved wrong.
Nick breathed in. Honey and ozone and something else, something that made his chest ache in a way he couldn't name. The grass bent around his ankles, liquid silk, and he started walking because that's what he always did.
The meadow had no boundaries. It went on forever in every direction, or at least it felt that way. He'd tried walking to the edge once, years ago, curiosity burning through him like whiskey. He'd walked for what felt like hours—dream hours, which meant nothing—and the landscape just kept unfolding, endless and patient.
He never made it to the edge.
Tonight, though, something was different.
The air felt charged. Thicker. Like the moment before a thunderstorm, when the pressure drops and your ears pop and every hair on your arm stands up. Nick's skin prickled. His pulse quickened. He couldn't explain it, but he knew—the way you know someone's watching you before you turn around—that he wasn't alone.
He stopped walking.
The grass around him shivered, not from wind but from something else, some presence that moved through the meadow like a current. And then he saw her.
She stood maybe thirty feet away, and the first thing Nick registered was that she was tall. Tall and still, like a statue carved from midnight. Her hair was the color of deep space, scattered with tiny points of light that shifted and twinkled when she moved. Not hair. A galaxy. A nebula given form.
Her skin held a faint luminescence, pale blue at the edges, like moonlight made flesh. She wore a dress that seemed to be woven from shadows, formless and flowing, and when she turned her head to look at him, her eyes—
Indigo. Deep and endless and ancient.
Nick forgot how to breathe.
She was beautiful in a way that made his knees weak, but it wasn't just the beauty. It was the weight of her, the gravity. She stood in his dream like she belonged there, like she'd always been there, and Nick felt something crack open in his chest.
"You're new," he said, and immediately felt stupid.
His voice sounded small in the vastness of the meadow. The woman tilted her head, and the stars in her hair rippled like water disturbed by a stone.
"I am not new," she said. Her voice was low and clear, carrying the strange resonance of a bell struck underwater. "I am older than the dirt beneath your feet, Nicholas Belew."
Nick blinked.
"Okay," he said slowly. "That's. A lot to unpack."
She smiled. It was a small thing, barely a curve of her lips, but it transformed her face. Made her look less like a goddess and more like a woman. A woman who was amused. At him.
"You are not afraid."
It wasn't a question.
Nick shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans—when had he put on jeans? Dreams were weird—and shrugged.
"Should I be?"
The woman walked toward him. Her bare feet barely disturbed the grass, and the hum of the meadow seemed to rise in pitch as she approached, the silver blades bending toward her like they were worshiping. She stopped a few feet away, close enough that Nick could smell her. Night-blooming flowers. Cold air. Something electric.
"Most mortals would be," she said. "I am not what you would call... ordinary."
"I mean, you're standing in my dream with literal stars in your hair. I clocked the supernatural vibe."
Her indigo eyes narrowed. Nick had the distinct impression he was being studied, catalogued, dissected. He tried not to fidget.
"You speak to me as though I am your equal."
"I mean, I don't know you. You could be my equal. You could be a tax auditor. Dreams don't exactly come with name tags."
Something flickered across her face. Surprise, maybe. Or confusion. It was hard to read a face that looked like it was carved from moonlight and starlight and centuries of secrets.
"I am Luna," she said. "Princess of the Night. Guardian of Dreams. Ruler of the Moon."
Nick waited for her to laugh, to admit she was joking. She didn't.
"Okay," he said. "I'm Nick. Voice actor. Guardian of a very small apartment in Austin. Ruler of my cat, sometimes, when she feels like it."
Luna blinked.
"Your cat."
"She's very demanding. Kind of a diva. Probably moon-touched, now that I think about it."
A strange sound escaped Luna's throat. It took Nick a second to realize it was a laugh. A real one, low and startled, like she hadn't expected it either.
"You are strange," she said.
"So I've been told."
"You are also..." She paused, searching for something in his face. "You look at me."
"I mean, yeah. You're standing right there."
"No." She stepped closer. Her hand lifted, hovering near his cheek, and Nick's heart hammered against his ribs. "You look at me as though I am a woman. Not a goddess. Not a princess. A woman."
Nick swallowed.
"Is that a problem?"
She touched him.
Her fingers brushed his jaw, cool and electric, and Nick felt the contact travel through his entire body like a lightning strike. His breath caught. The meadow hummed louder, the twin moons seeming to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
"No," Luna whispered. "It is not a problem."
She was so close now. Close enough that Nick could see the tiny galaxies swirling in her eyes, the infinite depths of them. Close enough that he could feel the chill radiating from her skin, cold and sharp and impossibly alive.
"How did you find me?" he asked. His voice came out rough.
"I did not find you." Her thumb traced the line of his jaw, feather-light. "You found me. Every night, you build this place. This meadow. You shaped it from dreams and longing and solitude, and you called to me without knowing."
"I didn't call anyone."
"You called to the night. The stars. The moon." Her eyes held his, unblinking. "You called to me, Nicholas Belew, and I heard."
Nick's throat tightened.
"I've never seen you before," he said. "I've been dreaming this place for years, and you've never been here."
"No." Her hand fell away, and Nick felt the absence like a physical wound. "I was... elsewhere. Trapped. Long ago, I made mistakes. Terrible mistakes. I was banished."
"Banished?"
"To the moon." She said it plainly, like it was a normal thing to say. "For a thousand years."
Nick's brain stuttered.
"A thousand years."
"Yes."
"That's. That's a long time."
"It is."
Nick tried to imagine it. A thousand years alone, trapped on a dead rock in the sky. No one to talk to. No one to touch. Nothing but dust and silence and the cold, endless dark. The thought made his chest ache.
"Shit," he said.
Luna looked startled.
"That is... not the reaction I anticipated."
"What did you expect?"
"Fear. Revulsion. Perhaps worship." Her lips quirked. "I have been many things to many people, but never 'shit.'"
"First time for everything."
She laughed again, and this time it was fuller, warmer. The stars in her hair seemed to brighten.
"You are strange," she repeated, but this time it sounded like a compliment.
Nick grinned.
"You keep saying that like it's a bad thing."
"It is not." She turned slightly, looking out across the endless meadow, and Nick followed her gaze. The molten moon was rising higher, casting gold light across the silver grass. "This place is beautiful. You made this."
"I don't know if I made it. It's just... there. Every time I close my eyes."
"The subconscious is a powerful thing. But this..." She gestured at the meadow, the moons, the humming grass. "This is not ordinary dreaming. There is magic here. Old magic. My magic."
Nick frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I am the Guardian of Dreams. All dreams are my domain. But this one..." She turned back to him, and her expression was unreadable. "This one is bound to me. To my essence. I do not know how it came to be, but this is no mere dreamscape. This is a threshold."
"A threshold between what?"
"Between you and me."
The words hung in the air. Nick felt something shift inside him, something deep and primal, a recognition he couldn't name.
"Why me?"
"I do not know." Luna stepped closer again, and this time she didn't hesitate. Her hand found his, fingers interlacing with his own. Her touch was cold and electric and absolutely real. "But I intend to find out."
"Just like that?"
"I have spent a thousand years alone, Nicholas Belew. I have wandered through dreams beyond counting, watched a thousand lives unfold, touched a thousand sleeping minds. And never—" Her grip tightened. "Never have I found someone who sees me."
Nick's heart was going to explode. He was sure of it. Some part of his brain was screaming that this was a dream, that none of it mattered, that he'd wake up in his apartment with the fan clicking overhead and forget all about this.
But another part—a louder part—didn't care.
"I see you," he said.
"Yes." Luna's indigo eyes searched his face. "You do."
She leaned in. Nick felt her breath on his lips, cold and sweet, and his eyes fluttered closed—
And then the meadow shuddered.
The hum of the grass rose to a shriek, discordant and jarring. The twin moons flickered, their light stuttering like a dying bulb. Luna gasped and stumbled back, her hand tearing from his grip.
"What's happening?" Nick reached for her, but she was already fading, her edges blurring, the stars in her hair dimming.
"I am being pulled," she said, and her voice was distant now, hollow. "The dawn approaches. I cannot stay."
"Wait—"
"Find me, Nicholas." Her voice was barely a whisper. The meadow was dissolving around them, the colors bleeding to grey. "Find me in the waking world. I will come to you. I will—"
She vanished.
Nick's eyes snapped open.
The ceiling fan clicked overhead. Sunlight streamed through the cheap blinds of his apartment window, painting orange stripes across his rumpled duvet. His cat, Clementine, was sitting on his chest, staring at him with judgment in her yellow eyes.
Nick lay there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his skin cold.
"Fuck," he said.
Clementine meowed.
Nick sat up, dislodging her, and scrubbed his hands over his face. His head was spinning. His chest ached. And on his jaw, where her fingers had touched him, there was a faint tingle, like static electricity.
He looked at his hand. His palm was cold.
"Find me in the waking world," she'd said.
Nick laughed. It came out shaky and a little unhinged.
"Sure," he muttered. "No problem. I'll just—I'll just find the princess of the moon. In Austin. On a Tuesday."
Clementine jumped off the bed and padded toward the kitchen, presumably to scream at her food bowl.
Nick stared at the wall and tried to convince himself it had been a dream.
It didn't work.
It didn't work.
Nick tried. He really fucking tried. He went to work, sat in his soundproof booth, and recorded three hours of narration for a fantasy audiobook about dragons and chosen ones and destiny. He ate a sad turkey sandwich at his desk while scrolling through Twitter. He answered emails. He went to the gym and ran on the treadmill until his lungs burned and his legs screamed.
None of it helped.
The dream clung to him like a second skin. The feel of her fingers on his jaw. The weight of her indigo eyes. The cold electric shock of her hand in his. He kept catching himself touching his own face, pressing his palm against the spot where she'd touched him, half-expecting to feel that same static tingle.
Nothing. Just skin. Just stubble. Just Nick.
Clementine watched him from the arm of the couch when he got home, her yellow eyes tracking his every move like she knew something he didn't. Which, to be fair, was possible. Cats were weird.
"You're judging me," he told her.
She blinked slowly. Which could mean yes or no or I'm a cat, I don't care about your existential crisis.
"Helpful," Nick muttered, and collapsed onto the couch.
He stared at the ceiling. The ceiling fan clicked. The sunlight faded to amber to grey.
Find me in the waking world.
"Sure," he said out loud, to no one. "I'll just. Yeah. Easy."
His phone buzzed. A text from his sister, asking if he was coming to Sunday dinner. A meme from his friend Marcus. A reminder from his dentist about a cleaning he'd been putting off for six months.
Normal things. Real things. The waking world.
But he couldn't stop thinking about her.
He closed his eyes. Not to sleep—he wasn't ready for sleep—but just to rest them. To breathe. To try and ground himself in the here and now.
It didn't work.
Because when he closed his eyes, he saw her. Stars in her hair. Indigo fire in her gaze. A face carved from moonlight and loneliness and something that looked almost like hope.
"You're losing it," he told himself. "You're actually losing it."
Maybe he should make an appointment with Dr. Chen. Maybe he should up his therapy dosage. Maybe he should stop eating turkey sandwiches that had been sitting in his fridge for four days.
But none of those things would explain the cold spot on his palm. The one that hadn't warmed up all day.
Nick opened his eyes and sat up.
"Okay," he said. "Okay, fine. Let's say you're real. Let's say the princess of the moon is actually wandering around Austin, Texas, looking for a voice actor with insomnia and a cat that hates him. Where would she go?"
Clementine yawned.
"That's what I thought."
He grabbed his keys and his jacket and left.
The night was warm. Austin in summer was like standing inside an oven, but it was early enough in the evening that the heat hadn't fully settled in yet. Nick walked. He didn't know where he was going. He just needed to move, to do something, to stop sitting in his apartment like a ghost waiting to be exorcised.
The streets were busy. People spilled out of bars and restaurants, laughing, holding hands, living their normal, non-dream-haunted lives. Nick passed them like a specter. He felt disconnected, like he was watching everything through a pane of glass.
A woman with long dark hair walked past him.
Nick's heart lurched. He turned, reaching out—and stopped.
It wasn't her. Of course it wasn't her. This woman was shorter, rounder, wearing sensible shoes and a business suit. She gave him a weird look and hurried past.
"Get it together," Nick muttered.
He walked for an hour. Two. The sky deepened to true night, and the stars came out, and Nick looked up at them and felt something twist in his chest.
They looked different tonight. Brighter. More alive.
Stop it, he told himself. You're projecting.
But the stars seemed to pulse. To twinkle. To watch him back.
He ended up at a park near his apartment. Small, mostly empty, with a single bench overlooking a sad little pond. Nick sat down and let out a long breath.
"This is stupid," he said. "This is so stupid."
"So stupid the stars themselves are gossiping," said someone beside him.
Nick jumped.
He hadn't heard anyone approach. He was alone on this bench five seconds ago, he was sure of it—but now someone was sitting beside him. Sitting close, close enough that their thigh brushed his, close enough that he could feel the cold radiating from their skin like a breath of winter.
Nick turned his head.
And there she was.
Luna.
But not like before. Not the midnight goddess of the dream meadow, with her shadow-weave dress and her cosmic hair. This Luna wore jeans. A black leather jacket. Her hair was still dark, still scattered with tiny points of light that could have been stars or could have been fairy lights or could have been a trick of the streetlamp overhead.
But her eyes.
Her eyes were the same. Deep indigo. Endless. Ancient.
"Hello, Nicholas," she said.
Nick's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"You're real," he finally managed.
"I told you I was."
"You're real."
She tilted her head. A small smile played at the corner of her lips.
"Is that going to be a problem?"
Nick laughed. It came out wild and disbelieving and more than a little hysterical.
"I don't know," he said. "You tell me. You're a princess from the moon who just—tracked me down in a public park in Texas."
"Did you want me to knock?"
"I don't—" He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the curls. "I thought I was losing my mind. For twelve hours, I thought—"
"I know." Her voice softened. "I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you."
"You didn't—" Nick stopped. "Okay, maybe a little. A lot. You walked out of my dream like it was a door you could just... open."
"I told you. The dream is a threshold. It is not the only one."
Nick stared at her.
He should run. He should call the police, or a priest, or his therapist. Normal people didn't sit in parks with cosmic beings who claimed to be moon princesses. Normal people didn't believe any of this.
But Nick wasn't normal. And he'd been waiting for something like this his whole life without even knowing it.
"Why me?" he asked.
Luna's smile faded. Something sad flickered across her face.
"Because you are lonely," she said. "As I am lonely. Because you dream with your eyes open, as I do. Because—" She paused. "Because when you looked at me, you did not ask for anything. You did not bow. You did not fear. You saw me."
She reached out. Her hand hovered by his cheek, just like in the dream.
"May I?" she asked.
Nick swallowed hard.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, you may."
She touched him.
Cold. Electric. Real.
Nick's breath caught in his throat, and he leaned into her touch, letting his eyes close. The world narrowed to this moment. To her hand on his face. To the hum of something ancient and alive singing through his veins.
"Nicholas," Luna breathed.
He opened his eyes.
She was close. So close. Close enough that he could see the tiny galaxies swirling in her indigo irises. Close enough that he could smell her. Night-blooming flowers and cold air and something that made his head spin.
He wanted to kiss her.
He wanted it so badly his bones ached with it.
But before he could move, before he could close the distance between them, Luna's expression shifted.
She looked past him. Her eyes went wide.
"What—" Nick started, turning to follow her gaze.
"Shit," Luna said.
And then the world went dark.
The dark wasn't the ordinary kind—not the soft, familiar blackness of a power outage or the inside of your own eyelids. This was thick. Suffocating. Alive.
Nick felt it press against him from all sides, cold and wet and heavy, like drowning in ink. His lungs seized. His heart slammed against his ribs. Somewhere far away, he heard a sound like static, like radio interference, like screaming filtered through water.
"Luna?" His voice came out wrong. Muffled. Like he was speaking through a mouthful of cotton.
Nothing.
"Luna!"
A hand closed around his wrist.
The touch was ice and lightning, and Nick gasped as the world snapped back into focus. He was on the ground. When had he fallen? His knees ached against pavement. His palms were scraped raw. The park bench loomed above him, and beyond it, the sad little pond glinted under the streetlamps.
Luna crouched in front of him. Her face was pale—paler than before—and her indigo eyes were wide, wild, the galaxies in her irises spinning too fast.
"Are you hurt?" she demanded.
"I—no. I don't think so." Nick touched his chest, his face, his arms. Everything seemed intact. "What the hell was that?"
Luna's jaw tightened. She glanced over her shoulder, scanning the darkness beyond the park. The street was empty. The trees were still. Nothing moved.
"Something found me," she said quietly. "Something old. Something that has been hunting me for a very long time."
"Something that—" Nick stopped. Swallowed. "What does it want?"
"Me." Luna stood, pulling Nick to his feet. She didn't let go of his hand. "We need to move."
"Move where?"
"Away." Her grip tightened. "Now."
She pulled him forward, and Nick stumbled after her, his legs still shaky, his head spinning. They crossed the park at a fast clip, Luna's boots clicking against the pavement in a rhythm that matched his hammering heart.
"Wait—wait, slow down." Nick tugged at her hand. "You're not making any sense. What found you? What's hunting you?"
Luna didn't slow. Her eyes darted left, right, scanning every shadow.
"An old enemy. One I thought I had defeated long ago." Her voice was clipped. Controlled. Like she was holding something back. "He should not be here. He should not be able to reach this world. But if he is..."
"If he is?"
She stopped suddenly. Turned to face him. Her expression was haunted, centuries of weariness etched into her features.
"Then it means something is very, very wrong with the barriers between realms." She cupped his face in her cold hands. "And it means you are in danger because of me. I should never have come here."
Nick's heart lurched.
"Don't say that."
"It's true." Her thumb traced his cheekbone. "I was selfish. I wanted to meet you. To touch you. To see if the man from my dreams was real. And now I have led him straight to you."
"Who?"
"His name is not important. He is nothing but darkness and hunger. A shadow given form. He feeds on dreams, on hope, on love." Her eyes glinted. "And he wants me."
Nick's stomach dropped.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. So there's a nightmare monster hunting you because you're the princess of dreams. That tracks. Sure. Why not."
A ghost of a smile crossed Luna's face.
"You are handling this remarkably well."
"I'm in shock. I'll freak out later." Nick grabbed her wrists, holding her hands against his face. "Right now, tell me what we do."
Luna stared at him. Something softened in her expression. Something vulnerable.
"You trust me," she said. "Already."
"I mean, you haven't given me a reason not to."
"I have given you many reasons to run."
"Yeah, well." Nick shrugged. "I'm an idiot."
Luna laughed. Soft and broken and beautiful.
"Come," she said, pulling him forward again. "I know a place."
They ran. Across the street, through the alleys, past the bars and restaurants where normal people were living their normal lives. Nick's lungs burned. His legs screamed. But he didn't stop. He followed Luna through the labyrinthine streets of Austin, his hand locked in hers, his heart pounding out a rhythm that felt like her name.
She led him to a motel on the edge of downtown. The kind of place that rented by the hour, where the neon sign flickered and the parking lot was mostly empty. Luna produced a key from somewhere—Nick didn't see where—and unlocked a door at the end of the building.
Inside, the room was small and shabby. A bed with a faded floral quilt. A single lamp that cast more shadow than light. The curtains were drawn tight.
It was safe. Nick didn't know how he knew, but he knew.
Luna closed the door behind them and locked it. Then she turned, and her expression was unreadable.
"We should be safe here," she said. "For now. I have warded the room. He will not find us."
"For how long?"
"A few hours. Maybe more. Enough time to rest." She paused. "Enough time to think."
Nick collapsed onto the edge of the bed. His hands were shaking. Adrenaline, probably. Or fear. Or both.
"I don't understand any of this," he said. "I'm a voice actor. I narrate audiobooks about dragons. I'm not—I'm not equipped for a hidden war between cosmic entities."
Luna sat beside him. Her thigh pressed against his. Cold. Solid. Real.
"You are more equipped than you know, Nicholas."
"I seriously doubt that."
"No." She turned to face him. Her indigo eyes burned. "You dreamed a doorway into my realm. You called me across impossible distances without even knowing. You are not ordinary."
Nick's throat was dry.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you have magic in you. Or something like it. Something that could grow." She touched his chest, right over his heart. "Something that already saved you from the darkness once."
Nick remembered the darkness. The suffocating weight of it. The way it felt like drowning.
"That thing didn't kill me," he said slowly. "You did. You pulled me out."
"I pulled you back. But you held on. Your will, your spirit—it fought. It called to me." Her hand flattened against his chest, and Nick felt heat bloom through the fabric of his shirt. "You are strong. Stronger than you realize."
Nick couldn't breathe. She was so close. Her scent filled his head—night-blooming flowers and cold air and something electric and alive. Her body radiated a chill that paradoxically made his skin burn.
"Luna," he whispered.
"Nicholas."
"We could die."
"Yes."
"Tonight."
"Perhaps."
"Then I—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Then I don't want to waste time."
Luna went still.
What do you mean?"
Nick reached up. Cupped her face in his hands. Her skin was cold and smooth, like marble, like starlight.
"I mean, I've been dreaming about you for years without knowing. And now you're here. And you're real. And there's something hunting you." His thumb traced her lip. "And I don't know if I'll get another chance."
Luna's breath hitched.
"You want me."
"I want you."
She closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were darker. Hungrier.
"I am not—" She paused. "I have not done this in a very long time. A thousand years. More. I do not know if I remember how."
Nick laughed. Soft. Breathless.
"I think you remember."
"You are certain?"
"I'm sure."
Luna leaned in. Her lips brushed his, feather-light.
Nick made a sound. A low, desperate thing that came from somewhere deep in his chest. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, and Luna sighed against his mouth like she'd been waiting for this for centuries.
She tasted like cold air and honeyed starlight. Like winter and summer at once.
He wanted more.
Her hands slid into his hair, tugging at the curls, and Nick groaned. He grabbed her waist and pulled her into his lap, and Luna came willingly, straddling his thighs, her leather jacket creaking as she moved.
"Nicholas," she gasped.
"Nick. Just Nick."
She pulled back. Looked at him with those endless indigo eyes.
"Nick," she repeated. "I want you."
"Then take me."
She kissed him again. Rough. Hungry. Her hands fisted in his shirt, yanking it up, and Nick helped her pull it over his head. Her fingers traced the lines of his chest, his stomach, leaving trails of ice that made him shiver.
"You're so warm," she murmured. "So alive."
"You're so cold."
"It bothers you?"
"No." He pulled her closer. "It's—God, it's perfect."
She smiled. Slow. Predatory.
"You are eager."
"I've been waiting my whole life."
Luna stood. She unzipped her jacket slowly, deliberately, letting it fall to the floor. Then she reached for the hem of her shirt.
"Let me," Nick said.
He gripped the fabric and pulled it up. Her skin was pale blue in the lamplight, luminous, scattered with faint points of light that moved like stars. Her breasts were bare beneath the shirt—when had she taken off her bra?—and Nick's mouth watered.
"Beautiful," he breathed.
Luna blushed. The color was surreal against her moonlight skin.
"You think so?"
"I know so."
He leaned forward. Kissed the hollow of her throat. Her taste was electric. Cold. Addicting. Her hands found his shoulders, fingernails digging in.
"Nick—"
"Shh. Let me."
He kissed lower. Collarbone. Sternum. Then her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.
Luna gasped. Arched. Her fingers tangled in his hair.
"Gods—"
Nick smiled against her skin.
"Not a god. Just a voice actor."
"Do not—" She moaned. "Do not make jokes right now."
"No jokes. Just—" He licked a line up her chest. "Just you."
He pulled her down onto the bed. Her jeans came off next, peeled away along with her panties, leaving her naked beneath him. Nick looked at her—really looked—and felt something break inside his chest.
She was perfect. Not because of her body, though that was beautiful. Not because of her face, though that was stunning. But because of her eyes. The way she looked at him. Like he was the only thing in the universe. Like he mattered.
"You're staring," she whispered.
"You're worth staring at."
She reached for him. Undid his jeans. Tugged them down along with his boxers. Nick kicked them off, and then they were both naked, skin against skin, cold against warm.
Luna's hand wrapped around his cock.
Nick groaned. His hips jerked involuntarily.
"Fuck—"
"You are hard." She sounded fascinated. "For me."
"No shit."
She stroked him slowly. Experimentally. Her thumb brushed the head, and Nick saw stars.
"Please," he said.
"Please what?"
"Please don't stop."
She didn't. She worked him with her hand, learning his body the way she'd learned his dreams. And when Nick couldn't take it anymore, when he felt like he was going to come apart at the seams, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away.
"You too," he said. "Together."
Luna's eyes widened.
Nick shifted. Knelt between her legs. Slid his hand down her stomach, through the neat patch of starlight-kissed hair, to the hot wet heat between her thighs.
She was soaked.
"Fuck, Luna—"
"Nick." Her voice was breathless. "I want you inside me."
"Not yet."
He circled her clit with his thumb, and Luna cried out. Her back arched. Her hands fisted in the quilt.
"Nick!"
"Not yet," he repeated.
He pushed two fingers inside her. She was tight and wet and impossibly hot, a contradiction to her cold skin, and Nick's brain short-circuited.
"Fuck, you're—"
"Please." She rolled her hips. "Please, Nick. I need—"
"You need what?"
"You. Just you. Please."
He couldn't say no. Not to her. Not when she was looking at him like that.
He pulled his fingers out. Positioned himself at her entrance. Looked into her eyes.
"You're sure?"
"Nicholas Belew." Her voice was steady. Certain. "I have been alive for thousands of years. I know what I want. And what I want is you. Now fuck me."
Nick didn't need to be told twice.
He pushed inside her.
They both moaned. Luna's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and Nick sank into her until he couldn't tell where he ended and she began.
"God," he gasped. "God, Luna—"
"Yes." Her nails raked down his back. "Yes, yes—"
He moved. Slow at first, learning the rhythm. But Luna was impatient. Her hips bucked against his, demanding, and Nick gave up on slow. He gave up on gentle. He fucked her hard, deep, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Fuck," he growled. "Fuck, you feel—"
"More." She bit his shoulder. Hard enough to bruise. "Give me more."
He did. He gave her everything. His rhythm broke. His control shattered. He pounded into her, lost in the heat and the cold and the impossible reality of her.
Luna screamed. Her body arched, tensed, then shattered. Her cunt clenched around his cock like a fist, and Nick followed her over the edge with a hoarse cry.
He spilled inside her. Filled her. Marked her.
When it was over, they collapsed together. Sweat and starlight and ragged breath.
Nick lay on top of her, his face buried in her neck. Her heart beat against his chest—slow, steady, ancient.
"I love you," he whispered.
Luna went still.
"What?"
Nick lifted his head. Looked at her. Her indigo eyes were wide, confused, fragile.
"I love you," he repeated. "I know it's crazy. I know we just met. But I've been dreaming about you for years. And now you're here. And I—"
"Nick." Her voice cracked. "You cannot love me. You do not know me."
"I know enough."
"You know nothing." She pushed at his chest, and Nick rolled off her, landing on the bed beside her. "You know a dream. A fantasy. You do not know the real me. The things I have done. The darkness inside me."
Nick propped himself up on one elbow.
"Then tell me."
"What?"
"Tell me the things you've done. The darkness. Tell me everything."
Luna stared at him.
"You would not understand."
"Try me."
She looked away. At the wall. At the shadows.
"I was not always good," she said quietly. "I was not always kind. I had a sister. A sister I loved more than anything. But I was jealous of her. Jealous of the attention she received. Jealous of the love the people gave her." Her voice dropped. "So I became something terrible. Something angry. Something that wanted to cover the world in eternal night."
Nick waited.
"I became Nightmare Moon. I tried to overthrow my sister. To claim the throne for myself. And for that, I was banished. For a thousand years, I was trapped in the moon, alone with my anger and my regret."
She turned to face him. Her eyes were wet.
"I did terrible things, Nick. I hurt people. I hurt my sister. I—"
Nick kissed her.
Soft. Gentle. He kissed her until her trembling stopped, until her hands came up to grip his shoulders, until she melted against him.
"I don't care," he said against her lips.
"You should."
"I don't." He pulled back. Looked at her. "You made mistakes. You paid for them. You're not that person anymore."
"You don't know that."
"I know you risked everything to come find me. I know you saved me from that—that darkness. I know you're here, in this shitty motel, because you wanted to protect me." He tucked a strand of starry hair behind her ear. "That's not the actions of a monster."
Luna's breath hitched.
"You are too good for me."
"Probably." Nick grinned. "But I'm also stubborn. So you're stuck with me."
She laughed. Wet. Broken. Beautiful.
"I am a princess," she said. "A goddess. You cannot simply keep me."
"Watch me."
She kissed him then. Hungry. Desperate. And Nick kissed her back, rolling her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head.
"Again?" she gasped.
"Again."
He fucked her slower this time. Deeper. He wanted to memorize every inch of her, every sound, every shiver. He wanted to burn this night into his memory so he'd never forget.
When she came, she screamed his name. When he came, he whispered hers.
Afterward, they lay tangled together. Her head on his chest. His fingers in her hair.
"We need a plan," Nick said.
"Yes."
"I don't suppose you have a magic sword hidden somewhere."
Luna snorted. "No."
"Damn."
"I do have magic. Some." She traced patterns on his chest. "But I am weakened. The banishment took much from me. I am not the alicorn I once was."
"So we're screwed."
"Not necessarily." She lifted her head. "There are others. Allies. Friends I have not seen in centuries. If I can reach them—"
"Then what?"
"Then we might stand a chance."
Nick nodded slowly.
"Okay. So we find your friends. We fight the shadow monster. We save the day." He paused. "That's insane."
"Completely."
"I'm in."
Luna smiled. Soft. Real.
"You are remarkable, Nicholas Belew."
"I know."
She swatted his chest.
"Humility. You should try it."
"I'll add it to the list."
They lay in silence for a while. The lamp flickered. Outside, the city hummed with life, oblivious to the cosmic war brewing in a cheap motel room.
"Nick," Luna said eventually.
"Yeah?"
"I am glad I found you."
He kissed the top of her head.
"Me too."
And for a moment—just a moment—everything felt possible.