Chapter 39
Blood Moon Vows
For a few seconds, Safia didn't understand what had happened, only the furious glare in Sion’s eyes was visible. Her mind felt as blank as a full moon night, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. Her feet were rooted to the ground as she stared back at him in shock. Had he just slapped her? The question hung in the air, as unspoken and a grave warning. All the promises, all the whispered vows, they were shattered now.
She reeled from the realization that this was the second time in two months of their forced marriage that his hand had moved faster than his mind. She wasn’t his to play with, not his personal toy to be tossed aside when his wolf-like temper flared. Safia hadn't entered his life for a whim; she had come for a purpose, bound by an oath. But if he couldn't keep his promise to at least treat her as human, as something other than a bargaining chip, then there was no point in her staying. Before anything else, she was a woman—and a wolf—with her own self-respect.
Seconds later, Sion’s face shifted, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features. He reached out, his hand hovering near her cheek, his lips parting to speak. But what could he say? And would Safiya forgive him? She had already endured his misbehavior for too long. Biting her tongue when his true nature surfaced, she flinched from his touch and, without another word, she was gone.
Safia pulled out her phone and called Tyla , her voice forced into a strained cheer. “Hi Tyla , how’s business going? Is Dad able to manage everything?”
"Soren is doing great! He’s on top of the world now that all the company's debts are cleared,” Tyla chirped excitedly. “Would you like to speak to him? He’s just in the room beside mine.”
“No, don’t. I want to give him a surprise,” Safia said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her tear-filled eyes. “I’m coming home tomorrow.” Thankfully Tyla couldn't see her.
“Jesus, that’s amazing! I can’t wait to see you! It’s been so long,” Tyla said, her excitement clear. “Let’s go motorboating in the Mediterranean when you get back!”
Safia chuckled, a small, genuine laugh. “What more?” she asked.
“Soren has been counting the days for you to get back to the city,” Tyla replied, oblivious of the fight she and Sion had. “He called you this morning, but your phone was off, so he called Sion.” Tyla 's words hit Safia with a sudden, sharp clarity. She was glad she had made the call before her arrival.
Sion waited at the dining table, a half-eaten plate of food growing cold. But Safia had locked herself in the bedroom, refusing to come down. Her absence was a physical ache, a silent accusation that cut deeper than any words could have. He walked to his home office, sinking into his executive chair and staring out at the wintry landscape. He knew he had made a blunder by hitting her, she was waiting for him to talk, to explain the things he couldn’t, to disclose the true nature of his world.
He wrestled with the confusing emotions she stirred in him. Other women, countless women, had flocked to him, desperate for his attention. But Safia held him at a distance, a constant challenge and a welcoming change as against other females. Despite the pain she had caused him, she had the uncanny ability to stir emotions he had never experienced before, emotions he swore he had buried long ago. She was made to be his girl, in the past, present and future too.
Most men wouldn’t have turned back after what she had done. But his love for her was an unprecedented, primal thing. He had married her, not just for the family pact, but to understand the reasons behind their strained relationship, to find the missing pieces of a puzzle he never thought he’d bother with again. With Safia anything was possible. She had invaded that part of his heart that nobody had ever dared to touch.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. But little did he know, his "sweetheart" was already gone.
Safia walked through the immense iron gate with only a purse. The security guards didn’t give her a second look, assuming she was just going for a walk. And that was exactly her plan. Not give them any clue and slip from the house. Half-kilometer later, she hailed a cab and headed straight to the airport. She flew back to New York and her father's waiting arms.
“Safia! How did you get here so early?” Soren asked, his shock palpable. “I just spoke to Sion this morning, and he said you’d both be coming back after a week because of the strained weather.”
“I wanted to surprise you, Daddy,” she said, her voice light, as if speaking to a child. She couldn't tell him the truth, not yet. Her father was a heart patient; the truth would come later, in time.
Later that night, Sion knocked on her bedroom door. He had gone to his office, but he couldn't stop thinking about the silent rift between them.
“Safia, I’m sorry. I apologize from the bottom of my heart. This will not happen again, I promise. Please open the door.” He waited. No reply.
“I have keys to this room, you know,” he said, his voice now a low growl. “But I’m not using them. The food I left for you is still untouched. Security said you left earlier. I hope you ate something. Come on, open the door. We need to talk.”
He twisted the doorknob. It opened. The room was empty.
A wave of panic hit him. He checked the bathroom, the closet, everything. Her clothes were still there, but she was gone. He called her, but his calls went straight to voicemail. “Where the hell did my wife go?” he roared at the security guard.
“Sir, I just arrived for my evening shift,” the trembling guard replied. Sion immediately called the day-shift guard, who confessed that Safia had left with only a purse.
“Jeez, Safia, where did you go?” He called Albert, his chief of security, and Vance Maze, a private detective. Half an hour later, he had his answer.
“Sir, she went back to New York, to her father’s place.”
A cold fury settled in his veins. She had run away. He knew why. Her company was no longer in debt. Her need for him was over. The marriage was a ruse, a business transaction, and he was nothing more than a convenient solution. His spite was a living thing in his chest. He booked his private chopper. He would fly to New York first thing in the morning.
He dialed her number again, this time from an unknown number. He heard her soft voice. His heart started to beat erratically.
“He is the kind of man I would call a ‘controllo.’ It’s either their way or the highway. They can charm the pants off you at first, but once they get you hooked, bam! The other shoe drops… is this what you told your friend Tyla?”
“Sion?” she asked, her voice laced with doubt.
“Yes, it’s me. You blocked my number. What did you think? That I wouldn’t be able to trace you?”
“Why does your voice sound different? Are you drunk?” she asked, ignoring his accusation.
“My boss is a dick. He has a heart incapable of love, the least a gentleman,” he said, quoting her words back at her.
“So you’ve been tracking my phone this whole time when I thought of you as a gentleman?” she countered, her anger rising.
“Gentleman? I show my gentleman side to beautiful ladies. You’re ugly from the heart, a wolf in sheep's clothing who went on a date behind your husband's back. Why should I be ethical with you? Yes, I tracked your calls so you wouldn’t go behind another man,” he declared, his voice tight with rage.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Levis is just my friend?” she shot back. “Will you spy on me with every man I speak to? You're not in your right mind right now. Let's talk about things when you're sober.”
“Well, I couldn’t sort things out sober, so I got drunk,” he said, his voice slurred. “I know what I did to you was a mistake, but what you did to me is no less a blunder. You decided to leave our marriage and your husband for a simple fight.”
“A mistake?” she roared, her own voice no longer soft. “Slapping your wife every time you get angry is a mistake? I hate you, Sion Canes. You’re an animal with no culture and no sophistication, just a suit-clad, hoity-toity business wolf. Don’t come back. I’m not returning with you. You’re a monster," Safia hissed, her voice shaking with a fury that mirrored the storm brewing outside the window.
Closing the drapes of the window she continued rashly. "Werewolf, a beast hiding in a man’s skin, right. You can take your pathetic apology and your filthy money and go to hell."
She slammed the phone down, her chest heaving. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the crack of thunder and the pounding of her own heart. A tear slid down her cheek, but she wiped it away with the back of her hand, refusing to let him see her weakness, even from a distance. She was free. She was safe.
At least that was what Safia thought.
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