The Heartless Alpha's Beloved Luna Novel

---- Chapter 196 Avery's POV The air in the cabin dropped with sudden chill as Gideon froze at my question. I resisted the urge to slap my hand over my mouth. Ihadn't really meant to ask the question, and so early in our trip too... I felt as though I had already ruined everything before it even got started. But there my question hung, as though it had frozen solid in the frosty air that had rushed into the gaping abyss between us.

"Why did you refuse to divorce me?" regretted the question, not because I didn't want to know the answer- in fact I was keenly interested in what Gideon had to say- but I did regret that this felt as though I had taken the frail, fragile thing that was trying to grow between us and crushed it beneath my heel. There was a long delay during which I found it hard to look at Gideon directly. It stretched long enough I was able to scrape together my courage and glanced at his face.

The morning sunshine was streaming through his side of the car, and it highlighted his sharp jawline, recently shaved. It also had the unfortunate effect of shadowing his eyes, so that it was hard for me to tell where he was looking. But the shadows did nothing to hide the clenching of his jaw, or the tension on his handsome face as he appeared to be wrestling with how to answer my question. Perhaps he, too, was reluctant ---- to bring something so harsh as the truth into this delicate situation.

Or, a nasty little part of my brain wondered, perhaps he was coming up with a suitable lie that would make me stay. "The alliance that our marriage represents," he said, finally, "is vital to our long-standing traditions and is key to our security." How romantic. He didn't add anything more, and eventually just turned and stared at the landscape outside the window, leaving me to wrestle with what he'd said... and left unsaid. Was it really that simple? All of his efforts to keep me as his wife, and Luna, could it really all boil down to some ancient tradition?

Why did I get the impression that there was something more that he wasn't telling me? Maybe, whatever it was, he wasn't ready to admit it to himself either. It could have been a hopeful thought, but I scoffed at my own pathetic optimism. Sure, it would be nice to think that perhaps the Alpha of Nightwolf had secret feelings for me, but if they were so hard to admit, then that was hardly a compliment. Hadn't I just watched this man work very hard to keep someone as nasty as Dierdra around, while he wouldn't even do the bare minimum for me? Sure made a girl feel special.

+ ---- I grimaced at the distaste all of this left in my mouth. What had I expected? That my husband who spent most of his time pretending I didn't exist would go on this trip with me and suddenly, now that we were alone, be the person I had hoped he would be? Iwas naive to think that being alone together would change anything. Still, his reason didn't exactly make sense to me. He claimed to care about tradition, and I knew from my own research that the alliance between our packs was important. Yet I had also seen him attack the Alpha of Silvermoon in a jealous rage for daring to talk to me.

And when my half-sister, Zara, had offered to take my place instead, he had rejected her as well. Those were inconsistent behaviors from someone who claimed to care nothing for me personally, and to value the alliance between our packs over our sham of a marriage. As the minutes ticked by and silence continued to stretch between us, I stewed more over why I found Gideon's response so unsatisfying. If it was all really about power, then Gideon was no different from the Rogue King. Both men were seeking to use me in their own ways.

Gideon to maintain his authority over his pack by demonstrating he was a leader who honored tradition, and then the Rogue King who sought to use me for my bloodline and to create an heir that would further his anarchical goals. ---- Ineach instance, I was merely the pawn. Someone to be held up asa status symbol to secure their legacies, gain power, and preserve the illusion of status. I stared at my hands in my lap, calloused and rough from my weeks of hard work, and chuckled mirthlessly to myself.