She Rejected the Alpha and Became Her Own Moon Chapter 10

She Rejected the Alpha and Became Her Own Moon Chapter 10

When Ethan found the old street, a fine mist of rain 

was falling. 

The flagstones were wet and gave off a soft 

sheen, and old white–walled houses lined both 

sides of the street with green vines spilling over 

their tops. 

The wooden [Spring Blossom) sign hung under the 

eaves, washed bright by the rain, and a few pots of 

jasmine in full bloom sat by the door. 

Their clean, sweet scent drifted over on the 

threads of rain, light and faint, so much like the 

way Aurora had smelled in his memory. 

Ethan stood at the door, his feet as heavy as if they’d been filled with lead. 

He drew a deep breath before he lifted a hand and pushed the door open. 

A wind chime under the eaves rang out once, clear. and sweet. 

“Welcome in.” 

A gentle woman’s voice came from inside, 

softened by the southern sun, overlapping with the 

voice in his memory yet carrying an ease and calm 

his memory didn’t hold. 

Ethan lifted his eyes and saw Aurora standing behind the trellis in a moon–white linen dress, her hair loosely gathered at the back, her smooth 

forehead and slender neck bare. 

She held a pair of floral shears and was trimming 

a bunch of white chamomile, and at the sound she 

looked up with a faint, polite smile. 

That smile faltered for a moment the instant it 

landed on him. 

But it lasted only a moment. 

Soon the smile faded from her face, and her calm 

returned, the way one might look at an ordinary 

acquaintance not seen in a long while, without resentment and without delight, only a polite 

distance. 

“What can I get for you?” She set down the shears, 

wiped the water from her hands on a cloth, and 

came out from behind the trellis. 

Ethan looked at her, his throat tight, and for a long 

while, he couldn’t get a word out. 

In a year and three months apart, she’d changed 

so much. 

Back in the Pack, she’d always dressed plainly but stiffly, a careful, placating look in her eyes, like a plant grown in shadow, timid and shrinking. 

But the woman before him now had a healthy glow to her skin and a clear brightness in her eyes, open and luminous all over, like a flower fed full by sun and rain that had finally bloomed in a spring of its own. 

He opened his mouth, his voice dry and rough. “Aurora…” 

Aurora gave a small nod, her tone flat and even. “Mr. Blackwood. It’s been a long time.” 

The formal address stood like an invisible wall 

between them, sealing off five years of a mate’s bond clean and complete. 

Something pricked at Ethan’s heart like a needle, a dense, spreading ache. 

He knew then that she’d truly let go. 

“Are you doing all right here?” He forced the words 

out, his eyes moving over the shop. 

Dried–flower arrangements hung on the walls, a 

white porcelain tea set sat on the oak table in the corner with a few plates of delicate desserts 

beside it, and care showed in every detail, all of it 

unfamiliar to him. 

“Well enough.” 

Aurora poured him a cup of jasmine tea and set it on the little table in front of him. 

“The shop’s small, but business is decent, enough to support myself.” 

Ethan held the warm cup, his fingertips trembling 

faintly. 

He had a whole chest full of things to say, that he’d been wrong, that he knew now what kind of person Iris was, that he regretted it, that he 

wanted to bring her back and spend the rest of his life making it up to her. 

But looking into her calm, still eyes, all of it jammed in his throat, and he couldn’t get out a single word. 

He was afraid that the moment he said it, he’d lose even the right to stand here and drink a cup of tea 

with her.