When the Moon Hatched (Moonfall, #1)

by Sarah A. Parker

“I was someone to you,” I whisper. “Someone important.” “Correct.” “Until?” The word is a stab—the sort of offensive motion that comes before my mind catches up to the shift of my surroundings or truly registers the lurking danger. “You bound with another male,” Kaan answers equally fast, and my lungs empty in a shuddered exhale as all the warmth escapes my cheeks. As I try and fail to grapple that prickly reality into a shape smooth enough to swallow. That piece of puzzle feels jagged and abrupt. Ill-fitting. The sort of piece I’ll need to hammer into place. “Would you like to know who?” “No,” I say, my gaze dropping to chase the octimar’s slithering motions, the creature gathering shards. Shuffling them. Over the past who knows how long, I’ve become fondly familiar with the us that existed within the jungle home. With Kaan. You don’t simply scratch an itch with Kaan Vaegor, then throw him away and move on to another. You peel back your skin and open your ribs to the male. You tuck him somewhere deep and safe, fight others off with weapons forged from secrets sharp enough to slice, then perish with those secrets clutched close to your chest. There is no way I gave him up for anyone else . . . willingly. And there’s only one answer to that particular riddle. Elluin had secrets just as barbed as my own.