Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

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Abby

As Karl speaks, my fingers worry the hem of my white chef’s coat, now no

longer pristine but splattered with sauce and tiny stains and the remains of

haphazardly cooked meals. It feels like a perfect representation of my inner

world right now: once untarnished and lily-white, but now stained and weathered

from the trials I’ve been through today.

We’re still standing in the supply closet, and the air feels thick. Karl is standing

over me still, his hand pressed into the door next to my head, sandwiching me

there with his body.

Enter title…

My wolf stirs ever so slightly, but now is not the time; I just found out that Karl

tried to talk to the judges for me, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.

“Abby…” he begins, his voice trailing off for a moment as his eyes search mine.

Finally, he pushes away from the door and crosses the small room, running his

hand through his hair for what feels like the millionth time in the past few

minutes.



“Just tell me, Karl,” I murmur, blinking away the tears that are threatening to

spill.

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He pauses, then draws in a deep breath, and turns to face me again. “Abby,

yes, I did talk to Logan; but I never tried to bribe anybody. I hope you can

believe me in that regard.”

I nod, because despite the whirlwind that this competition has become, I do

know that. Karl has no reason to lie to me right now. His integrity is still intact,

just as he promised all those weeks ago.

“I know, Karl. But why talk to him? What did you say?”

He takes a deep breath, and I can tell he’s choosing his words with the utmost

care. “I told him you’re an incredible chef, Abby. The best here, without a doubt.

And you don’t deserve the way he treats you—”

“But?” The word hangs between us.

Karl’s jaw tightens, and he looks away for a brief moment, gathering his

thoughts. When he faces me again, it’s as though there’s a newfound resolve in

his eyes, like there’s something that he wants to tell me but he can’t get it all

out.



“But… he’s got this idea about you, Abby. He doesn’t see things clearly. I just… I

tried to make him see that you are putting in your heart and soul into this

competition. That’s it.”

My heart races, and I don’t know what to say. There’s a profound mixture of

gratitude and dread knotting itself around my stomach: gratitude for Karl’s

attempt to talk to Logan, but also dread because I know that, whatever Logan’s

‘misconceptions’ about me are, nothing Karl can say would ever change the

outcome of this doomed competition.

“And what happened with the sous chef?” I ask, my voice barely more than a

whisper. “What happened, really?”

A shadow crosses Karl’s face. “He was tampering with the ingredients in the

pantry. The truffles. I caught him in the act, tried to stop him. I grabbed the

mushrooms out of his hand, but I swear, Abby, I never laid a finger on him.”

I know he’s telling the truth; Karl, despite all of his overpowering Alpha

demeanor, would never hurt anyone in this sort of context. Not in a million years,

and especially not on live television.

“And the guards didn’t believe you?” I ask.



He shakes his head. “The guards think I’m lying. The sous chef might press

charges if the footage looks… Anyway, it doesn’t matter. They’re sending me

home, Abby. I won’t be here when you get offstage.”

I stare down at the floor unblinking, staring at my feet. Outside, I can hear the

PA system crackle to life again: “Contestants, this is your two minute warning.

Return to the stage in two minutes. I repeat, two minutes.”

Before I can say anything, Karl’s hand reaches out and seems to hover beside

my cheek for a moment before it settles on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Abby. I didn’t

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mean to ruin all of this for you today. It’s all my fault.”

I’m still trying to process it all, but there’s one thing that I know for sure: none of

this is Karl’s fault. The game was rigged from the beginning, and I was never

meant to win.

“No, Karl, it’s not your fault,” I murmur, reaching up to place my hand over his.

“Don’t feel bad.”

He sighs. “I just want you to know… I believe in you, Abby. I always have. And I

believe you can still win this. As long as you used the right truffles for your last



dish—”

I don’t let him finish. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, or

maybe it’s the desperate need to convey everything I can’t seem to articulate,

but I lunge forward.

My hands find the sides of his face, his skin rough with a five o’clock shadow,

and I press my lips to his in a kiss that’s as much an apology as it is a thank

you.

He’s stiff for a moment, stunned, before his warmth seeps into me, steadying

me. As we pull away, I’m met with the soft confusion in his eyes.

“What was that for?” he murmurs, and I can feel the blush spreading across my

cheeks, hot and prickly.

“It was just… a kiss of friendship,” I stammer, feeling the sting of hot tears

pricking at the backs of my eyes. “For everything you did today, Karl. Even

though it all… it all went wrong.”



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