Vladimir's Marked Luna

Chapter 91: Stuck The Landing

🌙𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡

The music shifted again into something sharp and demanding. Veronique spun me out, and I barely kept my footing. My body screamed in protest, every joint aching from the force she used.

I tried to find my balance, tried to anticipate her next move, but she was too fast, too brutal. Each step was punishment dressed as performance.

My vision blurred at the edges. The crowd, the lights, the music, it all bled together into overwhelming noise.

I felt hands dragging me down, my mind devolving into chaos.

I could string two thoughts together enough to anticipate her next move. I found myself in a rushing river, forced by its currect and heading towards the rocks.

Then I stalled—

For just a whisper of a second

Because I felt it.

A hum. Low and steady, resonating through my chest like a tuning fork struck against bone.

Neither sound, not something enough to startle me still it was tangible enough to hold some familiarity. It was presence.

My gaze snapped up, searching through the sea of masks and faces. And there—standing at the edge of the dance floor, perfectly still among the movement around him—

Vladimir.

His wolf mask gleamed under the chandelier light, but beneath it, I caught the glint of his eyes. Pale. Cold. Fixed entirely on me.

Watching.

The hum in my chest intensified, and I realized: it was him. The bond, reaching across the distance, anchoring me when I’d been about to shatter.

I see you.

The unspoken words thrummed through me.

Veronique yanked me close again, her nails digging into my waist. "Pathetic," she hissed. "You’re already breaking focus—"

But something in me shifted.

Hardened.

I met her eyes, and this time, I didn’t look away.

The next time she spun me, I moved with her instead of against her. When she tried to throw me off balance, I adjusted my weight, found my center.

Vladimir was watching.

And I would not break in front of him.

Veronique’s smile faltered but just for a second as she realized I’d stopped struggling. Stopped being a victim she could torment.

The music built toward something frenetic. She forced me into a series of rapid turns, each one designed to disorient, to humiliate.

But I locked in.

Every step, every pivot, I held my ground. My body still ached, my muscles still burned, but I refused to stumble. Refused to give her the satisfaction.

The bond hummed approval through my chest, steady as a heartbeat.

That’s it, moya. Show them.

I didn’t know if the words were real or imagined, but they wrapped around me like armor.

Veronique’s grip tightened, her movements growing sharper, more aggressive. She was trying to break me through sheer force now.

But I matched her.

When she spun me out, I extended the line of my arm with deliberate grace. When she pulled me back, I came willingly but with control—not because she forced me, but because I allowed it.

Her expression shifted from triumph to something colder.

Anger.

She’d wanted me to crumble. To prove I didn’t belong here.

Instead, I was proving I could survive her.

The music reached its peak—a final, dramatic crescendo.

Veronique’s eyes glittered with something feral, something that promised pain. She pulled me close, her breath hot against my ear.

"Let’s give them a show," she whispered.

Then she threw me.

Not a dance move. Not a performance technique.

Pure violence wrapped in the pretense of artistry.

I flew backwards, the world spinning, the chandelier light streaking across my vision in golden blurs. Gasps erupted from the crowd—shock, excitement, horror all bleeding together.

Kaia crawled through mu skin, instinct screaming to shift, to survive.

But I clamped down on her.

Not here. Not now.

Kaia’s strength flooded through me anyway—the supernatural speed, the inhuman reflexes—but I stayed in control. I twisted mid-air, my body remembering movements I’d never learned, guided by something primal and ancient.

My feet hit the ground.

Hard.

The impact reverberated up through my bones, my knees bending to absorb the shock. Pain exploded through my ankles, my thighs, but I held.

I didn’t fall, almost stubbled but I stuck the landing.

I landed in a crouch, one hand pressed to the floor, my dress pooling around me like spilled ink. My chest heaved, my hair falling loose from its pins.

The crowd screamed.

Not gasps this time. Not murmurs.

Genuine shock. Awe. Excitement at the spectacle they thought they were witnessing.

"MAGNIFICENT!" someone shouted.

Applause thundered through the hall—not polite, not measured, but wild and genuine.

I lifted my gaze slowly, my breathing ragged, and found Veronique standing where she’d released me. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her expression carefully neutral, but I saw it.

The flash of surprise in her eyes.

The slight parting of her lips.

She hadn’t expected me to land it.

I rose to my feet, deliberate and controlled despite the screaming in my muscles. My wolf prowled beneath my skin, furious at being restrained, but I kept her leashed.

Not yet.

The distance between us felt like a chasm. The crowd still cheering, still oblivious to what had actually just happened.

They thought it was choreography.

Only Veronique and I knew it was war.

She recovered quickly, her smile sliding back into place as she stepped forward, arms spreading as if to graciously accept the applause for our "performance."

But when she reached me, extending her hand as if to help me—to complete the illusion—I saw the tension in her jaw.

I took her hand.

And squeezed.

Not hard enough to be obvious. Just enough for her to feel the strength in my grip. Enough to remind her that I was still standing.

Her smile tightened.

"Impressive," she said, loud enough for those nearby to hear. Then quieter, just for me: "But tricks won’t save you when it counts."

I leaned in, my voice barely a whisper. "We’ll see."

Something flickered across her face—anger, maybe respect, maybe calculation.

Then she released my hand and turned to the crowd, raising our joined hands in a gesture of unity that made my stomach turn.

More applause. More cheers.

I wanted to rip my hand away. To run. To shift and tear through everything standing between me and fresh air.

But then I felt it again.

That hum in my chest.

I found him immediately—Vladimir, still standing at the edge of the dance floor. His expression was unreadable behind the mask, but his eyes...

They burned.

But there was no anger there, it was something else.

Something that made the bond sing even as my body screamed.

Veronique released my hand finally, stepping back with a performative bow that the crowd loved.

The music had ended. The moment was over.

But as she walked away, head high and posture perfect, I saw the slight stiffness in her shoulders. The controlled precision in her steps.

She’d wanted to break me.

And I’d denied her that.

The crowd began to disperse, conversations rising as people moved back to the edges of the dance floor. Several masked faces turned toward me—some curious, some assessing, some hungry for gossip.

My legs trembled, threatening to give out now that the adrenaline was fading.

Then Vladimir was there.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t draw attention. Just moved through the crowd with that effortless authority until he was standing beside me.

His hand found the small of my back again—steady, cold, familiar. Mine.

Kaia growled, the single word reverberating in my skull like a gong.

I shook it off mentally, like one would shake off a bad dream. Even if it made heat pool at the aching apex of my thighs.

"Walk," he murmured against my ear, his voice low and commanding. "Head up."

I tried. God, I tried.

But my legs were trembling, my body running on fumes and adrenaline that was rapidly fading. I managed two steps before my knees threatened to give out.

Vladimir’s arm slid around my waist, pulling me snug against his side. Not gentle. Not tentative.

Possessive.

His grip tightened, his bionic hand splaying across my ribs, cold metal and unyielding pressure that somehow grounded me even as it made my breath hitch.

Then he moved.

His mouth descended to the curve of my neck, and I felt his teeth—sharp elongated canine—graze my pulse point before he bit.

Not hard enough to break skin. But hard enough to send a shockwave of sensation ripping through my entire body.

My knees buckled.

His hold tightened instantly, keeping me upright, his arm banding around me like iron as a low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest and vibrated against my throat.

The crowd erupted.

Cheers. Whistles. Applause so thunderous it made my ears ring.

My mind stuttered, trying to process—was this part of the show? Was this—

Then his scent hit me.

Not just the cold, clean scent I’d grown used to. Something else. Something darker, richer, more primal. It rolled over me in waves, sliding across my skin like phantom fingers, caressing, claiming, marking.

My body responded before my mind could catch up.

Heat flooded through me—molten and overwhelming. My thighs clenched, trying to ease the sudden, desperate ache building between them. My nipples hardened against the fabric of my dress, sensitive and begging for friction I couldn’t get.

I felt it—felt his scent like fingertips trailing down my spine, across my collarbone, between my breasts, lower—

Oh god.

My heart sputtered, stumbling over itself as pleasure sparked through me, sharp and unexpected and utterly wrong for the middle of a goddamn ballroom.