The Luna's Yellow Dress

Drake

It's been raining like it's doomsday, so I decrease my driving speed if I must make it home without an accident. This gives me enough time to notice a woman hurrying down the road, shivering violently from the cold, but as soon as she faces sideways, I recognize her as my crush, Celine.

"Ah ah," I say to myself, slamming my steering in excitement. A damsel in distress needs saving.

In truth, Celine doesn't know me. I'm a waiter at a restaurant while she's a mini-celebrity with the prettiest face I've seen on TV. With eyes the color of brown earth, she's easily the prettiest werewolf in our pack. Right now, through my wet windshield, I can see her bulbous buttocks jiggling as she hurries along. The rain has glued her gown to her body and I reckon she's got the outline of a sexy fish. Or, on a second thought, the outline of a ripe pear. It is unclear what such beauty is doing out here in the rain. Escaping from something? From someone? A flash of lightning fires though the afternoon and startles the hell out of me. It is time, I figure out, to go rescue this damsel. Get her off the damned downpour into the safety of my car.

So I increase the pressure on my accelerator until I am meters away from her backside.

All the while, all the freaking while, my inner wolf keeps yelling warnings at me. "Back the hell off, Drake." Truthfully, I am about making the biggest mistake of my life because Celine belongs to the pack's murderous alpha, Desmond, who has marked her exclusively for himself.

Come to think of it though, I try to convince myself, what's the worst thing that could happen to me? I could become rich, get favored for helping the Luna! Or I could become dead, get the alpha pissed enough to send assassins at me, of course, for holding his woman alone with me in a deadbeat car.

With the options available before me, I decide to chicken out.

The rain intensifies. Thunders rumble in the sky. They get so loud I can hear them through my wound-up windows. The moment I'm about reversing my car, Celine, who's now probably acutely aware that someone may've been following her, looks back and holds her palm over her face to filter out raindrops for clearer vision.

I'm staring at her and she's staring right back at me.

Seconds pass. For lack for what to do, I throw an awkward wave and bare my teeth, hopefully signaling that I'm not a serial killer or something. And that I've been stupid so far. And that, see, never mind Celine, I don't want any troubles with you. I'm currently reversing the car, can you see?

Although, technically speaking, the car remains unmoving.

I may've gotten myself into trouble, I suppose. Palace memories aren't particularly favorable to me. My dad was invited once to attend a meeting at the palace when I was nine. He returned home at dusk vomiting blood, falling on his stomach and dying. He was an activist who the palace hadn't really liked.

Nothing, absolutely nothing should connect me or my household to that palace ever again, and I hope this ends right here with Celine.

I stop waving at her and decide to reverse my car for real and for good.

But she does what shocks me to my spine. She walks directly towards the car, scuttles around toward the passenger side and tries forcing the door open. My car is rickety. The outer door handle won't give way, so I lean over from my driver seat to tug on the inner handle of the door she's trying to open.

She practically jumps into the car.

She feels like a cannon launched accidentally into my life. I get dizzy from the truth of it. Of all the people in the world, of all the people she could choose, the Luna is here with me. In my car. She and I. Alone. Her scent wastes no time filling up everywhere. She smells like roses and mountainsides and menthol all at once. My brain feels confused. The experience is indescribable and otherworldly.

"Have you been following me?" she asks without looking up, bending over to unbuckle her shoe straps.

I'm now more startled than the lightning had made me. Such confidence she's got, though, I think to myself. I mean I could pull out a penknife from nowhere and stab her on the back. This is how they train palace women? To be this regal and bold? To be this careless? Or perhaps it's just something with me. I must look too innocent and harmless, with my boyish face and all.

My car remains unmoving. The rain falls like liquid bullets, drumming noisily on the car's roof above as I watch Celine working her shoes. She's completely drenched. The car seats are made from leather, of course, so her wetness is totally okay. Although, truthfully speaking, if they hadn't been made from leather, who cares? They could as well be made from an absorbent that collects every drop of water off her body. I want Celine to wet my seats. I want Celine to wet my life. I want her to... Celine, without warning, straightens up and stares at me, flipping her wet hair sideways until I inadvertently have few water drops on my face. "I asked you a question."

Oh, the question. What was it? Her hair sits like dead grass on her forehead as she looks at me. The rain has combed her eyelashes into tiny distinct collections. I realize I am stupidly engrossed, now noticing how her earth-brown pupils are browner than I had thought. "I'm sorry," I stammer softly to her. "What was your question again?"

"You've been following me, haven't you?"

"Yes," I reply, feeling unjustly accused. "I only assumed you needed help."

"That's not how to help someone," she retorts. She stares authoritatively at me. "It felt like you were trying to harm me. Where do you live and where are you coming from?"

Oh, I'm now in trouble truly. Lie to her, Drake. I say to myself. Lie about both your origination and your destination, so that one day a hired killer doesn't sneak into your kitchen while you're not at home to poison your food or so.

"From work," I say without actually lying. My sister Suzy says I'm a terrible liar, even right from our childhood. She knows I'm lying when I purse my lips before opening them to talk. She has a theory to explain it: It's something your body does while your brain gets busy cooking up something false. I can't argue with Suzy. I've caught my lips behaving exactly that way too many times. "I live few blocks away from here," I say to the Luna.

"You stay alone?" she asks. "Children? You stay with your mum?"

"I stay...," I say, pausing momentarily to process what's going on. "...alone.

"Good," she says. "Now drive me to your place."

Just like that? I think to myself. I clear off a big lump from my throat and swallow some spittle.

"I don't understand."

"It is raining," she replies gently, making patient hand gestures like she's explaining a complex

idea to a child. "And your place is few blocks away. Take me there, to your place, until the rain subsides and I can safely leave, yeah? Will that be a problem?"

"No, ma'am," I reply, afraid at the possibility of two opposing fates: It's either I'm about to get laid, or my house is about to get mapped out for something sinister. "It won't a problem."

She shrugs, like, okay, so why are we still here then?

I stop looking at her, put my car's gear on level one and off we go.

It doesn't take too long and here we are, right in front of my apartment within a block of flats. What will my neighbors say? The street is currently empty because of the rain.

I quickly alight. Bowing my head to avoid the punishing raindrops, I run around my car to Celine's side and signal for her to open from the inside. She does and a torrent of rain rushes into the car at her like crazy. I cover her up with my larger frame and we both hurry to the awning of my doorstep. Celine is tall for a typical woman. The top of her head is at the level of my neck.

I fumble out my keys. I insert the appropriate one into the keyhole and surprisingly find out that my fingers are shaking. That's definitely not from the cold, I admit to myself. You're shaking from anxiety, Drake. Shame on you. She isn't going to eat you. She isn't Dracula. How good is your room, Drake? You haven't washed your dishes from this morning. Oh stupid, stupid you. You haven't done your bed either!

My door opens and Celine rushes into my room.

With her wetness and all.

She's in!

She's in my space, dear universe, dear moon goddess.

I stand at the entrance, bewildered, confused, allowing stray raindrops beat my back. Fate is about to start something funny with me but I'm all up for it.

Drake

"Gracious goodness," Celine screams the moment she enters my room, almost as if the rain outside has got her drunk or something. "Today is one hell of a bloody day!!!'"

"Yes," I agree with her and close the door behind me, standing right next to it, refusing to move further into my room, refusing to believe I have the second most important werewolf in our pack right here.

She goes to sit on my couch, the only one in the room. You haven't just wet my car seat, Celine, I think to myself, you're also wetting my couch. What next are you gonna be wetting?

Alpha Desmond is going to murder me for sure. I should probably check out my window to see if he isn't already parked outside, searching for the missing Luna. What will he do to me? Scheme a way to invite me to the palace for poisoning?

Okay, okay, I say to myself, let's deal with my current predicament. What happens next between the luna and me? I undress and she undresses and we frolick on my bed? This random thought makes my loins warm. It gets me further confused. It's like a gift you don't know what to do with, but this gift is timed, like oxygen and like life. It will be taken away from you regardless of what you do with it.

What do I do with this?

Celine gets busy observing my room, taking in everything with her eyes, looking up at the ceiling, the corners and the floor with a big smile on her face. She looks so beautiful, oozing off her sweet scent into my space. Truth be told, I don't give a damn about Alpha Desmond anymore. He can go hit his head on a wall or eat a pile of shit for all I care. This woman right here fully belongs to me, as determined by providence. How often do you get a chance to get the pack's Luna laid? It's exactly the same as asking a typical human; how often does the wife of the president of your country find herself in your room?

"Desmond mustn't know I'm here," Celine says absentmindedly, throwing her head backwards and laughing at herself.

"You want water? Something to eat?" I ask her, refusing to make Desmond, or whatever his name is, a topic for discussion.

"I want a change of clothes," Celine says offhandedly. "You must have some female clothes somewhere around. All bachelors do."

Actually, she's right. Of course, damn her for stereotyping all bachelors. Sadly, I fall into the stereotype. "I might have," I reply. "My sister Suzy visits often. She has some of her things here."

"Good," Celine says. "Because these wet clothes are going to make me sick. Is your sister my size?"

"She might be a little fleshier than you." I walk towards my wardrobe at the corner, kicking a stray piece of paper on the floor so Celine doesn't see it. I laugh at myself. Potential death awaits me. The story of drone bees fills my head instantly. They die every time they have sex with the queen bees. The way it works is that a drone bee, or a male, falls in love with the queen and flies alongside her. He gets horny mid-flight and decides to mate, inserting his endophallus, a sort of mini-penis, into the queen. Alas, the moment he is done with his business, his endophallus gets trapped in the queen's body and refuses to remove. While he tries to force it out, the organ ruptures, basically ripping itself off his own body, killing him instantly.

I imagine what the drone's last thought will be. Why's having sex with a queen more important than staying alive?

I open my wardrobe and look through an alternation of Suzy's clothes and mine, mostly mine. There's a yellow gown which should definitely fit the Luna. All the while, my endophallus seem to be rising, stretching like solid rod in my trousers. As the luna tries to change her clothes in my room, will I be there? Will she ask me to stay, saying, Oh young guy, whose name I don't know yet, never mind, you can actually stay and watch me change. It isn't a big deal. I want you to see my nipples and all.

The solid truth every male knows about their endophalluses is that the organ has a mind of its own, and you'll have to speak with yours to remain limp and flaccid in situations like this. It's like having a logical conversation with your neighbor. Please don't disgrace me.

I unhang the yellow dress and turn around, holding it right in front of me as a shield so Celine doesn't catch view of any accidental bulge between my legs. Without waiting for her to ask, out of courtesy, I say it myself, "I'll just wait outside while you change."

She looks up and smiles at me. "Thanks." A disappointing response, I must admit.

I hand the dress over to her, and without taking a second look, turn around toward the exit, hopefully going outside to give my penis the freedom to express itself. The rain isn't as heavy as it was, I observe while shutting the door behind me.

The wind whips up rain droplets so I can't even see past few hundred meters out the street. I hear few dull sounds coming in from inside. She must be changing now. The future Luna, whose body only the alpha is permitted to stare at, is without clothes in my own room. It fills me with wonder, excitement, dread and panic. I hit my head with my palms.

Few minutes later, she knocks.

I turn around and ask, "May I come in?"

"Sure," she says.

The door opens and I observe her from toe to head. She fits perfectly into Suzy's gown. Of course she isn't putting on any bra, and Suzy's gown happens to have a somewhat large and open neckline. I can see the Luna's cleavage as clearly as I can see her breasts. "Should I get you something else to wear?"

"No, this is fine," she giggles. "Your sister has good choice of clothing."

My sister will die from pride hearing that compliment. Suzy feeds on feedbacks like those. She'll hardly believe when I tell her the Luna wore her gown. Although I can't really tell for sure what my sister's reaction will be hundred percent of the time. She might punch me in the nose for giving her gown out without her consent. She might curse the Luna while at it.

I look at my feet. Celine's wet clothes are still on the tiles. I figure I must find something to help her fold them into. So I bend down to pick them up.

"No, don't, " she says, lowering herself too and reaching for her wet bra and panties, ignoring the gown. In truth, I was only going for the gown. She bares her teeth at me. "Women stuff." Now that she's bent, her breasts are even more obvious. They are staring at me. I don't think I can breathe anymore.

"Let me get you something to put them in," I offer, rescuing myself from embarrassment as I got up my feet. The conversation with my dick gets intense as I walk to the section I use as a makeshift kitchen to find a Ziploc bag, returning to Celine in seconds. "Will this do?"

She gets it from me and randomly fits the wet, folded clothes into it. "I'll just hand them to the cleaners soon as I'm home. The rain is okay to step into now, I believe."

I open my windows and she's right. It's now only drizzling.

"I must be on my way."

"I'll have to drive you."

"You've done enough," she retorts while walking to the door. "I stepped out of the palace exactly because I wanted to walk. I'll send someone to return your sister's dress soon, I promise."

I just stand there looking at her, and she stands looking at me.

"Can I ask?" I say, breaking the awkwardness.

"Please," she replies.

"Rather than send someone, can you return the gown yourself?" I smile so I sound polite. "It's the greatest pleasure ever having the queen around."

"Yeah," she smiles back at me. "I could return it myself. But I'm an extremely busy person, so it could take longer."

"I don't mind," I reply. "But I need an assurance that you won't forget."

She stares at me for few seconds, as if contemplating. "You know what?" She reaches into the Ziploc, fishing out her wet gown. "You could keep this as your guarantee. I'll return for it and hand over your sister's to you. Is this fine?"

I reach over to collect it. "Yes, ma'am. I could help you wash it. If you're uncomfortable with that idea, I'll ask my sister Suzy when she comes around."

"It's alright," Celine says, waving her hand offhandedly like that information doesn't matter.

She turns around and steps out my door. I shift the curtain on a window and look at her walk away. Her backside is even more obvious in Suzy's gown

And the moment she's out of view, I observe her wet gown in my grip, lift it up slowly to my nostrils and take in the smell of roses, mountainsides and...

I take in dreams.

The whole thing makes me feel woozy.

I might be a drone bee lucky to be alive with his endophallus intact, yet I fear for my life.

Celine.

"You must cover up your body at all times," Alpha Desmond, my mate, will say. "You're my property. If any man does as much as stare at you, he dies." He echoes these lines day and night, treats me like something precious only he can soil.

Well, sad news, dear mate. I just showed a guy my breasts. He saw my nipples and all. And you know what? He isn't going to die.

Although, truthfully, I fear for that boy.

If Desmond ever finds out, he's actually going to die. Not a thing I'm proud of, but my mate murders for fun. Desmond has tried his best to shelter me from this part of his life. It is impossible however to not hear the whispers when his "business partners" visit, how they plan to deal with people Desmond feels are threat to his position as alpha, how the following days, the names mentioned in these meetings mysteriously die.

I had woken up this morning looking for the best way to be outside the palace walls. It's been two months of confinement here and I feel suffocated having servants cater to my needs, polish my nails, choose my clothes: "She should wear nothing revealing," Desmond had ordered. "Her body isn't for public view."

The favorite part of my room is a large window. It gives view of the horizon. I sit and stare out, sometimes entertaining the thoughts of jumping. Of course there'll be the temporary rush of freedom before I hit the solid concrete several floors below; the prettiest conclusion to my torture.

But not today.

The rain clouds were gathering outside the window this morning. I wanted to experience the world without committing suicide. There was this fat guard at my door, newly assigned. His job was to make sure I don't get missing. Also, anytime I step out, he gives me the benefit of several feet before following behind. I sat on a tall stool in my room and was bird-watching from my window when the idea flitted across my mind: the best way to beat security would be to dress up as one of my maids! They came in and left every minute to attend to me, yeah? I could easily blend into that traffic.

I had Zira, the maids' coordinator, bring me a maid clothing. I needed to study its design flaws, I told her. Of course she had sensed it was bullshit (with those large ethical eyes of hers). But what else has she got to do? In few minutes, I got my order and stood before my full-length mirror looking exactly like a maid, with a scarf properly concealing my hair and most my head.

A tray with empty dishes sat somewhere on the dinning. I lifted it, balanced it on my arm and casually just walked out, past the guard who watched as I left but did nothing.

I broke the several layers of security, dropping the tray somewhere out of sight and walked towards the giant palace gate offhandedly. The guards were drinking beer. They made comments on my body as I walked by with a lowered head. "Do they screen these girls for the biggest backloads?" the ugliest of them all had said, "because it isn't a coincidence that all maids have appealing buttocks."

I stepped onto the street and felt a wave a freedom wash over me.

The open sky was shockingly grey, pregnant with rain that might soon fall.

I wanted to meet ordinary people. Be as close to mother earth as possible as I can because I was raised a farm girl. At just ten, I could midwife pregnant cows. I pulled stuck baby calf out of their mothers bodies, wiped the babies' noses on my skirt so they can breathe, handed them back to their mothers to clean and feed, and walked up the paddock to see if there were any more. I wasn't raised to be fed fat in one useless palace. Worse, to be mated by force to one useless murderous Alpha. I don't want all that money that restricts people. I just want good conversation, good sex and cheap food.

I was nineteen when the alpha connived with my dad to steal me from my life. One regrettable Friday evening, on my way to the nearest farm market, a limousine cruised along, in the slow way that limousines do. Of course, I paid it no serious attention until it halted, its back window glass slowly winding down to reveal Alpha Desmond's head. He waved at me. Me? I looked behind to be sure it was me. I was standing close a wall. He couldn't be waving at a wall so I waved back and that was that.

His limo eased along.

Or so I thought. My father woke me up following day with "a big announcement. The alpha needs to see you."

"What alpha?" I had asked from sleepy eyes.

"How many alphas do you know?" Dad asked, sitting on a recliner by the corner, and trying to roll up his weed. "Alpha Desmond."

"Alpha Desmond? What for, dad?"

"Something about you being his chosen mate."

I sat up on my bed. "You agreed to that, dad?"

My father stopped concentrating on his weed and stared surprisingly at me. "Of course, I agreed! I mean, there're one thousand and one girls out there in this little town but the alpha is choosing my girl to be the Luna. Now get your lazy ass up and prepare to be in your nicest clothes. We leave in an hour."

"He should fucking get himself a fated mate! I got fucking work to do on the farm!" I screamed.

"You'll stop using fuck in my house and you will go wash yourself right this instance and get dressed!"

My heart sank. Don't do this to me daddy, I said to myself. I am still your girl. You're selling your girl away. I really want to be here on the farm, particularly today. Definitely a calf somewhere might be dying from cold. I must reheat it in a bucket of warm water, squirt colostrum down its throat with a syringe and be happy watching it bounce back to life.

Against my will and despite my protest, I was sitting right before the alpha in the palace by afternoon.

It has been two months.

There are pains that can be felt but can't be described.

Out on the street, it started to rain. I looked up the sky, spread my arms, open my mouth and shut my eyes. I felt myself being one with mother earth. She was hugging me, telling me everything is going to be alright. I felt my late mother communing with me from high up there, telling me she'll deal with father for giving out their daughter to a brute criminal alpha just to elevate his own social status. "I am doing this for our family," my dad had said. "Your generation is now royalty and your mother would be proud." No, no, dad, my mother would not be proud. Nobody forced you on her in your youths when you both fell in love. You chose each other. But I am being given away to some guy I don't want. Given out as a slave to his bloody royal ass.

The rain turned into a downpour. I opened my eyes and lowered my arms. The street had quickly gotten empty. There went the ordinary people I had hoped to interact with! I sighed. Asides few cars that drove along, I was practically the only pedestrian I could see. But I was determined to make the most of my freedom, turn this lemon into lemonades. When was the last time you walked barefooted on tar, Celine? I took off my sandals. The street had the pleasant smell of wet sand, the freshness of natural air. I was going to experience everything, the rainfall, the kiss of the cold and the freedom of birds.

There were shades and shelters along the road, but I wasn't in a hurry to hide under any. I wanted to soak the downpour all up.

In thirty minutes, though, it kept raining heavily.

And at that point I guessed I'd be in trouble if I stayed longer.

So I hurried along the street in search of the nearest shade, putting back on my sandals the moment I stepped on a painful little stone. Two months at the palace and I could no longer walk barefooted? Could no longer step on stones? I blame the particular maids ordered to give me pedicure. They've essentially turned my feet from something functional into something aesthetic. From something I should use for walking into something pretty and useless. I imagine they'll pedicure the hell out of my feet to the extent I'll be using a wheelchair in a year or so from now, and everyone on the street will stare at my feathery-soft legs in admiration and be like, "ah, o dear Luna, your paralysis is worth those nonfunctional legs you've got there."

Not saying pedicures cause paralysis. But trust me, those palace ones can be too extra.

The rainfall intensified. Suddenly, it seemed like all the shades had disappeared. This area of town barely had trees under which I could take cover. No tents. Each neighborhood house was fenced. I was going to be in trouble. Already, I suspected my lungs may be as weak as my feet. Of course, I used to stay out in the rain on the farm a lot, but right now I could catch a debilating cold that my weak royal lungs may not properly handle. The side effect of breathing too much vanilla perfume in my palace room. Although, truthfully, I don't suppose vanilla perfumes should weaken one's lungs.

But then it is what it is.

I was entertaining myself with these thoughts when I noticed a certain green car following me around. The palace must've noticed my absence! I panicked. They must've sent someone out to fetch me! But a convoy from the palace would've driven straight to me, demanded for me to come in, yeah? This one was practically following me.

From my peripheral vision, the car looked too poor to be from the palace. It was deadbeat, resembling something that could fall apart any moment. Gullible, gullible Celine, I'd thought to myself, naive you assuming the world outside is filled with roses and merry folks. Of course, there are thieves and kidnappers and drug lords. Sadly, there's one following you behind.

I walk faster out of dread.

What if they have a sniper or something? It's a terrible way to die when the bullet goes through the back of my head. I figure I should at least look my killer in the eyes before they shut mine forever.

I turned around in fear and who I saw was just a boy (probably my age); Pretty face with wide shoulders. But he looks stupid waving at me from behind his steering wheels. He didn't look like a kidnapper, this one. He looked like a pervert. Like a late teenager fascinated with ass he couldn't help but follow it even in heavy rainfall. What do I do? Go flirt with him? Definitely one of the people I was out to interact with, the actual reason I left the palace.

I decided to give it a shot, scurrying towards the passenger side of his waiting car while bowing my head to avoid slaps from the droplets.

He helped open the door and I threw myself in, concentrating immediately on taking off my wet sandals, thinking about how to confront the boy for trailing me around. One thing farming has done to me is toughen me up. I love conversations edging on argument. Very good for building up flirtatious tension. This boy however didn't look like someone that could handle it. He might melt at the slightest confrontation.

"Have you been following me?" I asked the moment I was done with my shoes, choosing to concentrate wholly on his eyes.

He kept staring at me, confused. It appeared this one was already gone. I had him right where he should be, on the palm of my hands. I could pull his strings and use him to meet, say, my sexual needs. And I proved myself right the moment I asked to be at his place and without hesitation he said yes.