The Wolf God's Unwanted Luna

Vivian’s POV

"You know, it’s not like I’m ungrateful or anything, but when you said ’date,’ I imagined dinner maybe a drive with some cheesy car games not walking for miles," I grumbled under my breath.

We strolled through a quiet neighborhood that looked like it belonged straight out of a movie. Little boutique shops lined the cobblestone sidewalks, kids squealed as they ran through a nearby park, and fairy lights already twinkled between the trees even though the sun was still dipping lazily toward the horizon. The entire scene felt almost too perfect, like a painting brought to life.

Zaliver just chuckled, throwing a heavy arm around my shoulders and pressing a warm kiss to the top of my head. I scowled down at the sidewalk while his amusement vibrated through me through our bond.

"Patience," he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you’d like to see this place up close on foot."

"You could’ve parked closer," I muttered. "I can see just fine from the passenger seat, thank you very much."

He laughed loudly a deep, rich rumble that drew a few glances and fond smiles from nearby strangers. I felt the sudden shift of his weight as he leaned heavily into me, thoroughly amused.

"Damn giant," I mumbled, rolling my eyes. That only made him laugh harder.

Eventually, we stopped in front of a cozy small bakery tucked neatly between two antique shops. I blinked up at the hand-painted sign in confusion. This definitely wasn’t a standard dinner spot.

He opened the door for me, and we stepped inside. The soft, heavenly scent of vanilla, baked goods, and cinnamon filled the air instantly. The interior was cozy and painted in warm pastel shades soft pink and lilac with delicate floral stencils edging the high walls. Tables were arranged all over the room, each fully equipped with mixing bowls, measuring cups, and detailed recipe cards.

I counted about ten couples, all of whom paused what they were doing to look up at us. Well, mostly at me.

I shifted uncomfortably under the sudden scrutiny until I felt Zaliver’s large hand land firmly on my shoulder.

"Don’t mind us," he said smoothly, and despite how casual he sounded, there was an undeniable Alpha command layered subtly beneath his tone.

Everyone quickly looked away and turned back to their own stations. Zaliver led me to a private table in the corner and handed me an apron. I eyed the chalk sign on the wall behind him:

"Couples Night. Bake when you’re ready. Eat when you’re ready. We do not take responsibility for bad cooking or food poisoning. Enjoy!"

Oh. Well, alright then.

"So, we’re baking?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as he expertly tied his apron on like this was just another casual day for him. The baby blue color made his piercing eyes pop ridiculously.

"Yes. Now put yours on," he said with zero hesitation.

I did as I was told, trying my absolute best not to burst out laughing.

"What?" he asked, catching my suspicious smirk.

I bit my lower lip. "Do you, uh... come here often? Take cooking classes?"

The mental image of the terrifying Lycan King baking pastries possibly being gently scolded by a human instructor while he pretended to behave was almost too much for me to process.

He reached over and poked my cheek. "Wouldn’t you love that? Sorry to disappoint. I’m just naturally gifted in the kitchen."

"Oh really?" I teased. I mean, I believed him... kind of... but come on. Everyone needed some kind of practice, right?

He leaned in close, his smirk wicked and knowing. "Want to test that theory?"

I crossed my arms with a confident grin. "I bet my cake ends up looking better than yours."

"Looking?" he repeated, thoroughly amused.

"Yes. Looking. Let’s not bring actual taste into this just yet."

"Challenge accepted."

I gagged. Literally gagged into my hand.

"Oh god, why did I put that in my mouth?" I clutched my stomach with one hand and covered my mouth with the other. The taste was somewhere between pure charcoal and utter regret a burnt sponge with a generous dash of horror.

Zaliver stood beside my station, trying his hardest not to laugh out loud, but the sheer twinkle in his eyes gave him completely away. His own cake looked like something straight out of a high-end food magazine: smooth lavender icing, intricate white piped details, and a perfect, delicate Z+V piped right on top. Of course.

I wiped my mouth with a napkin and slumped into the chair beside my tragic creation.

"You have dishonored me," I told the cake, glaring bitterly at its uneven, burnt, and slightly concave form. "After all my hard work, you betray me like this?"

"Dishonored the chef, too," Zaliver added, biting his lower lip to keep from cracking up.

I turned to shoot him a sharp glare and bared my teeth at him playfully. He raised his broad hands in mock surrender, but his grin only grew wider.

I rose from my seat and stood beside him, staring mournfully down at his picture-perfect cake.

"I guess this means you’ll be doing all the cooking from now on," I said, pouting just a little bit.

He wrapped his long arms around me from behind, pulling my back flush against his chest.

"Forever and always," he murmured into my hair, his deep voice remarkably soft and proud. His smile was radiant, his icy blue eyes dancing as he looked down at me.

Honestly, it was hard to stay mad at my failed cake. Especially when the rival baker looked like this.

"Yeah. Well... whatever. Let’s see if your cake actually tastes better than mine," I huffed, trying to wriggle out of his warm hold. But instead of letting me go, Zaliver just spun me around in his arms with a cocky smirk on his face.

"Let’s be honest here anything tastes better than your cake."

I gasped, utterly offended. "Hey!"

He laughed freely. "It’s true!"

I rolled my eyes and slumped against his broad chest dramatically. "Yeah," I muttered with exaggerated solemnity.

"But it was... pretty," he added in a softer, comforting tone.

Immediately, my bullshit radar started blaring loudly. I burst out laughing, and even a few of the couples nearby chuckled at our little performance. We must’ve been quite the spectacle in this quiet bakery.

"Pfft, no way. That thing was an absolute, hideous mess," I said, glancing back at the lopsided blob I’d left on the table.

"Okay, okay, I’m done talking about your cake. Come on, we’re not finished yet," he said, gesturing for me to follow him.

"What about your cake? Don’t I get to try it?" I asked, slipping off my apron and tossing it onto the counter.

He motioned to someone nearby, and a sweet, red-haired woman walked over holding a neatly tied blue cake box. She handed it over to him with a polite smile and walked away.

"Later," he said as he carefully placed his masterpiece inside and sealed the box shut. Then he held out his hand for me, raising a dark brow in challenge as he eyed my sad excuse of a cake still sitting abandoned on the table.

"Do you want to take " he started.

"Oh, shut up." I snatched the offensive blob of flour and burnt frosting and tossed it straight into the trash can like it was radioactive waste.

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