Claiming His Luna

Maria’s POV

“Where are you going?” I inquired Frank as I caught sight of him in the corridor. He appeared remarkably sporty, strikingly different from his usual attire of tuxedos and formal butler’s wear.

“It’s none of your concern,” he retorted grumpily, though I couldn’t help but smile. There’s something oddly endearing about his grumpiness; it never fails to amuse me.

“May I accompany you?” I asked, hopeful for his approval.

“No,” he brushed me off and continued walking.

“Oh, come on,” I pouted as a group of five men strolled past. They halted and saluted Frank, showing great respect. Frank merely nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment. He looked incredibly attractive in that white T-shirt, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy, wishing I were the one wrapping his sexy body.

Goodness, what’s gotten into me?

“Hello, Maria,” the men greeted me warmly.

“Hi, Ethan,” I waved at one of them, and to my surprise, Frank came to a stop. He shot the men with a pointed look, and they promptly dispersed. Now, he’s glaring at me.

“What’s the matter?” I inquired, his gaze cutting sharply through me.

“I don’t need you flirting with the men. They have work to do,” he snapped. Furrowing my brows, I tried to understand his point.

“What do you mean?”

“Enough with the flirting,” he clarified sternly.

“I wasn’t flirting,” I retorted, following him as he walked away. I was merely exchanging greetings; it’s basic courtesy. I find it rather surprising that a high-rank butler wouldn’t know that.

“You were,” he insisted.

“I was just saying hello!” I shot back at him.

“Whatever,” he muttered and continued his stride. I couldn’t help but grin as I followed. His steps were long, and I had almost run to keep up with his pace.

“Are you feeling jealous?” I teased, taunting him playfully.

“Stop indulging in your delusions,” he replied coldly, never breaking his stride. I couldn’t help but chuckle. There’s something about our banter that always manages to lighten the mood.

“Oh, Come on, you can admit it. I promise not to judge you,” I playfully teased, earning an eye-roll from him. What an attitude he has.

“That’s so cheeky of you,” I commented, and he stopped in his tracks.

“Could you kindly leave me alone?” he snapped, clearly annoyed.

“Please, just let me join you. I’m bored,” I appealed, giving him my best puppy-dog eyes.

“I promise I won’t be a bother,” I added before he could even respond. He sighed. Oh, how easy you are to sway, Frank.

“You’ll keep your mouth shut?” he asked, seeking some assurance. I nodded vigorously.

“And your legs,” I whispered cheekily. Suddenly, he turned to look at me, and I pretended to act innocent.

I wasn’t entirely sure where we were headed, but I changed into a sporty outfit to match his attire. I wanted to ask Frank about our destination, but he had made it very clear that he wanted me to keep quiet.

We hopped into his car, and I observed him from head to toe.

“What?” he asked, likely irritated. Ah, finally, now I have permission to speak.

“Where are we going?” I blurted out, unable to contain my curiosity.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” was his cryptic reply. We ended up in a remote area, and the snow was quite thick. Fortunately, his raptor could handle the terrain.

As we arrived, the gate opened, revealing a gathering of people, both men and women. It seemed to be some sort of training field. Some were engaged in shooting practice with guns, while others were practising martial arts. But my attention was fixated on the archery corner.

“You know how to use a bow and arrow?” Frank asked, noticing my fascination.

“A little,” I admitted, following him as he continued his business.

So this is where Lucian’s men train. It makes sense; this place is well-hidden and located in a remote area, away from prying eyes and ears. There’s an impressive array of equipment, including a soundproof room for gun training.

I was taken aback when Frank handed me a bow and arrow.

“We’re at war, and you need to learn how to protect yourself,” he said casually. I took a deep breath as I accepted the weapon.

“Stand firm,” he instructed, guiding my posture. My heart pounded loudly as he touched my waist, and he cleared his throat as he realised the closeness of our bodies.

“Position yourself perpendicular to the target,” he instructed.

“Stand upright with your feet shoulder-width apart,” he demonstrated the stance.

“Use three fingers to grip the arrow like this,” he showed me his hand.

“And keep your eye on where you’re aiming,” he directed his gaze toward the circular target metres away.

“Hold and release,” he let the arrow fly, landing it inside the red circle, close to the center but not hitting the bullseye.

“Now, your turn,” he gestured towards me.

With practised ease, I drew an arrow from my quiver, and in a split second, my shot found its way straight into the heart of the target. I smiled, reassured that my archery skills were still intact.

I glanced at Frank standing beside me, looking rather astonished. Archery was my sport; I had received professional training from Olympic archers during my upbringing.

“I’m a fast learner,” I casually remarked, pretending to take a sip of water, trying to play off the expert shot. Damn, what was I thinking?

“You’re quite good,” he complimented, and I smiled awkwardly.

“Just beginner’s luck,” I replied, trying to create an excuse. There was doubt lingering on his face as if he didn’t entirely believe me, but eventually, he nodded.

I couldn’t afford to let him harbour suspicions. I was sure he would just dismiss it, right? After all, there was no plausible explanation for my unexpectedly accurate aim other than mere luck. To him, I was just a maid, nothing more, nothing less.

After our archery session, we moved on to shooting. We entered one of the soundproof rooms with human-shaped targets lined up in front of us.

“Here,” he handed me a set of headphones.

“It’s alright,” I declined.

“Are you sure? Guns can be too loud for first-timers,” he inquired. Well, it wasn’t my first time, and I find earphones suffocating as if I’m choking on them.

He loaded the bullets and cocked the rifle, doing the same with his gun.

“Take aim and pull the trigger…” I swiftly and accurately brought down each target with a single shot, moving swiftly without even blinking.

A smile of contentment appeared on my face afterward.

“I have 20/20 vision,” I pointed to my eyes, and Frank looked at me with wide eyes. I averted my gaze, hoping he wouldn’t give me that look. I got so carried away that I forgot to pretend I didn’t know what I was doing.

I couldn’t help it; it had been years since I had handled a weapon or trained. My father always praised me as a skilled shooter, even from a young age. It seems some things never change.