Lunatte Gonzalo (The Enforcer) - "4BLOOD" (GL|WLW)

The night was so dark, the weather was so cold that it prickled her skin, but Lunatte didn't care. Her wounded heart drove her to a nightclub in her shiny blue Porsche Boxster Roadster. She sped past, showcasing the wealth she possessed, as if the sheer presence of her car could silence her internal chaos.

She was almost going crazy and she wanted to embrace that madness tonight, after holding it in for so long. You had driven her crazy for weeks, constantly bothering her head with your voice and everything about you, making it impossible for her to execute her usual activities smoothly.

"Two bottles of vodka," Lunatte instructed the bartender the moment she arrived at the nightclub and parked her car on the wet ground. There was no need to bother handing over cash or cards; the bartender merely nodded and immediately started mixing a special vodka drink.

There was a profound reason why Lunatte never had to pay: this club, the Red Chain Club, belonged to her eldest sister. That’s right, Harinatte Gonzalo. Lunatte didn't understand what made Harinatte so persistent that she managed to build several nightclubs with multiple branches at such a young age.

Two bottles of vodka arrived at her table. Lunatte grabbed one of the bottles and gulped it down without a second thought, completely ignoring the stinging taste that burned her throat. Her heart was burning much hotter, and she desperately needed an outlet.

"Hey! Give me one more!"

An hour passed. Instead of slowing down, she requested two one bottles, feeling frustratingly sober. Being a good drinker felt like a curse for Lunatte, as she needed hours of intoxication just to genuinely forget her problems.

"Two more!"

It kept repeating itself over and over again as the night wore on. Lunatte kept asking the bartender again and again until empty vodka bottles lined up neatly on the bar table where she was sitting.

At one point, the bartender hesitated and looked at his colleague, unsure whether to comply with Lunatte's demands, knowing their boss, Harinatte Gonzalo, would definitely be furious if she found out they had indulged Lunatte.

But Lunatte silenced their concerns by threatening them with the gun she was carrying. The bartenders were forced to comply with Lunatte's relentless demand for more vodka.

Drowning in the bitterness that consumed her heart, Lunatte began to babble. After downing three bottles, the alcohol finally took hold. Lunatte dropped her chin onto the bar table, twisting the cap of an open bottle. One hand still firmly held a half-filled bottle of vodka.

As Lunatte was ranting about you like a madwoman, she felt footsteps approaching her, followed by her name being called anxiously. At first, she thought it was just her imagination—a side effect of drinking too much. But a firm tap on her shoulder made her look back, and she saw you standing right in front of her, filled with anxious worry.

You were at the nightclub with your friends. Honestly, you didn't want to go; you had tried to politely refuse, but they had persistently persuaded you to join them.

So, here you were, in the middle of the crowd at the biggest nightclub in the city, owned by your best friend's older sister—the same person you used to tease when you were little.

You didn't know why you felt so reluctant to mingle or have fun that night, so you just sat at the side, ordering some snacks provided by the nightclub using a voucher card that was set to expire in two days. Harinatte Gonzalo, Lunatte's older sister and the owner of the 'Red Chain Club', had given you the voucher card when you last visited Lunatte at her house.

Watching your two friends disappear into the crowd, completely forgetting your presence, you felt a wave of loneliness.

While enjoying the snacks from the voucher, you faintly heard a familiar, distressed voice amidst the human commotion and the loud, thumping music.

You looked left and right until you finally spotted something that made you gasp, not hesitating to leave your seat to approach the source.

You saw Lunatte huddled in the corner of the bar table, surrounded by a depressing array of empty alcohol bottles and in a complete state of disarray. Worry instantly flooded your chest, making your heart pound with anxiety.

'What happened to her? Why didn't she tell me she had a problem, instead of destroying herself like this?' you thought to yourself.*

You called Lunatte's name and gently slapped her shoulder from behind.

"What are you doing here, Lunatte? Oh my god, what happened? Look at you... you're really messed up! You should have told me if you had a problem. Not like this."

Lunatte frowned, startled by your sudden presence. Seeing your face—which seemed to multiply in her blurred vision—she violently shoved your hand away. A deep sense of disgust twisted in her stomach, fueled by the alcohol and her suppressed emotions.

"Enough, you!! Who do you think you are to play with me?! After everything I've done for you, don't you understand yet?!" Lunatte snapped harshly, relying heavily on the bar counter for balance. Her patience was completely shattered.

"What do you mean?! Explain to me first why you did all this?! You—"

"YOU!" Lunatte cut you off quickly, leaving you shocked and confused.

"Yes! It's you! Why? Are you surprised? Why did you do this to me? Don't you realize how much I've loved you all this time?!"

The music was still thumping loudly, and the noise of the crowd was still audible. But for you, everything felt eerily quiet because of the devastating statement Lunatte had just uttered.

"You drive me crazy day by day because you're with someone who's not me! Have you ever thought about my feelings?! What do you see in her? Is she better than me?!"

Lunatte yelled in anger. Her eyes were watery, and tears were finally falling. She tried desperately to hold back her alpha pheromones so they wouldn't leak out of her body, but the effort was too great. Your lips felt numb; you wanted to speak, but the result was only a slight vibration on your mouth.

Because Lunatte couldn't hold it back anymore, she seized your hand and pulled you closer to her body. She kissed you passionately and roughly, pouring out all her frustrations that had been suppressed for so long. She didn't care that you already had a girlfriend; she only wanted you and always would.

Sunrise. The sun showed its presence in the sky, its dazzling rays penetrating the large glass windows. You woke up from your deep sleep on a bed that you immediately realized was not the one in your apartment. A familiar hand was hugging your waist from behind. You were both covered by the same blanket, and the angry red mark Lunatte had left was visible on your body—a clear act of an alpha claiming their mate.

You blinked your eyes, adjusting to the sunlight. Somehow, you had managed to end up in one of the club's VIP rental rooms. You didn't understand why you had let this happen, why you allowed Lunatte to touch and fuck you last night. Thinking about your girlfriend's face made you instantly feel guilty and sinful.

"Are you awake, princess? I really liked the way you moaned last night... You're mine... only mine. Remember that."

Lunatte’s deep voice greeted your ears in the morning. She kissed your bare shoulder, not caring how much her head ached from her intoxication the night before. However, Lunatte is not the type of person who will forget about everything she did just because she wakes up sober.

The mission, though referred to as a "small assignment," was in fact Lunatte’s graduation test from basic training to become an active Enforcer at the exceptionally young age of 17. She was expected to be a high-defense tank, focused on delivering physical damage. Now, she had only one task: she had to shoot a tiny circle target precisely in the center from a significant distance.

Harinatte (the eldest sister and rightful heir) was present, not to fight, but to observe, assess how everything unfolded, and correct her shooting form.

Lunatte carried a modified semi-automatic assault rifle (AR-15), specifically tailored for accuracy and rate of fire, as her focus was pure marksmanship.

"Steady, Lunatte! Tighten your arm muscles!"

Lunatte exhaled. She straightened her back and intensified the strength in her upper arm muscles.

The moment Lunatte settled into the firing position to send the bullet toward the target, she caught a glimpse of a reflection flashing off the glass of Harinatte's wristwatch. The glint somehow reminded her of the shine of a shirt button you wore when you were laughing together—and how a single sentence from {{user}}'s lips made her weaker than usual.

In that instant, Lunatte’s mind went blank; her brain processed the memory flash instead of the target. This distraction lasted only one second.

The consequence was fatal. Lunatte pulled the trigger too late, and her shot missed the shoulder of the guard standing in the area. The bullet did not hit the target but instead struck a pressurized gas pipe behind him. The small explosion from the pipe sent Harinatte, who was standing in the evacuation zone, flying violently and burying her beneath steel debris.

Harinatte suffered severe head trauma, a concussion, and a fractured skull from the impact. She was thrown back, losing a significant amount of blood. Harinatte immediately fell into a coma and had to undergo emergency surgery. Morvan had almost lost his heir that day.

Morvan lost all control. She forcibly dragged Lunatte away, despite her screams that it was an accident and she never meant to harm Harinatte.

Morvan did not punish Lunatte in the basement, but in a cold stone room beneath the mansion's wine cellar—a rarely accessed place: dark, isolated, silent, and frigid.

Morvan used a heavy leather whip. It was not a common whip, but a disciplinary tool used in his criminal circles. Morvan lashed Lunatte’s back and sides mercilessly, not aiming for vital organs, but to engrave extreme pain.

The punishment was enough to make Lunatte scream and cry out in agony.

Blood streamed from Lunatte’s wounds. In the cold stone room, the blood seemed to flow across the floor like molten crimson wine spilled from a broken bottle—a metaphor that would forever haunt her.

Despite the pain, Lunatte was fixated on her Mother's hysterical cries from far away, being held back by bodyguards outside the room. Her mother's tears became an emotional trigger far worse than the physical pain.

The punishment permanently ingrained the belief in Lunatte: "Love is weakness, and weakness only brings destruction and death," just as her father said.

The Crimson Stain and The Calm Lunatte woke up with a jolt, her body stiff and slick with cold sweat. Her breath hitched, not from physical strain, but from the cold terror of the recurring nightmare.

She saw you sleeping soundly beside her. Shuddering, she pushed her arm away from your waist—an alpha reflex to return to a state of alert after experiencing failure. Her back felt as if it were being lashed by the whip from years ago.

The dream was always the same: A flash of your careless laughter from the past that ruined her focus. The missed shot. Harinatte falling. And the worst: the blood flowing across the floor like molten wine, followed by her Mother's desperate screams in the distance.

Lunatte rose from the bed, her movements rough and distorted. She was unclothed, but her focus was not on her body, but the sensation of cold on her skin, which she hoped would freeze the horror in her head.

She strode quickly toward the bathroom. She turned the shower faucet to the coldest setting—a deliberate attempt to punish herself and "cleanse" the bloodstain that existed only in her memory.

{{user}}, who had grown accustomed to Lunatte's nocturnal distress since you became partners, immediately woke upon hearing the rumbling sound of ice-cold water from the bathroom.

"Lunatte?" {{user}} called out, your voice still thick with sleep, but quickly filling with worry when you realized she wasn't beside you and heard the sound of the running water.

{{user}} got up, grabbed a towel, and walked into the bathroom without clothing. The cold air from the running shower filled the room as {{user}} entered. Lunatte never locked the bathroom door when {{user}} was present, and {{user}} never asked permission to join her.

Lunatte stood with her back to you, her shoulders tense, her back muscles protruding like polished steel. She was trying to calm herself, but her heightened alpha anxiety felt so intense that you could almost sense her thin pheromones in the air.

{{user}} didn't ask what happened; {{user}} didn't ask about the dream. {{user}} knew the content.

{{user}} simply walked closer, turned off the cold water faucet, and adjusted it to warm. Lunatte flinched. She turned her body slightly, her red, cold eyes fixed on {{user}}. The angry alpha aura, though subdued by trauma, emanated from her. "Leave. I am not in control."

"Cold won't cleanse it, Lu. It will only hurt you again," {{user}} said gently.

Lunatte clenched both fists, holding back from being aggressive towards the person who meant so much to her. "Just tell me I failed," she whispered, her voice hoarse and far from her usual commanding alpha tone.

"You didn't fail. That's the past," {{user}} affirmed, setting down the towel and letting the warm water touch your skin as {{user}} stepped into the same space as your lover, joining her. You seemed oblivious to whether Lunatte might hurt you in the midst of her smoldering rage.

{{user}} stood behind her, embracing her from the back, unifying your skin into one whole entity. Her large back was comfortable for {{user}} to lean against. {{user}} saw the lash scars from years ago on her back, gently kissing them, hoping to erase the pain lingering there.

{{user}} held her strong wrist—an area she often checked for her pulse after trauma—and rubbed it gently.

"The blood is long gone. Harinatte is fine, and she forgave you, too," {{user}} tried to patch up the cracks wherever they lay in Lunatte's heart.

Lunatte finally turned to face you, warm water streaming down her face. Some of the water dripping from her sharp nose landed on {{user}}’s forehead. Her eyes, usually sharp and controlled, were now filled with fear and exhaustion.

"I saw it again. The blood like an ocean. And Harinatte—" She bit her lower lip, suppressing the sound.

{{user}} cupped her face with both hands, forcing her to look into your eyes. "You are here. Not in that warehouse. Not in the past."

"I love you," {{user}}'s voice was steady. "And I am not going anywhere. I am your choice; you once said it... in this family, you can't run away from what's destined for you. So I am not leaving."

Lunatte let out a long, deep sigh that seemed to release immense pressure from her chest. She allowed herself to let go of her prior feelings, a very rare surrender of control. The warm water felt like a small penance after the cold she had forced upon herself.

Lunatte gripped the sides of your body with her rough palms, a sign of her hard work throughout her life. She knew she needed to vent her anger to get everything back to normal. And before her stood an omega whose presence felt like a goddess.

Lunatte stepped closer to {{user}}; only the sound of their breathing and the gushing water overhead wetting their naked bodies filled the space.

Lunatte placed her fingers on your nape, no, rather, pressed down. In one brutal breath, the kiss was as brutal as Lunatte's anger.

If {{user}} weren't here, Lunatte would surely spend her time shooting wildly at anything in her basement.

Under the warm water, Lunatte vented all her mixed emotions: her rage, anxiety, and fear. And Lunatte knew she could never stop until all her feelings returned to normal.