DOMINIC
The moment we stepped back into the room, Lena hesitated.
She lingered at the threshold like the air inside had shifted, heavy with the weight of choices she didn't want to make. Her body was rigid, her shoulders tight, and though her eyes scanned the space, I knew it wasn't the room she feared—it was the truth of what was happening between us.
The bond pulsed between us, quiet but insistent. And I knew she felt it too.
I closed the door behind us with a soft click, but the sound made her flinch. She was still on edge, still braced for something—maybe another fight, perhaps a confession. Maybe her own feelings.
She didn't speak. Just stood there, arms wrapped around herself like armor.
"You're still fighting it," I murmured.
Her gaze flicked to me, then down to where her fingers were curled into the hem of my shirt she'd taken off the back of the chair. I liked the way it looked on her, made her look small, how it would make her skin smell like me.
She scoffed. "Of course I'm fighting it. You expect me to just accept that my entire life has changed overnight?"
"No," I said gently. "But that doesn't mean it hasn't."
She shook her head, turning away from me. Her silhouette was outlined by the pale light spilling in from the window, delicate and defiant. "This bond," she said, her voice softer now, "It's too much. It's too fast."
I took a step closer, closing the distance without touching her. "You want to know more."
"Want?" she repeated, bitter amusement in her voice. "No. Need? Probably." She turned slightly, her eyes catching mine. "So tell me. Tell me why I feel like I'm losing my mind every time you get too close."
I studied her for a moment, her vulnerability carved into every line of her face. Then I sat down on the edge of the bed, giving her space, my voice low and steady. "The mate bond isn't a trick. It's not a leash. It's a connection—something deeper than desire, more instinctive than logic. It's fate, Lena. Divine. Chosen. It was given to us by the Moon Goddess herself—a connection meant to be unbreakable, meant to bring balance. That sort of thing."
Her jaw tightened. "I don't get a choice?"
"You do," I said. "But it won't change what we are to each other. It won't change how your soul already recognizes mine."
She let out a shaky breath, brushing her hair back from her face. "And if I ignore it?"
"Then you'll keep feeling that ache. That pull. That hollow space that only I can fill." I stood slowly, walking to her but stopping just shy of touching. "And I'll feel it too. Every time you flinch. Every time you run. It'll become painful."
Her eyes shimmered with something I couldn't name. "You make it sound like love," she whispered. "But it feels like drowning."
I smiled softly, the kind that didn't reach my eyes. "Sometimes it is. But if you stop struggling, it becomes something else. Something that carries you instead of pulling you under."
She looked up at me, her voice tight. "Do you love me, Dom? Or is this just biology? A weird wolfy claim?"
The question hung there, suspended in the air between us.
I could have lied. I could have said something easy or charming. But I wouldn't insult her with half-truths. She deserved more.
"I don't know," I admitted quietly. "But I feel you. In my blood. In my bones. I know that I will if I don't already." I stepped toward her slowly, not wanting to spook her again. "You don't understand what that means yet, Lena, but you will. And when you do—when you stop running and let yourself feel it—I think you'll know."
She stared at me, her eyes searching mine, like she didn't trust herself to believe what she heard. Her lips parted, like she was going to speak, then closed again. The silence stretched between us, thick with things unsaid. Her uncertainty was like a wire pulled taut between us—one tug away from snapping, or from drawing us together.
Finally, she spoke, voice low and cautious. "What about your wolf?"
I blinked, caught off guard. "What about him?"
Her gaze lifted to mine, softer now. "When you shift, is it still you? Do you know it's me when you're like that?"
I nodded slowly. "Always. The wolf is me, just stripped of the human complications. He's instinct, raw and sharp, but he knows you. There's no confusion, no fear. You could be across a battlefield, surrounded by chaos, and I would still find you, still choose you, no matter what form I'm in."
She inhaled sharply, eyes flicking away like she was trying to hide the way that hit her. "That's terrifying."
I stepped closer, voice quieter now. "That's the bond. It doesn't lie. It doesn't wait. It just is. Every instinct I have, every need, every protective drive—it's all tied to you."
Lena swallowed hard, wrapping her arms around herself like she was cold. "And if I don't feel it like that?"
"You will," I said, not unkindly. "You already do. You just don't trust it yet. You're still trying to fit this into the world you thought you knew."
She didn't respond right away. Her eyes lingered on the space between us, like she was weighing the distance, wondering if it was safer than what would happen if she stepped closer.
Then, softly, carefully, "Can I ask you something else?"
I tilted my head. "Anything."
Her gaze lifted again, and this time there was something sharper, more vulnerable behind it. "Adelaide. What was she to you?"
The air shifted, the weight of her question landing square in the center of my chest. I hadn't expected that.
"She's part of the pack," I said slowly. "She's from another one, but we grew up together and were friends. I thought she understood loyalty, that she would be happy for me." I paused. "She wasn't."
Lena studied me, her brows furrowing. "But you cared about her."
I didn't answer right away, debating the truth, how much to tell her. "I did. I do still, I guess, she's my friend and has been for a long time. I respect her and I value her place beside us. But not like this." My voice dropped as I took a step closer, closing more of the distance. "Not like I feel for you."
"She seemed to feel that you were more than friends from what I heard."
I cleared my throat. "Well, it's complicated, but it's not like that. We've never been more than just friends."
She didn't move, didn't flinch. "So there wasn't a bond or anything like that before," she bit her lip. "Before me?"
"She wanted one," I said, keeping my tone even. "But a claim without a bond isn't love. It's possession. It's ego. She saw power, not partnership. And I never felt that way about her. Wolves don't have multiple mates, Lena. You're literally the only one for me."
Lena's jaw clenched, and I could see the conflict in her eyes—like she wanted to believe me but didn't know if she could. "She hates me, right? I've dropped into these people's lives and screwed it up as much as my own."
"She fears you," I corrected. "Because even before you knew what this was, she could feel it. You were always meant to be mine. And she knew she never was. She's trying to figure out her next move."
The words hung in the air like smoke, curling between us, undeniable.
Lena looked away, her voice quieter now. "So that's why you came for me instead of staying with her."
"I will never choose her over you," I said, voice edged with steel, "and you're little stunt won't work a second time, Lena."
Her breath hitched. "You really would burn the world down for this bond."
I didn't hesitate. "Without question."
She didn't speak again, but her silence wasn't cold. It was weighted. Thoughtful. Maybe even a little closer to acceptance than before.
I stepped back slightly, giving her space. "Come on," I said gently, nodding toward the bed. "You need rest."
She hesitated, her eyes flicking from the bed to me, as if unsure whether she could trust either. But then, slowly, she moved—her steps careful, like each one was a choice she wasn't sure she was ready to make.
She climbed into the bed with that same guarded grace, pulling the blanket around her like armor. My shirt hung loosely on her frame, and the sight twisted something deep in my chest. She didn't realize how much she was already claiming this space, claiming me.
I moved to the other side of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. She tensed, just slightly, then stilled. Her scent wrapped around me—sweet and stormy and wholly hers.
We lay in silence for a while, each breath syncing slowly with the other. Then, inch by inch, she shifted. Her back brushed my arm. She didn't pull away.
And gods help me, I didn't move, not an inch. I let her come to me.
Her head tucked slightly closer, the barest surrender. Her fingers brushed my forearm, tentative and trembling. She didn't speak, didn't ask—but her body leaned into mine, and the bond pulsed with soft, quiet certainty.
She was still afraid.
But she was here.
And that, for now, was enough.
My heart kicked against my ribs.
The bond flared, strong and radiant, and I knew—knew—she felt it. Her breath hitched as her body unconsciously aligned with mine, the air between us charged with something electric. Every inch of her called to me, but I stayed still, letting her come to me on her own terms.
Finally, I reached up, brushing a single strand of hair away from her face. My fingertips skimmed her cheek, soft and reverent. "I'm not the enemy, Lena."
"I don't know who I am anymore," she whispered. "I don't know what I want."
I leaned in, just enough to let her feel the warmth of my breath against her neck. "Then stay until you do."
Her eyes fluttered closed, her body softening.
She didn't answer. But she didn't move away.
And that was enough.
For tonight.