Jamie's POV
The walk back was longer than it had to be. Every step toward the pack house was heavy, not because I was tired but because of the sheer number of eyes now fixed on us.
Andrew stayed with me, as he always did. Caroline was in front of us, Ann beside me. And yet, despite the presence of others, I'd never felt quite so. Exposed.
The whispers didn't matter.
The stares did.
Andrew got the kind of looks that made folks lower their heads—confused, skeptical, wondering. As if they were whispering to themselves under their breath: "Is this for real?"
"Did you get mated… to him?"
But me?
The glares thrown at me weren't questioning.
They were accusing.
Condemning. Abhorring.
I could feel it. As if I did something shameful. As if I tricked him—like I took away their next Alpha. The burn of those glares was suffocating, crawling up my skin like ants under a magnifying glass.
I tried to stand tall and hold my head up.
But inside?
I was quivering.
That old, familiar gnawing feeling of being outside looking in was seeping in again. I'd barely gotten to thinking that I might be here, and now this? Maybe I wasn't meant to be. Maybe I was not right for him.
Then it did.
His hand brushed against mine.
Soft. Purposive. Barely there — unless you were me.
I froze. My heart skipped a beat, not from his touch, but because of what it meant. He couldn't hold my hand in front of everyone. Not here. Not now. But even with that tiny touch, it showed he saw me. That I wasn't invisible.
I looked up.
He didn't say anything.
But he gave me this small, hidden smile. And then he turned back around, tall and still, like nothing could touch him.
Alpha.
That was what he was like.
Strong. Composed. Unbreakable.
But his eyes.
His eyes lied to him.
Mom always taught, "Eyes are the gateway to the soul, Jamie. Words are lies, but eyes? Eyes never are."
And in that instant, I saw him. Saw him.
He hurt, too.
He was trying to be tough. For me. For himself. For both of us.
I remembered what I'd told him then, in the woods — that I understood what it was like to be mated.
Looking at him now, though?
I wasn't as certain as I'd been.
But this much was clear: I was going to find out.
We were just feet from the pack house when Marcus stepped in our way. One of the guards from the first confrontation.
"Andrew," he said, nodding respectfully. "Your father wishes to speak with you."
Alpha Jackson.
I'd never met the man, but the stories painted him like something out of legend — vigour, strength, and a spine carved from stone. Unshakable. Unforgiving.
I felt Andrew tense beside me, just slightly.
Even Ann noticed it.
He gave no argument. Just nodded and followed Marcus down a path that curved off toward the old war hall.
He didn't look back.
I waited. Hoped.
But he didn't.
And that hurt worse than I would have expected.
A hand fell lightly on my shoulder.
Ann.
"Come on," she said quietly. "I'll walk you home. Your grandma must be going crazy by now."
Caroline smiled at me, then followed after her friend.
And I… just stayed there for a second.
Tried not to feel like I was already falling behind.
Ann tried to remain optimistic.
"So," she remarked, glancing sideways at me, "mates to my brother, eh?" She smiled coyly. "You must have a taste for adventure."
I returned a half-hearted smile. I wasn't exactly in the mood for badmouthing or joking anymore, though.
But I said, instead, "Ann… why is this such a big thing here? Two male mates, I mean. Why does everybody hate it in Furstone so much?"
Her footsteps stopped dead. Slightly.
She looked ahead, her voice dropping.
"Our father spoke to us. About before we were born. About wolves with. special powers."
I sat up.
"Powers?" I asked.
She nodded. "Not only shape-shifting. More. Some could manipulate fire. Some water. Even the weather or minds. There were a few. Powerful. And they were called." — she paused, as if looking for a word rooted in the past — "Lunaris.".
The name reverberated in my mind. Cold and lovely.
"They weren't naturally dangerous," she hastened to add. "But their abilities only truly activated when they were mated with their true match."
"Like Andrew and me," I whispered.
She nodded deliberately. "Perhaps."
"But why would that be an evil thing?" I pressed.
She faltered.
"There was a story," she said quietly. "Of two male Lunaris mates. One from Furstone. The other from a distant pack. They were deeply connected — soul-deep. But when their energy manifested, it was… excessive. Fires consumed. Storms consumed for days. Crops died. Wolves died. It nearly destroyed Furstone."
I stared at her, heart racing.
"And the pack blamed them," she continued. "Charged their love as cursed. That it was… unnatural. An Elder was told by a witch:
'This came about because Furstone allowed it to happen. Death came masquerading in the face of love."
She looked at me then, with cold eyes.
"They burned them. Both of them. In the old square."
I forced the lump in my throat down.
That wasn't a myth to me. That was a warning.
Was that what they saw when they looked at me and Andrew?
Not friends.
Not romance.
Just an error in the making.
I said nothing the rest of the walk home.
But when the wind whipped around us, cutting and cold on my skin, I looked up at the moon.
And muttered in my heart—
"I won't let them burn us too."