Chapter 7 ( Mate Desire )
There was something off—something Amber couldn't name—but it lingered in the air like a question waiting to be asked. And she knew, deep down, that she needed answers.
The door to the library creaked open, and Mamita stepped in. Zach turned to her, their eyes meeting in a wordless exchange. Whatever passed between them remained unspoken, but the weight of it was clear—a silent confirmation, understood only by the two.
Amber, caught in a growing swirl of confusion, said nothing. She allowed Mamita to approach and gently guide her out of the room.
"Come now, Amber," Mamita said with calm warmth. "You should get some rest. Once you've had a little sleep, I'll give you a proper tour of the house."
Though her mind teemed with questions, Amber looked up at Mamita with searching eyes. She didn't speak, but her gaze asked what her lips could not.
Mamita smiled, kind and knowing. "Don't trouble yourself too much, dear. Zach means no harm. He's only trying to protect you. Just relax for now. Tomorrow, we'll walk the grounds together."
Amber remained inside the room, her mind in utter disarray. She no longer knew whom to trust in that moment. All she truly wanted was to protect Luna Café—but why had everything suddenly become so chaotic? A storm of emotions churned within her: anger, fear, and worry tangled into one.
She lay down on the bed, the mattress so soft it almost beckoned her to rest. Without even realizing it, she drifted into sleep, her heart heavy with unease.
Afternoon
When Amber opened her eyes, the sun was already sinking on the horizon. She hadn't noticed how long she had slept—it was already four in the afternoon. She hadn't stepped outside the room the entire day, and strangely, no one had come to wake her.
She had slept so soundly... too soundly.
"No one even bothered to wake me up?" she thought, bewildered. "Weren't they supposed to give me a tour of the mansion?"
The only things she found were a tray of food and a drink placed neatly on the side table, but aside from that, no one had come in. No knock. No voice. Nothing.
"Seriously...?" she murmured inwardly.
A pang of hunger stirred within her the moment her eyes landed on the food laid out on the table. Without hesitation, and with no room for pride or protest, she ate.
Later, Amber sat curled quietly on the velvet couch, the soft hiss of the wind brushing against her skin as she gazed out at the sunset from the open balcony. The cool air wrapped around her like a shroud, and with it came a silence that felt unusually heavy—like the entire mansion was holding its breath.
From her vantage point, her eyes drifted down to the garden. There, hidden in the darkness, a pair of luminous eyes stared back at her.
She froze.
She couldn't tell who—or what—they belonged to, but the intent was unmistakable. She was being watched.
Still, she didn't move. She held her ground, as if daring the unseen figure to blink first. Only when the glowing eyes disappeared into the shadows did she finally look away, her breath catching in her throat.
Trying to dismiss the unease, she turned toward the room, brushing her arms as if to shake off the cold that had settled into her bones.
Then—
Tok... Tok... Tok...!
The knock startled her. She spun back toward the woods, but the eyes were gone.
Shaking off the lingering chill of the moment, she turned toward the door and opened it without hesitation.
Zach stood there, his presence calm, composed, and somehow comforting despite the tension lingering in the air.
"I saw your light was still on," he said, his voice low and deliberate, his gaze lingering on her face as though trying to memorize it. "I assumed you weren't asleep yet."
Amber felt a flicker of nervousness bloom in her chest. She cleared her throat softly, trying to steady herself.
"Well... obviously I was asleep the whole day" she said politely, and shamelessly brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Zach studied her for a moment, then lifted the glass bottle in his hand—a deep amber liquid catching the light.
"Would you like a glass of whiskey?" he offered. "Something to help you relax."
Amber hesitated, her fingers trembling faintly on the doorknob. She wasn't sure why she felt this way—was it the lingering echo of the glowing eyes in the woods or the silent tension that Zach carried like a second skin? Her eyes lifted to meet his, and for a brief second, the air between them shifted. His gaze wasn't just watching her—it was searching her, seeing her.
She stepped aside without a word, allowing him in.
Zach entered with slow, deliberate steps. The scent of pine and cedar wrapped around him, strong and grounding, like the forests he came from. In one hand, he held a bottle of golden whiskey; in the other, a glass tumbler. His presence was commanding but not oppressive—like a storm cloud that had yet to thunder.
Without speaking, he poured a measured amount into the glass and handed it to her.
"Just a little," he murmured. "To calm the mind. You seem like someone who carries more than you show."
Her fingers brushed his as she took the glass. A jolt passed between them—warm, unfamiliar, and unsettling. She took a sip, the whiskey burning a quiet path down her throat. It was bitter, smooth, and surprisingly comforting. But the real fire was the silence between them.
"You don't talk much," she said, breaking the silence softly. She sat near the edge of the bed, tucking her legs beneath her like a question half-asked.
Zach stood still, his eyes scanning the room before returning to her. "Words are often empty. People speak to fill the air, not to say something real. I don't waste mine."
Amber raised a brow. "Yet here you are, offering whiskey at the middle of the night. That's something."
His lips curled into the faintest of smirks. "You looked like you needed comfort. But you wouldn't ask for it."
She let out a soft breath—part sigh, part quiet laugh. "I'm not weak, if that's what you're thinking."
"I never said you were." He stepped forward, kneeling in front of her, elbows resting casually on his knees. His proximity changed the temperature in the room. "In fact, you remind me of someone I once knew. Someone who fought everything alone. Someone who wore strength like armor... even when it hurt."
Amber's expression softened. Something about his voice—low, gravelly, threaded with memory—made her chest ache. "Who was she?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
He paused, his gaze turning toward the moonlit window. For a moment, the light caught the edge of something in his eyes—pain, regret, longing. The kind of sorrow that made a man colder, quieter, harder.
"A wolf I couldn't save," he said at last.
The words hung between them, thick with old wounds. Amber didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. Instead, she placed her half-empty glass on the side table and stood.
Zach followed her with his eyes.
"Do you know why you're really here?" he asked, voice low but edged with something more urgent.
She blinked. "Because my father sold me right"
A silence again..