Chapter 8 — The Truth He Couldn't Hide
The room was quiet, except for the soft hum of the lamp in the corner, its golden glow spilling over Zach's face. Shadows clung to the sharp lines of his jaw, his cheekbones carved in a way that made him look both untouchable and far too human all at once.
He didn't look at her immediately. Instead, he seemed to wrestle with something unseen, something heavy. Then, slowly, he shook his head, his gaze finally meeting hers.
"No, Amber," he murmured, his voice a low current that somehow reached straight into her bones. "You're not here because of your stepmother's lies. You're here because someone—long ago—chose to save me. And now…" He paused, his eyes darkening with something she couldn't name. "…I'm simply returning the favor."
Her breath caught, her brows knitting together as confusion flooded her face. "What do you mean by that?" she asked. It came out softer than she intended, almost a whisper, like she was afraid the walls might hear. The air between them seemed to grow thicker, heavy with the weight of something he wasn't sure she was ready to hear.
Zach stepped closer, each move slow and deliberate, his shadow stretching across the floor toward her. He stopped just short of the bed where she sat, his presence towering but not oppressive—more like gravity itself had shifted to pull her in.
"I was beaten," he said finally, voice dipping low, each word deliberate. "Left for dead near the southern border." His eyes didn't quite focus on her anymore—they were distant, looking past her, into the memory. "They didn't care I was just a boy. They hated what I represented—heir to the Northern Pack. So they tried to erase me."
Amber felt her pulse quicken, an almost instinctive ache forming in her chest.
His voice softened, fragile in a way she hadn't thought possible for someone like him. "But someone found me. A woman."
Something in the way he said it—soft, reverent, almost breaking—made the hairs on Amber's arms rise.
"She nursed me back to health," he continued, "kept me hidden from the Alpha of the Southern Region—your region. She broke every rule to protect me. And when I was strong enough… she let me go."
Amber's eyes widened. The way his voice lingered on a woman sent an unfamiliar heat curling through her. The reverence. The ache. The unspoken connection.
Her mind began to piece the fragments together, threads of possibility weaving an image she wasn't sure she wanted to see.
Was it someone he once loved? she wondered. Someone who still holds his heart?
Zach's gaze flickered—he'd heard her. He could feel her thoughts as though they were his own. He could feel her wonder, her unease, and the sharp, sudden fear that followed.
But he didn't answer the question her mind had formed. Not yet.
"The story will come," he said instead, voice quiet. "Piece by piece… when you're ready to hear it."
Amber looked away, jaw tightening. There were so many questions clawing at her throat, but she didn't press. Not tonight.
Zach took a breath, steadying himself, before his voice shifted—deeper, heavier. "I didn't bring you here to serve me."
Her eyes snapped back to him.
"You're not a maid, or a pawn, or some stray I picked up," he said, moving just a fraction closer. "I called you here because from the moment I saw you—standing behind that café counter, pretending to be just another girl—I knew exactly who you were."
Her heartbeat was a drum in her ears. "Who I was?" she whispered, unsure if she even wanted the answer.
He stepped closer again, and this time, his voice lowered to something almost intimate. "There's a Luna in your eyes. Moonlight that doesn't fade."
Amber's breath hitched, her chest tightening as if the air itself had become too much.
And then…
"Amber," he said, barely above a whisper, "you are my fated mate. My imprint."
The world seemed to tilt beneath her.
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[Imprint] — A sacred, irreversible connection between wolves. When one wolf imprints, their soul recognizes its counterpart. It's instantaneous, primal, and unbreakable. Though not always romantic at first, it blossoms into a bond deeper than time… beyond choice.
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"You…" Her voice broke before she could finish. She stood abruptly, as though she could put distance between herself and the words he'd just given her. "You could've told me. Why did you have to take me—lock me in here—if this is what you believe?"
"I was afraid," Zach admitted, his tone softer now but no less steady. "Afraid you wouldn't believe me. Afraid you'd run before I had a chance to prove it." He looked down briefly, then back into her eyes. "I didn't want to push you into something you weren't ready for."
Amber's thoughts spiraled. This can't be real… can it? He's the Alpha. He could have any wolf in his pack. Why me?
Zach heard every word her mind didn't say out loud.
"I couldn't keep it from you any longer," he said, and something in the way his voice carried—low, almost aching—made her chest constrict.
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She didn't know if she was supposed to feel terrified… or drawn to him in a way she couldn't explain.
Why now? Why tell me this now?
He smiled faintly, hearing the question she didn't voice. Then he closed the gap between them until she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
Amber's breath caught, her instincts telling her to step back—but her legs wouldn't move.
Zach lifted a hand, brushing his fingers along her jaw, the touch featherlight. With gentle pressure, he tilted her chin upward.
"Look at me," he murmured.
She did.
And for a heartbeat, the world outside the room ceased to exist. No ticking clock, no footsteps in the hall—just the slow, measured exchange of breath between them.
His eyes didn't just look at her—they saw her. Not as she was now, but as if he'd known her across lifetimes.
Then, slowly—achingly slowly—he began to lean in.
His breath ghosted across her cheek, his lips hovering close enough that the air between them trembled.
But Amber turned her face away at the last second.
It wasn't rejection.
It wasn't fear of him.
It was everything all at once—the flood of emotions, the sharp intensity of what he'd just revealed. She didn't know how to carry the weight of it. Not yet.
She stepped back, breath shaky. "I'm sorry," she said softly, barely looking at him. "I just… I don't know what to feel right now."
Zach didn't push. His shoulders eased as he nodded once. "It's all right. You don't have to. Not yet."
In the space between them, something invisible shifted.
Not passion.
Not certainty.
But the fragile, undeniable beginning of something neither of them could walk away from.
A thread, spun by fate, waiting to unravel.
To be continued.