Chapter Four
1694 Words
The next time I woke up, it was darker outside. Not nighttime-dark, but that moody late-afternoon gloom where the sun is basically clocking out early and flipping the universe off on its way out.
The cabin was quiet except for the fire. I sat up slowly, waiting to see if my shoulder would scream at me again, but the pain had dulled into a thick, heavy soreness instead of a stabbing horror show. Progress, I guess.
My brain, however? Absolutely not okay.
I swung my legs off the bed, the flannel brushing my skin like a reminder that I was wearing another man’s clothes. A man who wasn’t supposed to be hot. A man who was a wolf. A man who was my best friend’s father.
Honestly, if the universe wanted to make things simple for once, I would really appreciate it.
I walked out of the room, steady but shaky, following the smell of something warm. Maybe tea. Maybe soup. Maybe another crisis. Hard to say at this point.
Kael was standing near the stove, back to me, stirring something with the kind of tense posture that screams I’m trying really hard to appear normal.
I cleared my throat.
He turned instantly. Like, zero-to-sixty instantly. His eyes locked on me with that hyper-focused energy again, scanning me the way someone checks a phone battery that’s been glitching all day.
“You should be resting,” he said.
“And you should be explaining,” I shot back. “Wild how neither of us is getting what we want.”
His jaw tightened. He set the spoon down with more care than necessary and came closer. Not too close, but close enough that the air shifted. Close enough that something under my skin pulsed.
Great. Amazing. Truly love being haunted by biology and fate and wolf magic or whatever.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, voice gentler now.
“Like someone used my shoulder as a chew toy. Like my life exploded. Like everything I knew was fake.” I crossed my arms. “Oh, and hungry.”
He nodded once. “Sit. I’ll get you something.”
“I don’t want soup,” I muttered.
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“Is it soup?”
A pause. “Yes.”
I glared. He stared back, faintly unimpressed.
He handed me a bowl anyway.
I sat at the table because arguing required energy I didn’t have. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching me like I was going to collapse or turn into a wolf myself. Neither felt off the table at this point.
I took a few bites. Warm. Simple. Ridiculously comforting. Annoying.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
He just nodded again, like words were rationed and he’d already used his quota for the day.
But the silence got heavy fast. Too heavy. Like something in the room was waiting to happen.
“Alright,” I said, pushing the bowl away. “Talk.”
His eyes locked onto mine. Something flickered there. Fear? Regret? Something too complicated for me to decode when my emotional stability was currently held together by soup and spite.
He didn’t move closer this time. He straightened, inhaled, exhaled, and chose his words like they were landmines.
“The night I found you,” he said slowly, “I wasn’t out there by accident.”
“I figured,” I muttered.
He continued. “I went because I felt something pulling me. Something urgent. Something I couldn’t ignore.”
My stomach tightened.
“This is the part where the wolf thing gets weird, right?” I asked.
His eyes didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“Cool. Love that.”
“Lyra.” His voice dropped. Serious. Weighted. “What I’m about to tell you… I know you’re not ready. But I can’t put it off anymore.”
My heart climbed into my throat.
He took one step closer.
Then another.
Every inch of space he closed made my pulse speed up, like my body knew something my brain refused to accept.
He stopped in front of the table. Not touching me. But close enough that I felt him. Felt heat rolling off him. Felt tension coiling under his skin.
“You’re my mate,” he said.
And the world went silent.
Not quiet. Silent.
Like sound itself got embarrassed and left the room.
I blinked. Once. Twice. My brain scrambled for every definition of the word “mate” possible, but they all boiled down to the same thing: fated partner. Cosmic bond. Werewolf soulmate.
Fate had chosen this man for me.
My best friend’s father.
I laughed.
Not like a haha funny laugh. More like a broken, borderline hysterical, what-the-hell-is-my-life laugh that cracked in the middle.
“You’re joking,” I said, breathless.
He didn’t blink. “I’m not.”
“Nah. Nope. No. Absolutely not. Try again.”
“Lyra—”
“I am twenty.”
“I know.”
“You are—”
“Older,” he finished quietly. “Much older.”
“What is this? Some dramatic supernatural midlife crisis?”
“You’re my mate,” he said again.
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, the hidden camera crew, maybe even God descending from the ceiling with a PowerPoint explaining the tragic comedy that was my life.
Nothing.
Just him. Quiet. Steady. Dead serious.
And of all the reactions I expected myself to have, it was:
Damn it. Of course.
Because the universe clearly took one look at my secret, deeply inappropriate crush and said, Hey, let’s make this girl’s life even more chaotic. She looks bored.
I swallowed hard. “You’re… you’re joking. This is a joke. You don’t joke, but you’re joking.”
“I’m not,” he said, voice low.
My face felt hot. My stomach dropped. My heart did this traitorous little flutter that I’d absolutely be shaming it for later.
This man — this massive, quiet, brooding man who I used to accidentally stare at when picking up Nia for sleepovers — was my mate?
The same man I had many intrusive fantasy about because he opened a jar I couldn’t? Are you kidding me?
I pressed both hands to my face. “This is insane.”
“I know,” he said.
“You’re Nia’s dad.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re… you.”
He blinked slowly. “I wasn’t aware that was a problem.”
“It’s… complicated,” I muttered, refusing to elaborate.
His eyes softened. Just enough to make my stomach flip again. “Lyra. You didn’t choose this. Neither did I.”
“I know,” I said, “but that doesn’t magically make it normal. Or easy. Or not completely horrifying.”
A small breath escaped him, almost a laugh but too weighed down by everything to fully exist.
“I’m not asking you for anything.” His voice was steady again, grounding. “Right now, all I care about is making sure you’re safe.”
I lifted my gaze. “Safe from…?”
“Rogues. Pack politics. Hunters. Fate. Everything.” His jaw tightened. “I won’t risk you being alone.”
I hated how warm that made my chest feel.
Then he looked toward my suitcase again — sad, pathetic symbol of my entire life falling apart — and something in his expression shifted. Resolved. Determined.
“Come stay with me,” he said.
My breath snagged. “Like… at your house?”
“Yes.”
“That’s…” I blinked. “That’s insane.”
“It’s necessary.”
“Do you know how Nia will react if I just— move into your house?”
“We’ll deal with that when we must.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
I hated how attractive it was when he did that — told the truth without softening it, without apologizing for existing. It made something dangerous twist in my ribs.
I crossed my arms, trying to look logical and immune and not like a girl whose teenage crush was suddenly real and staring her in the face.
“Be honest,” I said. “You want me there because of the safety thing or the mate thing?”
His eyes locked onto mine — steady, intense, unbearably sincere.
“Both.”
My brain glitched. Fully. Sparked out like a dying lightbulb.
“I shouldn’t say yes,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
“Nia would freak.”
“I know.”
“It’s stupid.”
“It is.”
“And reckless.”
“Yes.”
“And—”
“You’re still going to say yes,” he murmured.
I hated that he was right.
Because underneath the shock and the panic and the everything…
There was a tiny, traitorous part of me that wanted to be near him. Wanted to be safe with him. Wanted to see what this bond meant even though it was probably a terrible idea.
I exhaled, long and shaky.
“For safety,” I said.
His eyes didn’t move. “For whatever reason you need.”
My face got hot in a way I refused to acknowledge.
“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll stay.”
Relief crashed through him so visibly it made something in my chest tighten.
But then I lifted a hand sharply. “This doesn’t mean anything romantic. Or weird. Or… mate-y.”
He nodded once. “Understood.”
“I’m only agreeing because it makes sense.”
“Of course.”
“And because I literally almost died.”
“Yes.”
“And maybe I’m emotionally unstable.”
“That was obvious.”
I glared at him.
He didn’t apologize.
He also didn’t look away.
The air between us felt heavier now, charged in a way I didn’t want to think about.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Get your things. We’re leaving soon.”
I tried not to think about the way the word “we” made my stupid heart flutter again.
I failed.
- Writer
