Mated to you

Chapter 2 - Restraint

It had been just over three months since Reign returned. He hadn’t spoken a word to Thea. He kept his distance, even when she was near, and she was near a lot lately. There were customs and traditions she had to learn as his mate that required her to be close, and the amount of energy she used to act unaffected around him drained her. She came to the garden often now, not just for the air, but to ease her mind. It was getting harder to be around him, harder to pretend his silence didn’t unravel her a little more each day. He wouldn’t speak to her. Wouldn’t acknowledge her at all. But here, at least, the garden didn’t ignore her. The life in here appreciated her presence and the air wrapped around her like she belonged.

River had shown her the Alpha’s secret garden when she first arrived. Only blood and mate to the Alpha were allowed here. She was his mate. That much was undeniable.

But she wasn’t too sure what he wanted from her anymore, he made it clear he didn’t want her gone, always making sure she were to be present at every event they attended. Was he going to ignore her for a few more weeks? Months? Years?

She knew he had an abundance of years. But she didn’t. Did he know that?

Was he just waiting for her to wither away, until he could finally move on?

She sighed, watching the moon spill across the moss-lined path, brushing its light across the thorny vines which bloomed large gold flowers. The wroves were blooming again, half-moon overhead, petals spinning in slow spirals. She watched them dance, light and pollen drifting through the air. River had taught her about them during one of their lessons, back when everything still felt new, ever since, she returned here every half-moon, just to admire them. Thea watched in awe. She loved the way the pollen glittered in the night sky, like stars bursting between each bright yellow wrove.

It was breathtaking. She smiled, moments like this made it easier to forget how heavy everything else felt. Suddenly, she felt a shift in the dance. The wroves began to change colour, soft yellows bleeding into pale blues, then deepening into violet.

Her brows drew together, she knew what it meant.

A changing wrove meant she was no longer alone. They loved an audience. When more than one was watching, they bloomed differently brighter, bolder, as if performing.

She turned, and there he was, leaning against the stone fountain at the garden’s heart, half-shadowed by climbing ivy and moonlight. His gaze was on her. He didn’t move, and even in the dark she could see his amber eyes. “Have you been there the whole time?” she asked. The words slipped out before she could stop them. She kicked herself. Of all the things she could’ve said, after months of silence, after everything, those were the first. He didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. The wroves pulsed between them, shifting from violet to silver, as if they could feel the tension building. As if they, too, were waiting. Thea swallowed; her fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeve. She hated how exposed she felt, standing in front of him. Did he want her to leave?

“Sorry,” she said after waiting a moment for him to respond.

He didn’t. His gaze still lingered on her.

“I’ll leave,” she said quietly, already turning, before he finally spoke.

“Thea.”

He spoke, her name broken in his voice.

She froze. She turned back, slowly. The wroves shimmered between them, silver fading into a soft, uncertain blue. Even they didn’t know what came next.

“Yes…” she said, voice unsure.

“How are you?” he asked.

She blinked.

How was she? He hadn’t spoken to her in months.

Was this small talk? Was he feeling obligated to ask because she’d intruded on his secret garden?

“I’m…” She hesitated.

“I’m confused.” She admitted.

His brows furrowed, slow and subtle, as if he couldn’t quite understand why she’d feel that way. As if her confusion was unexpected.

That stung more than she thought it would.

She looked away, toward the wroves still pulsing in soft blue. They didn’t dance now. They hovered. Waiting.

“Why have you avoided me for this long?” She finally asked.

He didn’t answer yet, just stared at her.

The silence between them stretched, thick and fragile. The wroves pulsed once, then dimmed, blue fading into a pale, uncertain white.

She wondered if he would speak again, she was thankful for the night, thankful that she could hide her emotions behind the darkness.

“I… I didn’t expect you to adapt so well to it all, you’ve come so far from where I left you. I didn’t want to do or say anything to undo it all.” He said, voice low, almost hesitant. “Before I left, you feared me. Hated me.”

He paused. The silence cracked.

“For f**k’s sake, Thea…” His voice broke. “You tried to kill yourself to escape me…”

The words hung there. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Pain seeped through his restraint, raw and unfiltered. Thea didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

She felt the garden shift around her, vines curling tighter, wroves dimming to a pale, mournful grey, even they recoiled from the memory.

“I’m sorry, Reign, for everything,” she said, voice low, thick with regret. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, his amber eyes darkening, slowly.

“I don’t think you can handle any more of me, and what I’ve done,” he admitted. “If you’ve chosen to stay, to be our Luna… that’s all I could ask for. It means more than you know.” His voice was rough, almost broken.

“So that’s it? You just want me to be Luna and nothing more between us?” Her voice rose higher than she meant it to.

“I want you to stay,” he said quietly.

“And I am. But I thought I would also be getting you, if I did.” A tear slipped free. She stepped forward on instinct, but he lifted a hand—firm, trembling at the edges.

“Don’t come any closer,” he said. Quiet. Final.

“What? Then tell me—are we done? Am I just here to be Luna and nothing else exists between us?” She pushed, because she needed him to say it. She needed to stop lying awake every night wondering if anything would ever happen between them again.

His eyes, darker than night, held her for one last breath.

Then he turned and left.

The vines didn’t move. The groves didn’t pulse. But she felt it—the shift, the absence—like her heart was dragging behind him, threading through every root and stone he passed.

“Reign…” she called, her voice breaking as he disappeared into the night.