CHAPTER NINE
807 Words
CHLOE
I didn’t care where Edward was driving when he sped away from the school. I had spent the rest of the day trying to scrub the image of those pointed ears from my memory, repeating a simple mantra: we live in a world of the living and the dead. No zombies, no witches, no werewolves. Just humans. It is the only logical way to view the world if you want to maintain any sense of order or safety.
But the logic failed me the moment I stepped into the house. It was too quiet. The lack of his presence was a vacuum that pulled a knot of worry tight in my stomach. I had spent my classes acting as if I didn't have a care in the world, even coldly brushing off Edgar because the mere thought of the "Eds" made my chest feel tight. But standing here, facing an empty house where Edward should have been, the silence felt like a threat to my peace of mind.
Guilt is a useless emotion, yet I felt it rising—a cold fear that my rejection had led to something reckless. I took a step up the stairs, my mind at war. Part of me wanted to check his room; the other part insisted that he’s a twenty-four-year-old man, not a child. He is responsible for his own utility and safety.
I froze on the first step.
Twenty-four. Why did I believe that part so easily? I looked at his body and his maturity and accepted he wasn't eighteen, yet I looked at his ears and called it a "disease." I was cherry-picking facts to suit my comfort, which is a poor way to find the truth.
As I stood there a million miles away, my mind drifted back to the car park. I felt the heat rise in my neck, remembering the weight of his hand when he spanked me. It was frustrating. I want a life of autonomy—a life where I am the sole architect of my joy and my choices. Giving myself over to a "mate" at eighteen seems like a net loss for my personal freedom. How could I sacrifice my long-term agency for someone who might not even be in my life in two years?
A sudden breeze shook me out of my thoughts. I looked up, and there he was.
"Edward. Where have you been? You weren't at school. Where did you drive off to?"
He didn't even look at me. He just kept walking.
"You can't just leave school whenever you like, you know?" I said, hurrying up the stairs to close the gap between us. I hated how much I wanted him to turn around. I realized then that his obsession, his stares, and even his arrogant protection provided a sort of stability I had grown used to. His presence had a high value I hadn't fully calculated until it was withdrawn.
He was about to turn into the hallway when I doubled my pace. My foot slipped. I felt my ankle twist, a sharp jab of pain blooming as I began to fall backwards toward the hard tiles. I braced for the impact, expecting the pain of a significant injury.
Instead, I hit something warm and solid.
He saved me. My mind scrambled to process the physics of it. He was ahead of me—how was he behind me now? How could any human move that fast? But the "how" mattered less than the result: he was using his own body as a shield to protect mine from the floor. He had prioritized my physical integrity over his own comfort.
"You should be careful on the stairs," he said. His voice was cold and hoarse, but I heard a tremor in it—an underlying stress that suggested he was genuinely shaken by the prospect of me being hurt.
We were locked together, me lying on top of him on the floor. I could feel the strength in him, the impossible speed still vibrating in the air. He looked at me as if my health was the only thing that mattered in the world.
"Any pain in your ankle?" he asked.
My heart was hammering against my ribs. I couldn't ignore the evidence anymore. To continue denying what I had seen would be a lie, and lying to oneself is the greatest obstacle to making the right choices. If he was what he said he was, then our "fate" wasn't just a story—it was a reality I had to account for.
"Prove it to me that you're a werewolf," I blurted out, my voice trembling, "and I'll believe that I'm your mate, just as you said."
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