His Human Mate

7.

The first thing I felt was not pain, not even fear.

It was weight.

Something heavy in the air, a presence hovering so close it pressed down on my skin, making my pulse thrum and my breath catch before I even opened my eyes.

I forced them open slowly, lashes fluttering against the dim light. The ceiling came into focus first, low and wooden, shadows crawling across it from the lantern in the corner. My vision blurred, then sharpened, and I turned my head.

Someone was there.

A shape, broad-shouldered, half-shadow, half-flesh.

For a moment, I panicked—heart jerking inside my ribs, throat tight as if invisible hands had wrapped around it. My breath came shallow, uneven. Had the bats come back? Had the monsters followed me inside?

But then the shape shifted, moved with deliberate calm. The faint scrape of cloth, the wet dab of fabric against skin, the sting blooming sharp and hot across my arm—

I gasped.

And finally, finally, my eyes cleared enough to see him.

Jack.

Bent over me, his dark hair falling over his face, his hand steady as he pressed a damp cloth against the claw marks lacing my arms. He didn’t even flinch when I stirred, didn’t look up right away.

It was so ordinary, almost mundane—someone tending wounds—that for one wild second I almost forgot what he was. What I’d seen. What I’d felt out there in the dark.

“Ugh,” I croaked, my throat dry as sand. My voice scraped against the quiet like a jagged blade. “What… gave me away?”

His hand stilled. Then, slowly, he raised his head.

His eyes caught the lantern light, storm-grey, unreadable, colder than the night outside. And yet… not cold. Something lived in them, restless and feral, something that made the tiny hairs at the back of my neck rise.

“Your running,” he said finally, his voice low, deep, edged with something that wasn’t quite amusement. “Though it wasn’t exactly running. More like…” his mouth twitched, almost a smirk, “waddling.”

I choked on my own gasp, equal parts insulted and indignant. “Waddling?”

The corner of his mouth quirked before it flattened again, his expression sliding back into that mask of calm detachment. He dipped the cloth again, wrung it out, and pressed it harder to the wound. The sting bit through my skin and I hissed, jerking, but his other hand caught my arm—firm, steady, unyielding.

I froze.

That touch… it burned. Not just from heat, but from something deeper. Something that felt like my body recognized him even though my mind screamed at me not to.

“There is everything you need here,” he said, his voice too calm, too measured, like each word was weighed before being released. “Food. Water. Rest. Just… call me if you need something.”

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten. Like it wasn’t just an offer. Like it was a command.

I swallowed, my mouth dry. “But…” My voice cracked before I steadied it. “Don’t try to run away?”

The question slipped out half-sarcastic, half-terrified.

He stilled again, the cloth pausing against my skin. Then, slowly, he lifted his head, and his eyes… changed.

They darkened.

Like storm clouds swallowing the last fragile light of day. His pupils dilated, his breath deepened, and the weight in the air grew heavy enough to suffocate me.

In the next breath, he leaned closer. Close enough that the world narrowed to the sound of his breathing, the heat radiating off his body, the scent of pine and earth and iron that clung to him like another skin.

“Because this woods are dangerous.”

His voice was low, almost a growl, each syllable vibrating in my chest.

Something inside me shivered—not just with fear, but with something else. Something I couldn’t name, something I didn’t dare name.

I forced my voice past the tightness in my throat. “Why do you care?”

The words slipped out sharper than I intended. A challenge. A provocation.

And oh, the way he looked at me then.

His gaze dragged down my face, over my lips, my neck, lingering too long, too deliberately. It wasn’t just a look—it was possession, assessment, hunger. His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking as though he fought something inside himself.

For one endless minute, he just stared. And I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Then, abruptly, he pushed back. The tension snapped like a wire, and he rose to his feet. His movements were sharp, controlled, too controlled, like every step toward the door was a war with himself.

And then he was leaving.

The absence of him was immediate, like the room lost its heat. Like oxygen left with him.

I should have let him go.

Should’ve let the door close, the silence return, the storm in my chest settle back into the numbness I’d known for so long.

But my mouth moved before my mind could stop it.

“Jack.”

His name came out like a plea, weak and trembling, but it was enough.

He paused. Didn’t turn. Just froze, his back to me, his shoulders rigid.

“I can’t…”

The words broke apart in my mouth. My throat closed. The blanket twisted beneath my fingers, fabric clenched tight in my fists.

Slowly, he turned his head. His profile caught the lantern light, sharp and dangerous, his eyes gleaming like molten steel.

“You can’t what?” His voice was low, rough, dangerous.

I licked my lips, my pulse hammering so loud it drowned everything else. “I can’t… pretend this doesn’t matter.”

Silence.

I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me. Or maybe he refused to. But then his jaw tightened, his eyes shuttering like iron doors closing over windows.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

But I did. God help me, I did.

My chest ached, my arms burned, my body screamed for rest, but none of that mattered. What mattered was him. The way he looked at me. The way he kept saving me. The way he kept pretending he didn’t care when every breath of his said otherwise.

I sat up, wincing, ignoring the sting. My voice was stronger this time, though it shook. “Then tell me. Make me understand.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides, veins standing out along his forearms. He looked like he wanted to move, to pace, to do anything but stand there. But he didn’t. He just stood, caught between staying and leaving, caught between human and beast.

“Jennifer…” My name rolled off his tongue like a warning, like a prayer.

I swallowed hard, my chest tight. “Why did you save me?”

The silence stretched, unbearable.

His eyes found mine, storm-grey and burning. And then, finally, he said it.

“Because I couldn’t not.”

The words hit me harder than claws, sharper than fangs. My breath caught, my heart stumbling in my chest.

And suddenly, I wasn’t afraid.

Not of him.

Not anymore.