Shifter Forbidden Mate

Chapter Nine

Chapter 9

Eira’s POV

The mattress shifts as I carefully extract myself from Soren’s arm. He murmurs in his sleep, his brow furrowing, and instinctively reaches for me. I freeze, holding my breath until his hand drops back onto the empty space beside me.

His breathing deepens again.

I slip out of bed, my feet hitting the cold hardwood. The apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic, slightly ragged sound of Soren’s breath. Every time he inhales, I wince in sympathy. The cracked rib is going to ache like hell today.

I pull my oversized sweater tighter around myself and pad softly down the short hallway toward the kitchen.

The question he asked last night is still hanging in the air, heavy and unanswered. Shifter Town. Just thinking the words makes my chest tight. It’s everything I’ve spent the last six months pretending I didn’t want. A place to belong. A pack that doesn’t demand I bleed for my right to be in it.

But it’s also a trap. A beautiful, warm, terrifying trap. If I walk into Shifter Town, I’m walking into a concentrated web of shifter senses. So many wolves, bears, dragons, all living shoulder to shoulder. It would only be a matter of time before my facade slips. Before they smell the scent. Before they realize I’m something that shouldn't exist.

I reach the kitchen and lean against the counter, pressing my hands into my eyes.

“You’re not going to answer him, are you?”

I jump, my hand flying to my chest.

Draven is sitting at the tiny two-person table, a mug of black coffee held in his hands. He’s shirtless, his red hair messy in the dim morning light. He’s radiating heat, the kind of dry, furnace-like warmth that makes the air around him shimmer slightly.

I drop my hands and keep my voice low. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Draven takes a slow sip of his coffee. His piercing eyes watch very move that I make. “That so? Because from where I’m sitting, look like a woman planning a retreat.”

“let me just get a drink of water.”

“Right.” He sets the mug down. “You sure about that?”

I turn my back to him and fill a glass from the tap. The rush of water sounds entirely too loud. “I need to think, Draven. It’s a big decision.”

“It’s a change of location, Eira.”

“It’s a claim,” I corrected him, the words slipping out sharper than I intend. I shut off the tap and stare at the water. “If I move to Shifter Town, I’m yours. All of yours. There’s no going back to being just a tracker you hired.”

Draven is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is lower, stripped of its usual playful edge. “You’re worried we’ll get bored of you?”

“I’m worried you’ll realize I’m not what you think I am.”

He stands up. The scrape of his chair against the concrete makes me tense. He crosses the small space and stops just behind me. I can feel the heat rolling off his chest, inches from my back.

“Your eyes are doing that thing again,” he murmurs.

My breath races. “What thing?”

“Glowing. Like there’s a light caught behind them.” He reaches up, his knuckles brushing the shell of my ear. The touch is light, but it sends a jolt of pure awareness straight down my spine. “For a second I thought your eyes changed.”

I swallow hard, forcing the magic down, pushing it deep into the marrow of my bones. The glamour tightens across my cheekbones, a physical ache behind my eyes. “I just have good genetics.”

Draven lets out a soft, rough chuckle. He drops his hand and steps back, the loss of his heat leaving me shivering. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The front door clicks open, breaking the tension.

Art steps inside, bringing the chill of the early morning with him. He’s wearing a heavy canvas jacket, his dark hair damp with mist. He looks tired, but his posture is as strong as ever. He takes in the scene in a single sweep-me gripping the counter, Draven leaning against the table, the unspoken weight in the air.

He doesn’t ask what we were talking about. He doesn’t ask why I look like I’m about to run.

Art just walks over to the stove, lights the burner, and sets a small kettle on it. He pulls three mugs from the cupboard.

“Roof was clear,” Art says, his voice a low, steady rumble. He glances at me, his dark eyes softening just a fraction. “Cold up there, though.”

“Thanks for watching,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods once. That’s it. No pressure. No invasive questions. He just fills the kettle and sets a mug in front of me. It’s a quiet, solid offer of safety.

I wrap my hands around the ceramic, letting the warmth seep into my palms.

I think about what Soren said last night. About the jackals and the lack of an alpha. I’ve heard stories about Shifter Town from the drifters and the rejects I’ve crossed paths with. They say the night market runs until dawn, and the local bakery accepts shed scales and clipped claws as currency on Tuesdays. They say the streetlamps are ward-glass, keeping the mundane humans out without casting a strong glare.

It sounds ordinary. It sounds like a community.

Damnation. I want it. I want it so badly it terrifies me.

“Hey.”

Soren’s voice is rough with sleep. I turn around. He’s standing in the hallway, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s wearing sweatpants, his sandy hair sticking up in every direction. He moves slowly, wincing slightly as he shifts his weight.

“Hey,” I say.

He walks into the kitchen, ignoring Draven and Art, and comes to a stop beside me. He doesn’t crowd me. He just stands close enough that our arms brush.

“You didn’t answer me last night,” he says softly.

“I’m still thinking.”

Soren reaches out, his hand covering mine where it grips the mug. His thumb strokes my knuckles. “Easy,” he murmurs, sensing the rigid line of my shoulders. “We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to decide today.”

I look up at him. His eyes are so open, so entirely devoid of the deception I’m so used to. He means it. He’s giving me an out, even though it’s killing him to do it.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “Anytime.”

For a second, I let myself just exist in the warmth of it. I let myself pretend that I’m just a wolf. That I’m just a girl who found a pack. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of him— clean sweat, and something wild and untamed.

Then, the air pressure drops.

It’s so subtle I almost miss it. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. The hum of the refrigerator seems to fade, replaced by a high, thin ringing in my ears.

I open my eyes.

The scent hits me a second later. It slips under the doorframe, faint but unmistakable. Ozone. Crushed lilies. And the sharp, metallic smell of copper.

Fae magic.

Not the wild, chaotic magic of the shifters in the room. This is composed and Deliberate. It’s a tracking spell, sweeping the grid, searching for a specific frequency. Searching for me.

My fingers tighten around the mug until my knuckles turn white. The glamour itches violently behind my ears, reacting to the proximity of the host’s magic.

“Eira?” Soren asks, his head snapping up. His wolf instincts are flaring, picking up on my sudden spike in heart rate. “What’s wrong?”

I stare at the door, my blood turning to ice.

Cassian isn’t just looking for me anymore.

He’s getting close