I’m trying not to jump out of my skin with excitement. Or melt into the floor from secondhand embarrassment.
I didn’t plan for any of that to happen. I really didn’t.
And he’s so handsome.
My cheeks heat just thinking about the way he looked at me. Like I was both the moon and the flame. Like he didn’t know whether to worship me or burn.
I pace the kitchen like I’m on trial, every emotion tangled into the next. Relief. Giddy joy. Panic. Horny frustration. Repeat.
Do human women do that? Just drag their mate into the woods and—?
No. No, they definitely do not.
But I didn’t drag him, technically. He followed me. Willingly. With that quiet, broody face and those unfairly strong hands.
I groan and drop my head to the counter.
What if I scared him off?
Cameron doesn’t seem like the type to just endure something. He’s not the passive type. He would’ve told me to stop. He would’ve left.
In fact, he—Nope, not thinking about the way he moaned my name right now.
My wolf is purring. Absolutely smug. Satisfied.
I shake it off and focus on preparing food. Something easy. Steak, rice, roasted vegetables. I plate it neatly and carry it down the short hallway, toward my father’s room. I usually just leave his meals at the door, let him come to when he’s ready. He prefers it that way—solitude and silence.
I’m just about to set the tray down when I hear his voice.
I swallow and push the door open.
The room is dim, smelling faintly of pine and age. My father lies on the bed, his silver hair a mess, his beard slightly overgrown. He still looks strong, like the man I used to idolize as a pup—but he’s thinner now. Paler. Dimming slowly from the inside out.
"I didn’t think you’d be awake," I say softly, placing the tray on the small table near the bed.
He lifts his head, his eyes squinting slightly. "It’s a little hard to stay dreaming about your dead mate when your daughter’s out there loudly busy—"
"Dad." I groan, dragging a hand over my face.
He chuckles. Barely. It’s rough, dry. But it’s real.
"I’m just saying," he adds, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "If you’re gonna mark the woods, pick one spot. Not every damn tree."
I fling a nearby pillow at him and he bats it away with a wheeze of laughter.
But the laughter dies out quickly.
I watch him for a beat, noticing the way his chest rises just a little too slow. The lines on his face seem deeper than yesterday. He looks like himself, but... not quite. Like a faded photograph of the man who used to lift me up on one shoulder and pretend to be a dragon, just to make me laugh.
A pang of guilt twists in my chest. I hate seeing him —caught between this world and the next. And I hate how helpless I feel, knowing there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
"He’s not bad," he says, almost like an afterthought.
My brows lift. "Who?"
"The mate." He shrugs, blinking slowly. "For a human, he’s got backbone. And he looks at you like he hasn’t had a meal in years."
I blink. "You’ve seen him?"
"I may be half asleep most of the time, Lenora, but I’m not blind. Or deaf. You two aren’t exactly subtle."
My face burns. "We weren’t trying to—"
He waves a hand tiredly. "Don’t worry. I’ve been young too. And mated."
I press my lips together and move to sit carefully on the edge of the bed. "It’s not... going the way I imagined it would."
His expression softens as he studies me. "Because you pictured fairy tales. Fireworks. Instant love."
I nod slowly. "Would that have been so bad?"
"No," he says gently. "But life doesn’t work that way, not even for wolves.Sometimes you get dropped in the middle of a story that’s messy, slow, painful."
He reaches out, fingers curling loosely over mine. His hand feels colder than it used to.
"I mean... look at me and your mum," he says with a dry chuckle. "The whole pack still hasn’t forgiven us."
I smile faintly. "You were both each other’s true mates."
"Yeah and the whole pack is still reeling from the consequences of that fact."
I smile faintly. "You were both each other’s true mates."
"Yeah," he murmurs. "And the whole pack is still reeling from the consequences of that fact."
I nod, because he’s not wrong. The pack split down the middle when it happened—half standing behind my father, the rest siding with my uncle. Old wounds never really healed, just scabbed over.
"I know what you mean," I say quietly. "Half still carry your name like a badge. The other half pretend you don’t exist."
He hums. "War never ends just because no one’s swinging claws anymore."
Silence lingers, heavy between us.
"Do you want a different mate?" he asks suddenly, his voice too casual to be casual.
The answer is fast. Too fast. But it’s the truth.
He smiles, faint and knowing. "Exactly."
We drift into softer talk after that. Nothing heavy. Just... thoughts. Old stories. Bits of childhood I’d almost forgotten. Things he remembers even through the fog that’s taken so much of him. I sit cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, listening, chiming in here and there, pretending is just another day.
"My time’s running out," he says.
The words slide out so simply. So peacefully. Like he’s just commenting on the weather.
I swallow the panic rising up my throat. I nod slowly. "I know."
"How long?" I ask, voice low. I hate that it trembles.
He exhales through his nose, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. "Not long."
I look at him—really look. His skin is thinner, paler. There’s a gauntness in his cheeks that wasn’t there before. And though his voice still carries weight, his body looks like it’s barely holding together. Like he’s stitched to this world by a thread that frays more each day.
He’s only still here because of me. I know that. The bond with his mate—the grief of her loss—it already took the biggest part of him. The only thing that’s kept his heart beating is the fact that mine still does.
"It’s okay," he says, maybe because he sees the look on my face. "I got to see you grow up. Got to meet your mate. Got to see you fight for something."
"I’m not ready," I whisper.
"No one ever is," he says gently. "But you’ll be okay."