“The compound is isolated,” he continued, his words coming faster now, like he’d been holding them back all night. “The Elders are resistant to change. Half the pack still sees you as an outsider. You’d be giving up this—” he gestured at the luxurious room, the city beyond the window “—for pine trees and suspicious werewolves.”
“Pine trees are nice. I like pine trees.”
“Kitten.”
“What do you want me to say?” She pulled her hand free, suddenly frustrated. “That I’m going to miss the sixteen-hour work days? The lonely apartment? The parade of identical coffee cups because I never had time to make actual meals?”
“I want you to be honest with me.” His eyes burned gold, his wolf bleeding through. “I want you to tell me you won’t wake up one day and regret choosing me over all of this.”
The raw vulnerability in his voice made her heart ache. This was what had been eating at him. Not pack politics or the disapproval of the Elders or the logistics of the integration—though she was sure those weighed on him too. This was simpler, more primal. He was afraid of losing her.
The big, dominant, impossibly powerful Alpha was afraid that his small human mate would decide he wasn’t enough.
She reached up and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.
“You idiot,” she said softly. “You absolute idiot.”
“That’s not exactly?—”
“Shut up. I’m having a moment.”
His mouth snapped closed.
“You think this—” she gestured at the penthouse, the city, the whole glittering empire outside “—is what I want? You think I spent my whole life building walls out of code and caffeine because I enjoyed it?”
“You’re brilliant at it.”
“I’m brilliant at a lot of things.” She let a hint of her usual tartness creep into her voice. “Doesn’t mean they make me happy.”
His brow furrowed. “Then why?—”
“Because it was safe.” The admission came out small and vulnerable, stripped of her usual protective layers. “Because machines don’t leave. They don’t disappoint you. They don’t look at you like you’re not enough and then walk away.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Kitten…”
“I was eight when I realized no one was coming for me.” She kept her voice steady through sheer force of will. “Eight years old, sitting in a group home, watching other kids get adopted oneby one. And I thought, there must be something wrong with me. Something broken that made people not want to keep me.”
“There’s nothing?—”
“I know that now. Logically.” She tapped her temple. “But logic doesn’t always reach the parts that hurt, you know? So I built walls. Made myself useful. Made myself indispensable. Because if I was good enough at something, maybe someone would finally want me enough to stay.”
The words hung in the air between them, more honest than she’d been with anyone in years. Maybe ever.
His hands came up to cover hers where they still cradled his face. His skin was warm, his grip gentle despite the strength she knew those hands possessed.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said roughly. “Ever. That’s not how this works.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” His thumbs traced circles on her wrists. “Because you’re talking about this place like it’s home, and I need you to understand—you are my home, Harper. Not the mountains. Not the compound. Not the pack. You.”
Her heart stuttered.
“The mountains are pretty great though,” she managed weakly. “All those pine trees.”
“Kitten.”
“And Irene makes amazing pie.”
