We stare at each other across the scattered documents and intelligence reports. Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. Neither of us seems capable of doing anything except feeling the bond pulse between us with enough power to shake the foundation of everything we thought we understood.
My hands ache to reach for her. To pull her across this desk and finally claim what my wolf has been screaming belongs to us since the moment I saw her fighting for her life on that desert road.
But I don’t move. Can’t move. Because if I touch her right now, I won’t stop. I won’t be able to control what happens next. And she deserves better than being claimed in my study because the mate bond decided to stop being subtle and start being undeniable.
But fuck, if I don’t want to bend her over my desk and take her here and now.
Chapter 13 - Sera
I jerk my hand back like I’ve been burned.
But the mate bond doesn’t fade when I break contact. If anything, it gets stronger. It pulses through my veins with a scorching heat that makes my knees weak with an undeniable want that makes my wolf demand things I’m not ready for.
My heart pounds so hard I can hear it echoing in my ears. Every nerve ending in my body feels alive. The brief touch of skin on skin has ignited something that now refuses to be extinguished.
“I need coffee,” I choke out. “Excuse me.”
I flee the study before Reeyan can reply. Before I do something stupid like reach for him again just to feel that connection roar back to life. Before I climb into his lap and find out if his mouth tastes as good as I imagined last night.
The kitchen is cool and quiet, a refuge from the overwhelming presence of him in that small space. I lean against the counter and try to catch my breath, try to wrestle my wolf back into submission, and remember who I’m supposed to be.
Llewelyn women don’t lose control like this. We’re taught from childhood to maintain composure, to rise above base emotions, and to value logic and reason over feeling and desire. We’re supposed to be the ice queens of the valley. Unshakeable. Unreachable. Untouchable.
Except that’s the curse talking. Three hundred years of magical conditioning telling me that wanting someone is wrong. That need for connection makes me weak. That giving in to physical desire is shameful and proves I’m not strong enough to handle my own emotions.
I press my palms flat against the counter and focus on my breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The meditation technique my mother taught me when I was twelve and struggling to control my first real emotions. She sat with me in our small kitchen back home and walked me through it with such patience. Such care.
My mother. Who struggled under the same curse. Who probably wanted to express love more freely but couldn’t push through the binding wrapped around her heart. She taught me techniques for emotional suppression not because she valued distance but because the curse made her believe that was the only way to survive.
The thought makes something twist painfully inside me.
The kettle sits on the stove where I left it yesterday. I fill it with water and turn on the heat, grateful for something mundane to focus on besides the way my entire body still throbs from that brief contact with Reeyan.
My wolf paces restlessly inside me. She’s been fully recovered from the suppressor for days now, and she’s done being patient. Done pretending she doesn’t know exactly what she wants and who she wants it from. She has no interest in listening to the curse’s whispers about maintaining distance and protecting independence.
Mate, she whispers insistently.Ours. Claim him. Stop fighting this.
I push her down with an aggressive huff. “Not helping.”
“Talking to yourself now?”
I spin around. Reeyan is in the doorway with his hands shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to appear casual and failing miserably. Those green eyes watch every move I make, missingnothing. I can see the question in them. The concern. The same want I’m trying so hard to suppress.
“My wolf is being difficult.”
“Mine too.” He takes a step into the kitchen but maintains distance between us. Like he’s afraid of what might happen if we get too close again. “Are you okay?”
The concern in his voice does something to the walls I’ve been trying to rebuild. Cracks them right down the middle until I can’t hold the words back anymore.
I turn back to the stove because looking at him makes this harder. “No. I’m not okay. Everything I believed about myself is a lie. Everything that makes me Llewelyn—the reserve, the control, the emotional distance—it’s all curse conditioning. Not cultural strength. Not who I really am underneath.”
“Sera—”
“And I’m terrified.” The confession tumbles out, taking advantage of the momentum. “Terrified of what breaking the curse might mean for my identity. For my relationship with my pack. For who I’ll become when I’m not following three hundred years of magical programming.”
I squeeze the edge of the counter harder until my knuckles go white from the pressure.
“What if I break the curse and I’m completely different? What if the reserved, controlled woman my pack knows just disappears? What if my aunt looks at me and doesn’t recognize who I’ve become? What if Caelan thinks I’ve betrayed everything we were taught to value?”
