The kettle starts to whistle. I turn off the heat, but don’t move to pour the water. Just stand there with my hands holding the counter hard enough to hurt.
“I don’t know how to be anything other than what I was raised to be.” My voice cracks despite my efforts to stay composed. “Don’t know how to trust these feelings when I can’t tell what’s real and what’s the curse weakening its hold. I don’t know if I want you this much because of the mate bond or because I’m finally able to feel what was always there.”
Footsteps shuffle behind me, and then he’s close enough that I can feel his body heat pressing against my back. Close enough that his scent wraps around me like a physical thing.
“I’m terrified too,” he quietly admits.
That surprises me enough to turn around. He’s right there, maybe half a foot away, and the look on his face makes my stomach flip. This isn’t the confident historian who always seems to have answers. This is someone just as lost as I am.
“Of what?”
“Failing to protect you. Having my research not be enough to break the curse safely. Watching you go through pain I can’t prevent because the magic is too old and too deeply embedded. Losing you before I’ve even really had you. Having you realize that what you feel is just the mate bond forcing connection where none would naturally exist.”
“You think the mate bond is forcing this?”
He shrugs and replies, “I don’t know what to think anymore. You think you’re the only one questioning everything? I’ve spent my entire adult life maintaining distance from people. Keeping everyone at arm’s length where they can’t hurt me. Focusing on books and patterns and dead people’s mistakes because that’s safe. Predictable. Controllable.”
“And then I showed up.”
“And then you showed up.” His laugh sounds self-deprecating as he shakes his head. “Fighting for your life on that desert road. Refusing to break even when they cut you off from your wolf. Looking at me like I’m something more than just a historian who lives in his books and avoids real human connection.”
“You are more than that.”
“Am I? Because most days, I’m not sure.” He takes another step closer, and now there’s barely any space between us. “I’m terrified that everything I feel for you is just the mate bond doing what it’s supposed to do. Making us believe we’re perfect for each other when really we’re just strangers thrown together by supernatural forces neither of us controls.”
The honesty in his words strips away my own defenses. This isn’t just about me struggling with the curse’s influence. This is about two people who’ve spent their lives avoiding vulnerability, suddenly forced to confront feelings neither of us knows how to handle.
“You think we’re strangers?” I search his face, looking for the truth beneath the fear. “After everything we’ve shared this week? You saved my life, and I trusted you with the vision. We’ve been researching together and facing my aunt together, and learning about the curse together for the past week.”
“I think we’ve been forced into proximity by circumstances neither of us chose. The mate bond is powerful enough to manufacture feelings that might not otherwise exist. I think—” he stops himself and presses his mouth into a firm line.
“What? What do you think?”
“I don’t think you’d even look at me twice if we’d met under normal circumstances. I’m not worthy of someone like you.”
My breath catches. “Someone like me? You saved my life, and you’re working to break a three-hundred-year-old curse.”
“I also manipulated you into staying here and kept the mate bond secret because I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth.”
The mate bond thrums between us, stronger than ever. Not pushing or demanding. Just there. A constant reminder of what could be if we’re brave enough to reach for it.
I’ve spent my entire life learning to suppress what I want. To maintain distance. To value independence over connection. The curse taught me that needing someone makes you weak. That vulnerability is dangerous. That love is a trap that will only end in pain and disappointment.
But standing here with Reeyan, feeling the mate bond between us growing with every heartbeat, I realize something.
The curse wants me to stay isolated. Wants me to push him away. To choose loneliness over risk and to believe that connection equals weakness and independence equals strength.
And I’m done letting Moira Ashwood’s revenge dictate my choices.
I close the distance between us without giving myself time to overthink it. I won’t let three hundred years of curse conditioning stop me from taking what I want.
My hands find his chest, where I feel his heart pounding beneath my palms just as hard as mine. His whole body goes still, like he’s afraid any movement might break whatever spell this is. Like he can’t quite believe I’m touching him willingly.
“Sera.” My name comes out half warning, half plea. “What are you—”
I rise up on my toes, close the remaining distance between us, and press my lips to his.
The curse doesn’t get to win this time.
