“You’re the reason we found our mates,” Malachar corrected gently. “You’re the reason I found you. If the spell is still working, still connecting soulmates across worlds... that’s not a bad thing. That’s a gift.”
Wen didn’t look convinced. I could relate. Finding out everything you believed about yourself was built on secrets and lies wasn’t exactly a comfortable experience. At least she’d only accidentally changed reality. I’d just discovered I wasn’t even the species I thought I was.
I sat down heavily. Or rather, my legs gave out and I ended up on the floor, but same result. Very dignified.
Too much. This was too much.
I was a wolf from another dimension. My parents were murdered because of secrets related to the crown. There was a prophecy about me. And the reason the entire world had been dealing with portals for seven years might be a lovesick girl’s accidental spell.
If this were a book, I’d throw it across the room for being too ridiculous.
“I need to process this,” I said weakly. “I need... I don’t know. Sleep. A bed. Somewhere that isn’t here, no offense.”
“None taken,” Wen said softly.
“My brother has an apartment nearby,” Malachar offered. “He’s not in town right now. Won’t be back for a few days. You two could stay there tonight.”
“That would be perfect,” Caelan said. “Thank you.”
Malachar nodded, pulled out a key from somewhere, and gave us directions. It was walkable, apparently. Just a few blocks down the main street.
We said our goodbyes. Thanked Wen for her help, promised to keep in touch, exchanged phone numbers. Wen hugged me, holding on longer than expected, treating me as an old friend. It was strange and also exactly what I needed.
“We’ll keep looking through the archives,” Wen promised. “If there’s anything else about the Mirabelles, about the prophecy, we’ll find it.”
“Thank you. Really.”
“Take care of yourself. And him.” Wen nodded toward Caelan, who was pretending not to listen while clearly listening. I nodded and followed Caelan out the door.
The walk to the apartment was quiet and awkward.
Well, it was mostly me. My issue, my fault.
Because I’d blamed him for no reason, kept him at arm’s length for two days. Made him sleep in my living room while I barricaded myself in my bedroom. Very mature of me.
And he didn’t deserve any of it.
I kept glancing at him as we walked. He was tense, a low thrum of uncertainty pulsing between us that matched my own. He didn’t know where we stood. Didn’t know if I was still angry.
I wasn’t.
I was embarrassed, guilty. And I missed him, missed him so much it hurt, a hollowness that only his presence could fill.
The streets of Ryeville were quiet in the evening light. A few locals walked past, nodding politely. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. Normal, human things happening in a normal, human town, while I walked beside a werewolf prince from another dimension, trying to figure out how to apologize for being an absolute disaster of a person.
My life was absurd. Truly, genuinely absurd. If I put this in a book, my editor would tell me to tone it down.
We found the apartment easily enough. It was a nice place, clearly belonging to someone with actual taste. There was a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room with a comfortable couch.
And one bedroom.
I stood in the doorway, staring at the single queen-sized bed. One bed. One of my favorite tropes, happening in real life.
I’d written this scene a dozen times. The forced proximity, the tension, the inevitable giving in to feelings they’d been denying. I knew exactly how it was supposed to go.
But living it was different. Awkward and uncomfortable and I had no idea what to do with my hands. I really must be in another dimension.
“I’ll take the floor,” Caelan said immediately, already grabbing a pillow from the bed.
