So I gave it.
Not in words.
In the way my chest ached when I thought of Anna.
In the way fear lived in me like a second heartbeat.
In the way I wanted Daniel and didn’t know how to want something without expecting it to be taken away.
The light warmed, softening around my hand like it had decided something.
Then it faded.
Not rejecting.
Just… acknowledging.
Daniel exhaled, slow. “Yeah.”
“Yeah what?” I asked, voice unsteady.
His mouth curved faintly. “It didn’t push you out.”
I let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “That’s the bar?”
“Welcome to my life,” he said dryly.
I shook my head, and the laugh finally came—quiet, shaky, real.
Daniel stepped closer, slid a hand to my waist, and leaned in until his forehead touched mine.
“This is why I brought you,” he murmured. “Not for pack politics. Not for training. For this.”
“For what?” I whispered.
His voice softened. “For belonging.”
My throat tightened. “That’s a big word.”
“It is,” he agreed. “And I don’t throw it around.”
I swallowed, then said, quieter, “You’re doing the talking thing again.”
Daniel snorted. “Don’t ruin it.”
I smiled despite myself. “I wouldn’t dare.”
He kissed me—slow and sure—right there on the edge of something ancient and hidden and sacred. And for a second, the forest felt like it exhaled around us, patient and alive, like it had been waiting for this moment and wasn’t going to rush it.
When we broke apart, Daniel’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression sharpened—Alpha slipping back into place.
“Pack business?” I asked.
“Evan,” Daniel said. “Patrol schedule.” He typed a quick response, pocketed it again, then looked at me like he was reluctant to let the moment end. “We should head back.”
“The real world awaits,” I said dryly.
