I long to reach out and touch her again, craving that electric feeling like it's the only time I've truly felt alive. But most of all, I want to hold her with the promise that things can be better between us. “Willow—”
“Goodnight, Thane.” Her tone is calm, polite even, but her voice carries a hollowness that twists my stomach.
I'm about to open my mouth to say something, but the words are caught in my throat, snatched by the reminder of her life away from Girdwood in the form of the scar running across her cheek. My hesitation allows her to brush past me, and then her shoulder grazes mine lightly. The contact sends another faint jolt through me, the same inexplicable spark that ignited when I touched her wrist earlier, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Even if she does, she's ignoring it, numb to it.
I can't bear it, my inner wolf becoming wild with the frustration of seeing its fated mate act so cold toward me, as if none of this matters. That's when I turn back to grab Willow's wrist again, stopping her from leaving and stopping my heartbeat altogether.
“Wh—what…?” Willow snaps, her usually timid voice bitterly cold as she turns icy blue eyes on me, as she snatches her hand away.
Electricity continues to pulse through my arm even when my fingers aren't around her wrist.
“You're not walking away like this,” I say, using a commanding tone as I straighten up and clear my throat. “I've just come back from a meeting with my fellow alphas, and preparations are being made for our mating ceremony tomorrow night.”
Willow's lips slowly lift into a cynical, forced smile, empty eyes locking with mine.
“I guess I don't have a choice in this, right?” Her eyes narrow and twitch as she scoffs. “Because you bought me, right? Bought my freedom? Bought my body? Bought my—”
Without thinking, I step forward and close the distance between us, grabbing her shoulders to stop her from spewing all this nonsense. The consequence of my hands on her shoulders is another harsh reminder that she's my fated mate—something I couldn't see before, even when we were friends.
“If Ididbuy anything, it was your dignity, Willow. I am entering this mate bond not just for the prophecy, but to keep you safe from Blood Claw,” I insist, recalling that heinous glint in Alpha Grant's eyes that hasn't allowed me to rest.
Willow laughs dryly, echoing the way she laughed while we were still in Seward.
“I didn't ask to be saved,” she says as she shrugs out of my touch. “And since you paid for me, you think my body is yours to be mated with.”
I raise my hands in a show of surrender. “There will be no mating, I promise. Not until you're ready.”
Willow throws her head back and laughs again, the sound bouncing off the walls in an eerie echo.
“I willneverbe ready!” she snaps venomously. “You want the mating ceremony so bad? Fine! I'll go through with it, but I'll never sleep with you. Are you fine with that?”
“I'll ask Rissa to come over to help you prepare for the ceremony tomorrow,” I respond with a challenging brow raised. Willow appears taken aback, her hardened expression softening, and a frown flitting across her face.
She opens her mouth to say something, but then snaps it shut and spins on her heel and walks away as if the air between us isn’t charged, as if my entire world hasn’t just shifted.
When her door clicks shut, I’m left standing alone in the quiet kitchen. The clock ticks faintly on the wall, each sound stretching through the silence like a slow, steady heartbeat.
So, she's agreed to the mating ceremony, provided there is no mating. I can live with that.
It's the perfect opportunity to make up for the past.
But that's only if Willow will let me in. It doesn't seem that way now, but I'm not one to quit so easily. I'll endure her bitter resentment and woo her once she's mine.
So why does it feel like an impossible feat?
A shiver courses down my spine, full of wariness, full of uncertainty.
Something is still very wrong, and I can't put my finger on it.
I finally move to the counter, open the cupboard, and pull down a bottle of whiskey when the glint of something behind it catches my eye. With my mind and heart acting out of sync, I reach for the box in the corner, surprised that it's still here.
It's not even mine, but Brooks's—he'd left it here the night he and Rissa came over to tell me about their vision.
I open the box to find two sticks inside and purse my lips in contemplation. I swore I wouldn't touch a cigarette again, but I can't help myself. It's the only thing that might calm me—the steady mix of tobacco and wolfsbane.
I pour a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the moonlight that now filters through the window, and lean against the counter, letting the burn in my throat dull the noise in my head. When the glass is half empty, I pull out a cigarette and light the end, taking a long drag of a mixture that's supposed to take my mind off things.
