“Do you have siblings?” I realize I don’t know much about his life before becoming a nomad.
His expression shifts, becoming more guarded. “A younger sister. She didn’t make it out of the attack that killed my pack.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Long time ago.” But there’s old pain in his voice, carefully controlled. “She would have liked you, I think. She was fierce like you—never backed down from anything.”
The comparison warms me. “What was her name?”
“Natalie.” A small smile touches his lips. “She had this laugh—completely infectious. Could make anyone smile, even when everything was going to hell.”
We’re quiet for a moment, both sunk in memories of people we’ve lost. The fire pops, sending sparks up the chimney.
“She would have been a better poker player than both of us,” he adds, breaking the somber mood. “Do you wanna go another round?”
We play for another hour, the conversation flowing as easily as the card games.
This time he doesn’t hold back. He reads me like an open book, calling my bluffs and folding when I have good hands. Within twenty minutes, I’m down to my last few raisins.
“You have to be cheating,” I mutter, glaring at my terrible cards.
“You’re a sore loser,” he corrects.
I throw my cards down in defeat. “I fold. You win. Again.”
“Good game,” he says solemnly, then grins. “Better luck next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
He laughs. “You just need to stop giving away your cards. You have a very expressive face.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You sure about that?” He leans forward slightly, studying my face with those impossibly golden eyes. “Right now, forinstance, you’re frustrated but trying to hide it. Your jaw is tight, and you’re pressing your lips together to keep from saying something you think might be too harsh.”
My breath catches. He’s right—completely, perfectly right.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“See so much.”
His expression grows serious. “I’ve been forced to learn how to read people quickly. Survival depends on knowing who you can trust and who you can’t.”
“And what do you see when you look at me?” The question slips out before I can stop it, more vulnerable than I intended. But I genuinely want to know. What does he see? The broken Beta who failed to protect her Alpha Female? The damaged wolf who can’t let anyone close? Or something else entirely?
He’s quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving over my face like he’s memorizing every detail.
“I see someone who’s been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders for so long, she’s forgotten how to set it down,” he says finally. “Someone who thinks she has to be perfect, untouchable, because if she shows any weakness, the people she protects might get hurt.”
His voice is gentle, but his eyes are knowing. “I see someone who cares so deeply it scares her. Someone who would rather suffer alone than risk letting anyone else carry even the smallest part of her burden.”
“Stop.” The word comes out rougher than I intended.
“I see someone beautiful,” he continues, ignoring my protest. “Not just physically, though you are. But beautiful in the way you refuse to break, no matter what they do to you. Beautiful in your loyalty, your strength, your absolute refusal to give up.”
I can’t breathe. No one has ever seen me like this—not the role I play, but the person underneath. The broken,scared person I keep hidden from everyone, even myself sometimes.
