I sigh. “No.”
He’s quiet for a while as we walk. “It was your parents right? Their death made it easier not to love at all.”
I bristle at his question. “It’s not about easy.”
“Isn’t it?” He stops walking, turning to face me in the semi-darkness. “You sure this isn’t fear talking?”
“Excuse me for not wanting to watch everyone I care about die,” I snap.
“So instead you’re choosing to die alone? Brilliant strategy.”
“Better than your approach. What exactly is your long-term plan, Nomad? Wander forever? Never belong anywhere?”
“At least I’m doing something with my life rather than staying in pack purgatory no doubt making everyone around me miserable.”
We’re both breathing hard now, anger crackling between us like static.
“You don’t know the first thing about what I feel,” I hiss.
“I know you kissed me like your life depended on it. I know your wolf recognizes mine. I know you’re terrified of what that means.”
“You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”
“I think we’re both fucked up in ways that fit together surprisingly well.”
The statement is so unexpected, so perfectly ridiculous, that the anger drains out of me. A reluctant laugh bubbles up. “That’s your romantic pitch? ‘Our damage is compatible’?”
His teeth flash white in the darkness. “Is it working?”
“It’s… not the worst I’ve heard.”
He steps closer, his hand finding my waist. “I’ve spent twenty years alone, Lithia. By choice, mostly. I know what it means to keep people at a distance and convince yourself it’s safer that way.”
“Now you’ve seen the error of your ways?” I try to keep my tone light, but my voice wavers.
“Now I’ve met someone who makes me wonder if being alone is really a better choice.”
I don’t know what to say or how to respond to this man.
“I’m Beta of Shadowmist,” I say finally. “My duty is to my pack.”
“I’m not asking you to choose.”
“Then what are you asking?”
He’s quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing circles on my hip. “Just don’t shut me out. Not yet. Not without giving this—whatever this is—some thought.”
We follow the river for a while longer, quiet but for the occasional discussion about directions or hazards.
I mull over his words.
Don’t shut me out.
Gods, I want to. He’s already under my skin. But I’ve spent years building walls so high no one could climb them, walls evenIcouldn’t see over. I buried my grief beneath duty, buried my hunger for touch beneath discipline, buried every soft, reckless part of myself beneath cold steel.
When we get back to Shadowmist and the dust settles, I’ll shore up the walls, patch the cracks, and forget this momentary weakness.
But the truth is, I’m not sure I want to.
