All I do know is that I can’t tell her we’re fated mates. If I do, how much will it hurt her when she realizes I’m choosing my pack and my status over her? That I’ll have to hide what she is to me, deny the bond between us, because my father will never accept it?
I can’t bear to do that to her.
“I care about you, Violet,” I finally force out, the words feeling inadequate. “Deeply.”
She steps away from me, swallowing hard. “Fine. That’s all fine.” Her voice is controlled now. “But what we did last night is never going to happen again.”
I begin to speak, but she shakes her head, cuttingme off. “If your father ever found out, I would be the one to bear the consequences. Everyone—including my own mother—would try to protect you. Nobody will protect me.”
The truth of it hits me hard because she’s absolutely right.
She adds quietly, “I have to protect myself.”
The vulnerability in those words twists my insides.
“I’ll see myself out.”
She moves past me, and this time, I don’t stop her. I can’t. Because what she said is true, and I have no answer for it.
She goes into my bedroom, and I stare at the door as it closes, a sharp pain piercing my chest. I hear her moving around. The rustle of fabric. Soft footsteps.
The bond between us pulls tight, my wolf howling to go after her, to burst through that door, to throw her over my shoulder and carry her back to my bed where she belongs.
But I force myself to stay where I am. Rooted to the floor by the weight of everything unsaid between us.
Minutes crawl by. Each second an eternity.
When she finally opens the door again, she’s wearing my sweatpants, rolled at the waist. She won’t look at me as she walks past to pick up her ruined clothes from the couch before heading for the front door. Every step she takes feels like she’s ripping the life force out of my chest.
I follow her. My hand flexes at my side, fighting the urge to grab her.
“Will you at least let me drive you home?” The question comes out rough, almost pleading.
She doesn’t turn around. “I have my car.”
The finality in her voice makes my wolf whine in distress.
“Okay,” I reply, the word barely audible.
She opens the door, and I watch her take three steps down the corridor to the elevator. Three steps that may as well be three miles.
I wait until the elevator comes and takes her away before I close my door. The sound echoes through my empty apartment, loud and final.
I lean my forehead against the door, trying to control my wolf. He is going insane, snarling and clawing, demanding I go after her.
Mate. Our mate is leaving. Stop her. Claim her. Make her stay.
“I can’t,” I growl out loud.
Because she’s right. About all of it.
I push away from the door and stare into the kitchen, lost. The bacon on the stove is burning. I should turn it off. Should clean up the breakfast I started making for her.
But I can’t move. I just stand there, feeling the incomplete bond between us stretch and pull as she distances herself from me.
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? For her to leave. For us to pretend last night never happened. For things to go back to the way they were.
Except, nothing can go back. Not now. Not after I’ve had her. Not after I know what it feels like to be inside her, to hear her cry out my name, to feel her come apart in my arms.
