The graveled yard gave way to softer dirt as I slipped through a gap in our outer security fence—a spot I knew the cameras didn't quite cover. I moved as quietly as my size allowed, grateful for the skills I'd developed hunting in my bear form. Each step was carefully placed, my breathing controlled despite the excitement coursing through me.
I circled wide through the underbrush, approaching the pine tree from behind. As I drew closer, I caught a scent on the breeze that made my bear rumble with recognition—earth and pine and something uniquely Liam.
My mate was here.
I eased around the trunk, and there he was—crouched on a low branch, balanced with feline grace, his golden eyes fixed intently on the clubhouse. He hadn't noticed me yet, too focused on watching Victor's sedan parked in our yard.
For a moment, I just stared, drinking in the sight of him. Relief flooded me so intensely my knees nearly buckled. He looked unharmed, though leaves and dirt clung to his ragged clothes, suggesting he'd spent the night in the forest. His hair was more disheveled than usual, falling across his forehead and partially obscuring those remarkable eyes.
"Liam," I whispered, unable to hold back any longer.
He startled violently, nearly falling from his perch. Those golden eyes whipped toward me, wide with alarm. In an instant, he was moving, scrambling higher into the branches with the fluid agility of his lynx nature.
"Wait!" I held up my hands, showing my empty palms. "Please, don't run. It's just me."
Liam froze mid-climb, his back pressed against the trunk, fingers gripping the bark so tightly his knuckles were white. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes darting between me and the open forest beyond, calculating escape routes.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," I said softly, taking a small step closer. "All night. I was so worried."
He remained frozen, watching my approach with the wary focus of a wild animal evaluating a potential threat. When I reached toward him instinctively, he flinched back, pressing himself harder against the tree trunk.
The rejection stung, but I understood it. I had triggered something terrible last night with my talk of claiming bites. Whatever Liam's past held, it had left deep scars—ones I couldn't see, but needed to respect.
I dropped to my knees in the dirt, making myself smaller, less threatening. With deliberate movements, I opened my hands and placed them on my thighs, palms up.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice rough with emotion. "For whatever I said that scared you. I never meant to frighten you away. I've been searching all night, everywhere I could think of. I was terrified something had happened to you."
Something shifted in Liam's expression—a subtle softening around his eyes. He studied me for a long moment, head tilted slightly as if assessing my sincerity.
Then, slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, dog-eared notepad. The same one he'd used to write his name for me that first time in the office.
That seemed like a lifetime ago now.
He climbed down to a lower branch with cautious movements, still keeping a safe distance between us. Perchingthere, he began to write frantically, the pencil stub in his hand flying across the page.
When he finished, he hesitated, then tore out the page and dropped it. The paper fluttered to the ground between us.
I picked it up carefully, my heart clenching as I read the simple question:"Did you mean it about not rushing?"
"Yes," I said immediately, looking up at him. "Absolutely. Every word. We go at your pace, Liam. I swear it."
He nodded once, then returned to his notepad. This time when he dropped the page, I saw it wasn't words but a drawing. With trembling hands, he'd sketched two figures—one larger, one smaller. The larger figure's mouth was at the smaller one's shoulder, clearly depicting a biting motion.
Then, with harsh, jagged strokes, he'd crossed the entire image out, the pencil pressing so hard it had torn the paper in places.
The meaning was clear—this was what had frightened him, what had sent him running into the night. The claiming bite that should have been sacred had been twisted into something terrifying for him.
"Liam," I said softly, my throat tight with emotion. "Whatever happened to you, whatever that meant to you in the past—that's not what being mates is about. Not for me. Not for us."
He watched me intently, his golden eyes searching my face for any sign of deception.
"I would never hurt you like that," I continued, pouring every ounce of sincerity I possessed into the words. "Never force you. Being mates is about protection, about caring. About finding someone who matters more than yourself."
His hands moved to his shoulder, touching the spot where a claiming bite would go. His expression was haunted, distant, as if revisiting a painful memory.
When he looked back to me, something had changed in his eyes—a question forming, a cautious hope emerging from beneath layers of fear.
"I would never hurt you, baby boy," I whispered, the endearment slipping out again. "We go as slow as you need. Months. Years. Forever, if that's what it takes." I meant every word. Finding my mate after decades of waiting only to lose him over a misunderstanding would break something in me I wasn't sure could be repaired. "The claiming bite—it should be something beautiful, something both people want. Not something feared."
