The past hangs over us like a dark cloud, despite anything I try to bring forth, clear skies. And it storms when she glares at me through accusing eyes, hugging her knees to her chest like a defense mechanism to keep me out.
“You didn’t need to come in. I would have been fine.”
“I don’t doubt you would have been, but I wanted to check up on you,” I say, to which Sophie responds by sliding further between her blankets and turning her back to me.
“I’m going back to sleep,” she murmurs against her pillow, and I get to my feet, watching the back of her head as if I’m half-expecting her to turn. It’s like I know she hasn’t closed her eyes, and she’s waiting with bated breath for me to leave the room.
“Good night, Sophie,” I sigh defeatedly, turning toward the door and dragging myself out. I close the door behind mewhen I leave the bedroom, but I stand outside, still feeling the tingles in my fingers from when I held her.
Making close contact with her is a reminder of our sacred bond, but it also serves as a reminder of the extent of our history. I didn’t just break up with her; I rejected my true mate. She doesn’t understand what it means, or why her feelings of resentment are so strong, but it’s because it goes deeper than any ordinary relationship. A fated mate bond was broken, and now I have to find a way to repair it.
I know Sophie doesn’t trust a word I say, and that’s why I decided to try a different approach to make her believe. With everything that’s happening to her, she needs to know that I’m not making any of this up, and she’s not going crazy.
***
“Good morning, Sophie,” I greet her when she enters the kitchen hesitantly, her eyes betraying the rest of her face when they flit to the table, her nostrils following that betrayal as they flare when she spots the breakfast I’d prepared. I take that as my cue to gesture to the table, but she scrunches her nose and crosses her arms before I can get a word out.
I sigh as I set the spoon down and lift the bowl of scrambled eggs before carrying it to the table. “You should eat.”
“I’m not—”
I stop her when I look up with a stern expression, too exhausted for this constant back and forth between us. “Sit, Sophie. Eat. There is something I want to show you when we’re done.”
My firm tone does the trick, and instead of defiance, Sophie chooses to sit down and quietly have her breakfast. I do the same, not using words that will most likely fall on deaf ears.
That’s why I have to show her. When we’re done with breakfast—which is the most awkward meal I’ve ever had in silence—I clear the table while Sophie remains in her chair, unmoving, as if she’s suddenly too afraid. Though I mentally chastise myself for being too harsh, too firm, I’ve come to learn that it’s the only way to get things done.
At least until she trusts me enough to stop being stubborn or defiant.
“Come on,” I say, gesturing to the front door with a brisk nod. “I think it’s time you saw what Red Moon looks like on a bright summer’s day.”
Sophie flinches at the word “summer” as if I’d thrown salt in an open wound. As I turn and glance at the calendar on the fridge, I suck in a breath when I see what day it is.
It’s still June.
Two years ago, at this time, I broke up with Sophie.
Shit.
I hear the chair grazing the wooden floorboards as she decides to follow me, and when I’m at the door, I hold it open until she steps out onto the porch. The sun’s warm rays kiss her cheeks with a soft glow that makes her appear ethereal, and she closes her eyes as if she’s basking in a breath of fresh air, allowing me to stare at her with admiration.
Apart from the flicker of fear of the unknown we both felt yesterday, I’ve been mesmerized by Sophie, as I am right now, while she does the simplest things, like breathing. My inner wolfresponds with an urge to reach out and pull her into my arms, the bond humming underneath my skin and in my fingertips.
I take a deep breath to calm my senses, to regain my composure before I do something she’ll regret. I know I wouldn’t have any regrets if I tugged her forward and crushed my lips to hers. Curling my hands into fists of frustration at my sides, I maintain my firm, deep tone when I tell her to follow me.
The valley hums with life despite the privacy, its seclusion between the mountains in Bitterroot, the river’s whispering flow adding to its serenity. I lead Sophie down the hiking trail from my cabin into the forest, which opens up to a clearing in the woods that’s hidden from the rest of humanity.
I stop and point out the cabins hidden between the trees. “The other members of Red Moon live in those hidden cabins,” I say, and Sophie follows my pointed finger.
“Red Moon?” she asks with a frown, and I nod.
“Red Moon is the name of the pack.”
“The wolf pack?” she chuckles sarcastically.
“Werewolf pack,” I correct her, continuing down the path that leads to our training cave at the base of the mountain. As we approach, I hold out an arm in front of her to slow her down, pointing at the group of trainees being led by Delta Callum. He instructs a young wolf to step out of the cave, then nods at him to give him the go-ahead to shift.
“See that young man over there?”
