“Why not?”
“Because telling them means opening a door I can’t close. A human mate is unusual for our kingdom. A human mate bonded to three alphas would cause a political upheaval.” He stared out at the tree line. “I’ve been protecting you from that. Or trying to.”
“By not telling your mom you have a complicated girlfriend? Classic avoidance.”
“I am not avoiding.”
“You threatened to eat a bird rather than reply to your mother.”
His jaw tightened around what might have been a smile. “I prefer the term ‘strategic postponement.’“
“And I prefer honesty.”
His gaze returned to mine. The humor faded, and underneath it was the rawness I’d glimpsed during our fight. The version of Lucian that existed beneath the walls and the titles.
I stood. Brushed off my jeans and held out my hand. “Come on. I’m hungry and I bet I can cook better than you.”
He looked at my hand and at me. Then he took it and stood. The contact sent warmth racing up my arm in a way that made my pulse kick.
“That’s a bold claim,” he said. His voice was lighter now, closer to teasing. “I’ve had centuries to perfect my technique.”
“And I’ve had years of poverty cooking. Trust me, necessity beats refinement.”
“We’ll see.”
Lucian walked toward the front door, one hand braced against the frame. Turned back to me with the morning light falling across his face, and he was smiling.
Arealsmile. Unguarded, warm, the kind that erased the severity from his features and made him look young. Made him look human.
“Come inside, Mira.”
The world tilted.
Three words. His hand on the doorframe, his body filling the entrance,that smile. Morning light on his face and the scent of pine. A certainty in his voice, as if he’d been waiting to say them.
I’d heard this before.
My body recognized this moment with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs.
The same man, the same words and the overwhelming certainty that I’d stood exactly here before, that he’d looked at me exactly this way, and I’d taken his hand, crossing over into a life I couldn’t remember losing.
The déjà vu crashed through me and settled in my chest, enough weight to steal my voice.
He saw it and the smile faded.
“Mira?”
“Say it again.”
He went still. “What?”
“What you just said. Say it again.”
His eyes searched mine. I watched him connect the dots.
“Come inside,” he repeated, quieter. “Mira.”
My eyes burned from the collision of two timelines, one I lived and one I lost.
