Page 102 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

Lily nodded stubbornly. One tear finally fell.

Zane was silent for two seconds. Then he did something that surprised me—he shifted into his wolf form, lowered his head, and gently touched his nose to the scrape on Lily's knee. His tongue extended, carefully licking away the dirt around the wound with movements so delicate, like he was handling something fragile and precious.

Lily froze. She stared down at this massive silver-gray wolf crouched before her, tending to her injury in that clumsy, animal way, momentarily forgetting to cry.

Then she reached out, hesitated, and lightly touched his ear.

Zane's body went rigid.

Lily touched it again.

His tail began to wag slowly, uncertainly.

"Your ears are so soft," Lily said, her voice still tearful but now tinged with curiosity. "Softer than Aunt Emma's rabbit's ears."

Zane didn't move, letting her pet him.

I stood there watching, emotions swirling.

That night, as I bathed Lily, she suddenly spoke. "Mommy, when Zane turns into a wolf, he's not as scary anymore."

"No?"

"Nope. When he licked my scrape, his tongue was warm and tickly." She thought about it. "And his ears really are soft."

"So you forgive him?"

She tilted her head, considering. "If he hurt Mommy, then I don't forgive him."

My hands stilled. My eyes stung.

"He didn't," I heard myself say. "Mommy doesn't get hurt easily."

Lily nodded and hugged me.

The next day, Zane flew a paper kite in the garden—nothing fancy, just paper and bamboo, but he got it high, almost touching the clouds. Lily stared up at it for a while, then asked with feigned casualness, "Did you make that kite?"

"Yeah," Zane said, not looking at her, his tone as casual as discussing weather. "When I was little, no one played with me, so I made kites. Made them for years. Got better and better."

Lily was quiet for a few seconds. "Teach me."

Not a question. A statement. With that "I've decided, you just need to cooperate" tone—exactly like me.

Zane's mouth twitched, but he controlled himself and didn't smile. "Sure. Tomorrow afternoon, I'll get the materials."

The next afternoon, they sat in the garden for two hours, Zane teaching Lily how to make a kite. Lily got glue all over her hands, tore the paper three times, and constructed a crooked bamboo frame that looked utterly unflyable. Zane never frowned, never sighed. He just patiently handed her materials, occasionally reaching over to adjust an angle.

That kite barely got off the ground—flew maybe six feet before diving headfirst into the fountain.

Lily stood at the pool's edge, staring at the soaked kite. Three seconds of silence.

Then she laughed.

It was the first real laugh she'd given Zane in days—a pure, genuine four-year-old laugh, showing two little canine teeth, eyes crinkling into crescents.

Zane stood beside her, watching her laugh like he was witnessing the sun rise in the west.

That night, Lily lay in bed and suddenly said, "Mommy, maybe Zane isn't so bad."